Seven:

DAMON

The loud music is starting to make my head hurt, and I don't know for how much longer I can keep the fake smile on. I down the rest of my scotch, shift the girl in my lap and raise an eyebrow at my host.

"I think we should discuss why I'm here before we're both too drunk to talk business, Uncle Luis," I say with a smile as he holds out his cigar to the girl on his right and kisses the one on his left.

"It is getting late, isn't it? And I suppose I have to get home to the wife and kids sometime today," he says and laughs, nodding to the girls, and all three of them, including the one in my lap stand up and leave us alone.

For the first time tonight, his short, stubby fingers reach for the glass of scotch in front of him. He takes a sip, crosses one fat leg over the other and leans back on the sofa.

"Why are you here, Damon?" he asks in a serious tone, and puffs on his cigar.

I clear my throat. "We're expanding. And while you stay adamant about letting me take this place off your hands completely despite the generous amount I've offered, I have a counter offer."

I am slurring a bit, tipsy, but not quite drunk. Sober enough to carry out a business transaction. He does not say anything, so I continue.

"You let us sell our product here, bring in a couple of fresh girls every other night, and in return, we offer you protection. Only my best men," I say proudly, leaning forward and clasping my fingers together.

Forming an alliance with Luis Dutti would be a very good thing for business. His club is a highly exclusive, access only spot for all kinds of celebrities, politicians and other influential people, who use narcotics like they're candy.

More reputed though is his sex dungeon, and that would get the backlog of girls off of our hands before people start asking questions. It would not hurt to have him on our side.

He chuckles harmlessly and blows a cloud of smoke from between his thick lips.

"Is that really your offer, Mr. Cucinelli? A few bodyguards?"

His question catches me off guard, and my mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

"Girls. We have girls too. Virgins, from Europe," I lie, starting to get desperate. His eyes widen and he beams.

"Virgins? From Europe?" he echoes, faux excitement in his tone, and I nod. I knew that would hook him.

Confusion fogs my brain when he laughs again.

"People want my girls for their experience, Damon. They're not looking for wives. If you want my advice, go home. Get some rest, find something worthwhile to offer me, and then come back and we shall talk. Your father was a good friend... that's why I'll give you another chance and let you off with just a warning for wasting my time tonight," he says, stands up and waddles into one of the back rooms.

I pour another glass of scotch, and throw it back in one go. Shit, this is bad.  With nowhere new to sell our product and the girls just seated in the storage houses, we are losing a shitload of money. I pour another glass.

"Damon, that's enough. We'll figure something out," Darius, my right hand and really good friend says from his place at the door, and I wave him off.

He does not know what he is talking about.

"Let's go," he persists, walking over to where I'm sitting.

"We lost him, Darius. How can we just go?" I question, and he grabs my glass before I raise it to my lips.

"We didn't lose shit...he will listen to you again. We just need to think of something, fast. And we cannot do that if you're drunk," he reasons, and I groan.

I hate when he is right, which is most of the time.

I sway slightly as I stand up, but he catches me before I fall.

"I'm fine. You don't need to hover," I snap unintentionally, and he steps back and raises his hands with a chuckle.

We get to the car without any further accidents, and he slides in next to me in the backseat.

Thankfully, he does not say anything about the lie I told about the virgin girls, and I make a run for my room as soon as we get to the house. I cannot shake the feeling that I am forgetting something as I toss and turn in my bed, until I see the tiny silver dress on the floor and remember why I am sleeping in the guest bedroom in the first place.

She must still be waiting up for me, but I am too tired tonight. She will eventually go to sleep anyway, and it is not like I owe her anything. She is a prostitute, not my fucking wife.

Just as I calm down from the events of the night and start to drift off to sleep, there is a knock at my door, and I groan.

"Come," I croak tiredly, and lie back down when I see that it is only Darius.

"What do you want, Darius? Could it not wait till tomorrow?" I ask, and he makes a tsk sound and types on his tablet.

"The girl—your girl. I found out something. You're going to want to see this," he says, and for the first time in a long time, his lips curve into a smile.