Chapter 1

Chapter One

T he smell of smoke fills the room, the lights dim and the music loud. Every man's fantasy can be found within these four walls. We make sure there's a flavour to satisfy every kind of appetite. Our dancers come in all shapes and sizes.

Tonight, I can't help but be disinterested in the product. I glance at my brothers. Gio and Santo are both showing the same indifference.

Gio, the eldest out of the five of us, sports that look permanently. I wouldn't be surprised if he came straight out of the womb with a scowl on his face. My big brother has spent his entire life being groomed to take over the family business, just as soon as our old man fucking dies. Which, in my humble opinion, couldn't come soon enough. Gio bears the brunt of the stress. I guess that's probably the reason he comes across as the world's biggest asshole most times.

I wouldn't be lining up to take over the De Bellis empire anytime soon. That's for damn sure. Our father and his father before him built this world we live in. It's full of nothing but blood, filth, death. Oh, and bucketloads of fucking money. Which is why we all do it, right?

I'm convinced somewhere along the way, the old man made a deal with a witch and now our bloodline is cursed for eternity. I don't see any of us getting a happily ever after. Our world isn't a place for women. Well, not the nice kind. Not the type of girls you'd want to spend the rest of your life with.

Santo, the second in line to the throne so to speak, is the reason we're here tonight. Tomorrow is his wedding day. He's marrying his childhood sweetheart. It's supposed to be his one night to let loose. He's meant to be enjoying his last day of freedom.

I can tell he's counting down the hours until he gets to see Shelli, though. Guy doesn't give a shit about the ass handed to him on a silver fucking platter in this club. I gave up warning him about the curse years ago. My gut is telling me this whole wedding thing is going to blow up in our faces, but I'm not about to try to stop it.

I mean, who knows? Santo and Shelli might just be the ones to break the curse.

"You haven't so much as glanced at all the tits and ass on the stage right now. If this expensive wedding bullshit has made you too broke to afford a lap dance, bro, I got you. My shout. Fuck, take one to the back room for a happy ending," I direct to Santo, pulling out my wallet and throwing four large bills onto the table.

"Put your cash away. Unlike you fuckers, I don't need to pay for pussy. And why would I want this , when I have Shelli waiting for me back at the hotel?" Santo counters.

"Ah, because it's your last night as a free man. And what the fuck do you mean she's waiting for you at the hotel? It's bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding, bro," Vin reminds him.

Vin is the baby of the family. Kid's seventeen, in his final year of high school. And the only reason he's sitting in our club right now—so clearly underage—is because of his last name. That and the fact we own the joint.

"She sent me a text and said she had something important to talk about. Told her I'd stop by her room when we got back." Santo shrugs.

A waitress wearing nothing but a thin black thong and sky-high heels approaches the table with a new bottle of whiskey before refilling each of our glasses. "Sweetheart, my brother here is getting hitched tomorrow. Help me convince him he should have one last hurrah," I tell her.

"Married, huh? Well, if I knew that, I would have brought out the good stuff. But he's right. You definitely need to have a little fun before you tie the knot." The girl then manoeuvres around to my brother. Leaning forward and pressing her bare tits into his face as she whispers something into his ear.

Santo doesn't bite, though. He simply shakes his head and gently pushes her back a step. I wonder if Shelli knows just how fucking lucky she is. My brother is as loyal as they come.

"You know, I'm getting married too," Gabe chimes in, and we all look at him. "What? I am. One day, when I find a girl worthy of keeping my balls in her purse." He smirks and pushes to his feet. "Come on, babe. You can show me all the filthy things you just offered to do to him. The difference is… I'll actually enjoy them." He takes the girl's hand and disappears with her through the crowd.

At least one of us is going to enjoy the night. I pick up my tumbler of whiskey and down it in one go. "I'm out. Catch all you fuckers in the morning," I tell my brothers as I push up from my seat.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Gio grunts at me.

"Somewhere else." I shrug. I don't tell him that this place is about as exciting as watching paint dry. I don't need the questions that would follow. I'm sure each and every one of my brothers would love to know what's going on in my head.

Strippers have never done it for me. Personally, I don't see the appeal. I used to wonder if I was broken. I've watched guy after guy get aroused the moment they step foot in one of our clubs.

