Chapter 1
After inviting a colleague for drinks, I nervously realize my card is about to get declined. Out of options, I walk straight up to the guy lounging in the VIP booth and say:
"Hey, mind covering my tab? I'll pay you back later."
He gives me a cold, indifferent look. "Do I EVEN know you?"
Without missing a beat, I snatch the glass right out of his hand.
"Nope. But why don't you ask your bodyguard how many times he's had to call me to clean up your mess?"
At his confused expression, I raise an eyebrow.
"You owe me a favor. Several, actually."
The man – Luigi – looks genuinely baffled. But beside him, his bodyguard Fabiano is already covering his face with one hand.
"Boss… it's true," Fabiano admits reluctantly. "Every time you get blackout drunk, you won't let anyone near you. Except her. I've had to call Remi more than once just to get you home safely."
All his friends in the booth practically perked up, ears wide open.
"No way. When Maggiore's drunk, isn't he, like, 'approach and die'? How's there an exception?"
"I remember that one time he was hammered, and I tried to help him to his room. The guy literally snapped my arm in half."
"Same. Everyone knows drunk Luigi is basically Satan 2.0 — anyone gets too close, they're done. But back then I was young and dumb, so I decided to get him wasted just to test it. Ended up with so many broken bones I was in the hospital for two months."
"The doctor said it's his self-defense mechanism on steroids. When he's blackout, he doesn't trust a soul, so he just instinctively attacks anyone who gets near. So what's so special about this chick that she's the only one he trusts when he's wasted?"
"I don't buy it. Unless she gives us a live demo."
I raised an eyebrow and pulled out my phone, Venmo QR code ready. "Fine. Venmo me five hundred bucks, and I'll give you a show."
Sure enough, someone actually pulled out their phone and sent the money.
Ding. The sweet sound of cash hitting my account.
I tilted my head toward the register. "I'll go settle my tab first. Get him drunk, then come find me."
The whole booth exploded into whistles and shouts.
Only one person wasn't laughing. Luigi Maggiore, sitting there with narrowed eyes, watching me like I was a problem he hadn't figured out how to solve yet.
Like I was scared. Please. I've seen the man at his absolute worst.
I literally have photos on my phone of him hugging a toilet to sleep.
Oh yeah. Look at him now — all elegant and composed in that VIP booth, looking like some classy magazine cover. But in front of me? That image has been long gone.
I went to the front, paid my bill, and said goodbye to my colleagues. They headed home, and I turned right back around toward the booth.
Hey, I got paid five hundred bucks. Gotta give the people what they want.
Turns out, Luigi's friends had already been working hard trying to get him drunk. But he wasn't drinking.
Instead, he grabbed my wrist, pulled me straight out of there, and shoved me into his ridiculously expensive Maybach.
Slamming the door shut with a heavy thud.
Like a shaken soda bottle finally popping its cap.
I touched my nose.
"Hey, don't look at me. It's not my fault you only trust me when you're blackout. Trust me, I find it just as annoying."
