Page 1 of Lorenzo

CHAPTER 1

LORENZO

“Hey Lorenzo!”

The pretty blonde gives me an air kiss and come-hither look.

She’s part of the pack of svelte socialites who’ve been frequenting my nightclub of late.

Or at least since it’s become the darling of the Manhattan Social gossip column that’s a reading staple of the Big Apple’s movers and shakers.

I flash a smile, just engaging enough so she can tell her friends Lorenzo Ricci ‘noticed her.’

That’s big currency among the women in this club.

At the bar, a mixologist pours with grace, finishing the forty-dollar cocktail with a precise flame.

I pause long enough to meet his eyes.

“Keep pouring like that and I won’t have to teach the next guy how to do it,” I quip with a half-smile.

It’s a typical Thursday night at Dante’s Inferno.

The ‘Dante’ in this case happens to be my older brother. He created the nightclub and its underground, VIP casino to hide illicit activities related to the family business.

And the Inferno part is because of all the glorious mayhem that happens within these fashionable walls.

Bass from the speakers thumps directly against my skull, a dark, heavy rhythm that keeps the chaos synchronized.

Now it’s twelve midnight. The witching hour when the club’s pulse turns lethal.

On the packed floor, uptown girls in couture dresses dance alongside working girls in short body skimming dresses.

Maybe they’ll never make the society pages.

Yet these hotties know exactly how to earn a VIP’s attention for the night.

From the $10,000 tables bordered by polished black velvet ropes, the city’s real power elite watch the action.

They’re the billionaires who flash their Black Amex like loaded guns. They don’t need to charm any of the dance floor girls to get laid.

That’s what the hospitality floor is for.

“Trouble in Sin City,” Max says through my earpiece.

His voice is tight, slicing through the synthetic electronic beat pounding through the house speakers.

“On it,” I say, letting the chatter of the club wash over me as I stride toward the private elevator bank.

The code means one of our girls is in trouble.

At Inferno, we have a strict ‘girls first’ policy that never ends well for the man responsible, VIP or not.

If you cross our threshold, you respect our currency.

Max, my best buddy since third grade and now my head of security, falls in beside me as we head down the isolated hallway.

It leads to what can euphemistically be called the ‘relaxation rooms.’