Buy me dinner first

A week later Roman's return to The Qube was like walking back into a nightmare he'd tried to forget. It was around 9pm and the club was already pulsing with energy, bodies moving in time with the blaring music. The air was thick with different scents of expensive perfumes and sweat, a heady mix that made Roman's head spin.

As he made his way toward Nico's office, memories of his last time here flooded back. It was all too familiar yet somehow it felt new, as if the stakes had grown higher.

When Roman finally reached the office, he noticed the door was slightly open, a glimmer of light spilling into the hallway. He could hear a heated conversation going on through the crack. He edged himself closer to the door, straining his ears in order to catch the words being exchanged. He promised Saint he'd be useful, so this was him earning his keep.

"...don't care what you think, Sandro. It's done," Nico's voice was filled with barely controlled anger.

The other voice, a man's, responded with equal intensity. "You're making a mistake cazzone. You know he will never forgive you for this!"

Roman leaned in further, heart pumping, but suddenly the door swung wide open. He jumped back just in time to avoid being hit in the face as a tall, unfamiliar man stormed out.

The man looked like he belonged with the rest of them, dark, broody and handsome in an understated way. His face was contorted into a scowl that deepened the lines around his mouth. He didn't even spare Roman a second of his life as he bulldozed past him.

Turning back to the office, Roman found himself face to face with Nico who was gripping the edge of the door a little too hard. "Are you listening to private conversations through doors now, Father?"

Shit.

"It was hard not to," Roman played it down. "You guys were kinda loud, so..."

Nico raised him a brow but decided not to say anything.

"What was that all about?" Roman casually asked, though his curiosity was piqued, and a small part of him couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had just happened in that office was very important.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

Roman didn't believe him. Nico was a master at deflecting questions and the exchange had heightened Roman's sixth sense however he knew better than to gas the underboss.

Turning away, Nico moved back to his desk, but Roman could feel his gaze on him, like a silent warning. Roman followed his boss inside, trying to shake off the unease coiling in his gut. He'd just arrived, and already things felt off.

The further the night wore on, the more Roman couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching him. Every time he glanced up, Nico's icy blues were on him. It was unnerving, the way his gaze seemed to follow wherever he went, as if he was waiting for him to slip up.

The phone in his jeans buzzed and Roman instinctively reached in his pocket and retrieved it. The screen lit up revealing a text message.

Psycho: checking in. I'm sorta drunk rn... don't do anything I wouldn't do;)

A faint smile played at Roman's lips. As he started to type out a reply, a hand stole the phone out of his grasp.

It was Nico, holding the phone up like it was an evidence of a crime. "You've been a bad boy, Father."

Roman didn't get much of a chance to defend himself as Nico's free hand clamped down on his throat, slamming him hard against a wall behind him. So not the rough I like. The impact rattled through his skull making him wince.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Nico's handed tightened around his throat but it wasn't tight enough to choke him to his death, yet.

Roman forced himself to meet Nico's eyes, even though panic surged through him. "Saint gave it to me," the words barely squeezed out past his hold.

The way he squeezed the phone, knuckles turning bloodless white—Roman thought he might crush the phone in his hand.

"Of course he did," Nico cursed as he read the message clearly from Saint. How could Saint be this stupid? All these unwarranted risks because of some fraudulent priest who was supposed to be buried 6ft under a long time ago.

He then released Roman's neck, shoving the phone back into his chest with a force that made him stumble. Roman was able to catch his footing, the phone clutched tightly in his hand as he struggled to steady his breathing.

He was still shocked by the violence of the situation even though he kept his expression neutral. He wasn't going to give Nico the satisfaction of seeing how shaken up he was.

Nico's eyes stayed on him for a moment longer. Then, he turned away, as if he was no longer worth his attention. "Make yourself useful," he said, his tone flat, lacking the menace it held seconds before.

***

Roman's neck throbbed where Nico had grabbed him. He needed to get away, to find a quiet place to catch his breath and think. He slipped away from the office with a lame excuse to go use the restroom. It wasn't until he found himself in a hallway at the back of the club that he paused, leaning against the cool brick wall. The noise was muffled there, a welcome relief.

As he glanced around, Roman noticed a door at the end of the hall, marked "Authorized personnel only". Without thinking too much about it, he pushed the door and let himself inside.

The room was dimly lit, a crimson beam from various monitors casting eerie neon lights across the space. At first glance, it seemed like a standard security room, with feeds showing different areas of the club—the dance floor, the bar, the entrances and exits.

He walked further in, his eyes scanning the monitors. But as he reached the back of the room, something caught his eye. There, among the feeds of the club, were a few that seemed out of place. He stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he realized what he was looking at.

One of the monitors showed Sandfort Estate, the exterior grounds bathed in soft glow of outdoor lights. Another feed displayed a warehouse, the interior stacked with crates and pallets of cash, a few men milling about, clearly part of the Bertinelli Family operations. But it was the last monitor that made Roman's blood run cold.

The screen showed a familiar space—Saint's private apartment. The cameras were angled from above, capturing the living room, part of the kitchen and where his bed was. Roman watched in stunned silence as the feed showed Saint, oblivious, in unzipped jeans pacing the length of the room while speaking over the phone.

Roman's stomach churned at the realization. Saint was being watched. Every move, every word was being recorded, and the fact that this feed was hidden away in what seemed to be a club security room meant that someone was going to great lengths to keep it a secret.

He felt a wave of nausea. Who could be behind this? Was it Nico? Or was there someone else within Saint's circle setting him up?

