“Robbie-”
I didn’t care to listen to what he had to say. “Don’t ever touch me again, Ciro,” I demanded. “Stay away from me, and I’ll stay away from you.” I wanted to slap him again, so due to self-preservation, I turned to get back into the car.
I yelped as he grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking me back, until my back hit his hard chest. He leaned down, his breath on my ear. “Don’t ever presume to think you can tell me what to do, Robbie.”
“Ciro-”
He tightened his hold, and tears sprang to my eyes. “If I want to touch you, I will,” he snarled. “If I want to keep an eye on you, I will. If I want to turn your life into a living hell, I will. If I want to move into your goddamn house, I will!” Oh, God. Ciro was losing it and I wasn’t equipped to handle a man like this. “Don’t ever fucking give me demands again, Robbie.” My knees buckled when I felt his tongue run from the strap of my dress all the way up my neck and to my ear. His other arm wrapped around my waist like a band, constricting my ability to breathe. “Now, get in that car and go the fuck home. And, while you’re there, take the time to remember just who the fuck you’re dealing with. You won’t keep getting second chances, Robbie. The only reason you’re still alive is because I don’t want to upset my sister. And that’s the only reason.” He let me go and I stumbled against the car.
I stood there in shock as I heard his footsteps fade away. It wasn’t until I heard him drive off that I finally got in the car.
It was another fifteen minutes before I stopped shaking enough to put the key in the ignition.
Chapter 7
Ciro~
Motherfucker!
I stormed into The Sapphire, and the look on my face must have given me away, because not one person stopped me to talk business, say hello, or kiss my ass. And I chose The Sapphire because I was in serious need of its atmosphere because I was losing my motherfucking mind.
Each club I had catered to a different clientele. That’s what made them so successful. They weren’t run-of-the-mill clubs. Sure, I had a couple of standard bars within the city, but my clubs were exclusive. That’s not to say you couldn’t get into them, it just meant that if it wasn’t your scene, you realized it pretty quickly.
The Diamond was my high-end patrons. Every liquor was top shelf. No well shit. The entire club was designed in sleek black, white, and chrome. There was no jukebox, no band, or DJ. Like every elevator on the planet, it was equipped with surround sound that played nothing but instrumental jazz, classical, or easy listening. The Diamond was where you came to shake hands on million-dollar deals. It’s where the waitresses were dressed classy, and you never got the wrong idea. The Diamond was one big boardroom with music, alcohol, and appetizers. No one under an eight-figure salary had any business in there.
The Emerald was my nightlife crowd. Unlike The Diamond, it had a jukebox for day drinking and usually a DJ for nighttime partying. It boasted of an emerald green bar that sparkled. It was like looking at the goddamn Emerald City. However, the rest of the club was decorated in blacks and greys with the bar being the only splash of color. It was your typical Friday/Saturday night club. It’s where you picked up women you hope to date and where you gathered with friends to drink the week away. It sold every liquor you could think of and had a small kitchen for finger foods to help with sobering a motherfucker up.
The Ruby catered to women. It was an ode to my sister and to all sisters, mothers, aunts, and daughters everywhere. It was where women could go and have a drink safely and without the worry that some douchebag was going to hit on them. It was a true spot for girls’ night. It was a safe spot to just have a drink or unwind. It had a full kitchen, and a decent menu. You could even order family dinners in case you didn’t want to cook when you got home. Now, that’s not to say men didn’t frequent The Ruby, because they did, and if a woman approached them? Well, so be it. The Ruby’s defining characteristic was that if you absolutely did not want to be bothered, you sat at the red tables. The rest of the tables were fair game, although there were way more red tables and not.
Now, it stood to reason that, if I had a safe place for women to drink and relax, I had a safe place for men to do the same, and that was The Sapphire.
However, The Sapphire catered to men in more ways than one. There was no prostitution taking place in the club, but hookups were aplenty at The Sapphire. There were only two reasons you came to this club, the eye candy (whether it be female or male) and the promise of sex at the end of the night. The Sapphire was decorated in a multitude of blue hues and the lighting was bright enough that you could look your prey in the face and see what you were getting, but also low enough that if a woman wanted to spread her legs for a finger or two, that was also possible.
There were no strippers or waitresses dressed in lingerie. The staff was tastefully dressed in The Sapphire uniform, but while bare flesh was covered up, the outfits were tailored to accentuate whatever your best quality was. The liquor was top shelf or any drink of your choosing and, when you paid your tab, condoms were available with your