Me? I've never had so much as a twitch while watching these women dance. I've faked interest enough times, flirted and put on a good show, but I've never fucked any of ?em. It's not that I don't love women. I do. I really fucking do. I just have standards. I'm picky when it comes to where I stick my dick.

I push out of the club doors. Turn and walk down the street. There's a small bar a few blocks up that serves Cinque. If I'm going to be drinking tonight, I only want the best. And the shit my brothers and I blend is the best damn whiskey you'll ever taste.

It's the one and only business that's ours through and through. Our father has nothing to do with it. I guess that's what drove all of us to make it the success it is. The old man laughed in our faces when we brought up the idea of investing in a distillery. And then, when he discovered what we were on to, he tried to push his way in. Take the reins.

Thankfully, that didn't happen. Don't get me wrong, the old fuck is one hell of a businessman. No one gets where he is without knowing what they're doing. The problem with him, though, is that he turns everything dirty.

De Bellis Cinque is clean, and my brothers and I plan to keep it that way. Not that any of us are on the path to a straight and narrow life. This business is just our one outlier. A passion project that doesn't need to be tainted by our father and his associates.

The first drops of rain hit me as I push through the door of the bar. Fucking Melbourne weather. One minute you're sweating your ass off, and the next you need a fucking coat to stave off the chill. It's unpredictable. But I wouldn't move from this city for anything in the world. I fucking love it here.

Being one of the five princes of the underground doesn't hurt either. There isn't anything or anyone I can't have in this city. If I want it, I'm going to get it and usually with ease. It's one of the perks of bearing my last name.

I drop into one of the stools at the end of the counter and the barman gives me a nod of acknowledgement before he picks up a Cinque bottle, bringing it and a glass over and placing them in front of me.

"Marcel, thought you'd be busy with your brothers tonight," Brian says.

"They're boring, so I came here. Thought I'd let you entertain me for a bit, B." I smirk at him.

I've been coming here since before I was legally old enough to drink. Brian is an old associate of my father's. How that man has any friends I'll never know. The fact everyone is scared of the asshole is more than likely what keeps people in his corner. Better the devil you know and all that.

"It's busy," I comment while my eyes bounce around the usually quiet bar.

"Yeah, some asshole posted one of those video things you kids are all obsessed with and now these young idiots keep flooding in," Brian grunts with a shake of his head.

I laugh. "You went viral, mate. Most people would kill to have that sort of attention on their business."

"Yeah, I'm not most people." Brian walks off to serve another customer.

Picking up the bottle of Cinque, I pour myself a healthy serving in the crystal tumbler. Whiskey like ours should be savoured. Sipped. Usually. Tonight, I down the entire contents before refilling my glass again.

I need a buzz, something to distract me from the sense of imminent doom I've got going on in my gut. Something real shitty is about to happen. I don't know what it is. I guess I'll find out when it happens.

I'm on my fourth glass when my gaze sweeps to the door just as it opens and a woman walks in looking like a deer caught in the headlights. I chuckle before I can stop myself. The guys in here are going to eat her alive. Although, judging by the look on her face which tells me she's contemplating walking straight back out the door, I think she knows that.

Long blonde hair hangs down to her waist, damp from the downpour that's going on outside. Thick, pouty lips painted red—bet they'd feel fucking amazing wrapped around my dick.

Speaking of, he's finally woken up and paying attention, thanks to the woman who just walked in. I told you I had a type, and she's it. She's tiny. There's not much of her, and I imagine if I were standing next to her, I'd tower over her small frame.

I watch her like a hunter eyeing his prey as she tentatively approaches the bar. She's nervous, her hands twisting around the straps of her purse. Chanel, huh? Little trust-fund brat, no doubt. Brian notices her the moment she takes a seat and walks over. I can't hear what they're saying to each other. Which pisses me off. I need to get closer.

As soon as a cocktail glass filled with red liquid is placed in front of her, some asshole is already on her. I can see her discomfort as he crowds her space, trapping her between his body and the bar. I slide off my stool and walk over, my hands fisting at my sides.

"Hey, babe. Sorry I'm late." I wink at her before turning my attention to the fucker pushing himself against her chair. "Mind backing the fuck away from my girl?" I growl at him.

The guy's eyes widen as he steps aside with his hands up, then practically runs in the opposite direction.

I sit on the stool next to the woman as my lips curl into a smirk. "Like I was saying, sorry I'm late. I got held up at the office."