He was so engrossed in the horrifying revelation that he didn't hear the door behind him creak open until it was too late. Roman spun around only to find himself facing the same guy Nico was arguing with a couple hours ago. If Roman's memory served him right, Nico had called the man Sandro.

For a moment, the two men stared at each other in silence. Roman could feel his muscles tensing, ready for flight or fight, but Sandro made the first move. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, his eyes flicking to the monitors before settling back on Roman.

"Are you lost, Father?" Looks like this Sandro guy knew him.

"What is this?" Roman pointed at the screen displaying Saint's apartment. "Why are you watching him?"

Sandro's expression remained unreadable. "That's what the boss wants," he replied oh so casual as if they were discussing the weather. "We gotta know if he's safe."

"You're telling me Saint knows about this little operation of yours? I call bullshit."

The guy shrugged which pissed Roman even more. "Believe whatever you want but I hope for your sake you're smart enough to know not to ask too many questions."

Roman's fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to demand for more answers, but something in Sandro's eyes told him he wouldn't get anything else.

"Fine," he bit out, storming out of the surveillance room.

***

The unsettling images of Saint's apartment on that monitor played over and over in his head, but there was no time to process it all. Roman needed to get back to the office, act normal, like nothing happened.

The corridor was quiet as he pulled the door shut behind him. He took a moment to breathe. Just as he pushed off the wall and started back toward the main floor, something caught his eye—more like someone.

Through a glass panel that overlooked the club from upstairs, Roman saw... Saint? It didn't make any sense. He wasn't expecting to see him tonight—not at the club, at least.

Saint's arrival was completely unanticipated, yet the staff practically tripped over themselves to cater to him. Roman watched through the glass as Saint settled into the VIP lounge. Nico was there with other guys as well.

From his vantage point, Roman observed the scene unfolding below. A woman, clearly someone looking for a good time, slipped into Saint's lap with a playful grin. She draped a delicate arm around his shoulders, her movements sensual as she shamelessly flirted with him, her painted nails trailing along the collar of his shirt.

And Saint was letting it happen.

Roman's jaw clenched. He told himself himself it was frustration at Saint's lack of urgency. But as those hazel eyes met his through the glass panel, that reasoning instantly flew out the window.

Saint's lips curved when he caught Roman blatantly glaring. He raised an eyebrow before motioning for him to come down and join them. With a reluctant sigh, Roman descended the stairs.

As he approached the VIP lounge, Nico glanced up from his drink before returning his focus elsewhere. Saint, however, didn't take his eyes off him once.

"Sweetheart," the mob boss greeted him with a teasing lilt.

Roman's nose flared at the nickname, but he forced his emotions down, reminding himself to focus on the bigger picture. "When you're done flirting I need to have a word with you."

Saint instantly vetoed the request, gesturing for a waiter to pour Roman a drink instead. "Later," he replied dismissively, clearly more interested in the woman perched comfortably in his lap. She was now tracing idle patterns on his chest. The bitch had no right to touch him!

Well, do you?

"It's important," Roman said through gritted teeth and Nico raised him a brow.

Leaning in over the red leather couch so only Roman could hear him, Saint's lips brushed over the shell of his ear, "Just one kiss and you're already possessive of me, sweetheart?"

"Oh fuck off," I'm trying to save your life.

Saint's laugh was rich, filled with that dangerous edge Roman had come to recognize. He turned his attention back to the woman, but there was a gleam in his eyes that told Roman he hadn't dismissed him entirely.

"You might want to consider moving along now, principessa," Saint muttered to the woman. "See, my boyfriend's not too happy with you sitting on my lap," his eyes were on Roman. "That's his spot."

The woman blinked. "Oh, I had no idea, I'm so sorry," she quickly apologized to Roman before scurrying back to wherever she came from.

With a deep scowl on his face, Roman growled. "Do not call me your boyfriend."

Saint's lips curled into a coy smile. "You sure acted like a jealous one, just now."

There was no point in arguing with him. Roman, straightened up and made an attempt to excuse himself. "I'm going back to the office to sort out some expenditure files," he mumbled to no one in particular, trying to regain some sense of control over the situation.

Nico, who had been quietly observing the exchange, shook his head. "No need for all that. I took care of it when you decided to take a 45 minutes bathroom break."

Oh. He didn't realize he'd gone for that long.

With his excuse shut down, Roman had no choice but to stay. He sat there, locked in a silent standoff with Saint.

"You said you wanted to talk," Saint prompted him. "So talk."

Realizing he couldn't bring up the surveillance room with Nico present, Roman shrugged. "Doesn't matter anymore."

Saint's eyes narrowed. "Alright then," his gaze lingered as he took a slow sip of his whiskey. "Since you made me turn down a potential fun night for no apparent reason, you'll have to entertain me for the night."

"Entertain you?" Roman's voice was edged with heat. "I didn't make you turn down anything, Saint. You just figured out she was not worth your time."

His gaze flickered briefly to the glass in Saint's hand before locking back onto his eyes. "And let's be clear—if I'm spending the night with you, it won't be for your entertainment. It'll be because no one else gets to have you."

Whiskey glass frozen halfway to his lips, Saint's mouth fell slightly open. Across the lounge, Nico shook his head making a conscious effort to appear as if he was minding his own business though the twitch on his lips gave him away. He looked the other way with a barely contained smirk, clearly amused by his brother getting his ass handed over for once.

Saint finally closed his mouth as he let out a short incredulous laugh. "Well, damn," he muttered, raising a glass and taking a slow sip, eyes still on Roman. "At least buy me dinner first, Father. I'm a virgin."

Roman groaned.