Chapter 41

As I noticed the bouncers near the VIP room eyeing the dancers, red flags went up. One of them, a heavily built man with a shaved head and a neck tattoo, whispered something into a small earpiece. With my curiosity piqued, I glanced over at Tannin, but she was busy shaking a cocktail and didn't notice the men's actions.

As I watched the men, the music switched back to a fast-paced tempo, and the bar's rhythm picked up again. Shrugging off the men, I turned to the row of taps behind me, pouring beers with the precision of a seasoned pro. As I was topping off the glasses, a hand slammed down onto the counter, interrupting my flow. I looked up to see a tall, well-dressed man with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes, and two penguins' flanking him, peering in my direction.

"That was quite a display," he stated, his voice a low rumble. His cologne circled around me, a heady mix of something intoxicating.

I nodded, placing the freshly poured beers down on the bartop, my smile never wavering. "Did you enjoy it?" I asked, stealing a quick glance in his direction.

The man nodded. "I did," he replied, his gaze lingering on the dancers as they retreated to the lounge. "I'm Lucien Dinelli, and these are my associates." He gestured to the bouncers, who remained stoic. "Your girls have quite the talent."

I nodded, putting on a false calmness. "They do their best to keep the place lively."

Lucien's gaze shifted to me, a smirk playing on his lips. "And what about you, Miss...?"

"Just call me Marlowe," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. "I do my best to keep the drinks flowing."

He leaned closer, his smile widening. "Marlowe," he repeated, seemingly tasting the name. "I've got a feeling you're going to make sure we have a very enjoyable evening." He slipped a crisp hundred-dollar bill into my cleavage, his fingertips lingering just a moment too long.

The touch sent a bolt of both fear and excitement through me. This was the kind of customer that could either make or break the night. "What can I get you, Mr. Dinelli?"

He studied the drink menu with a practiced eye, his gaze lingering over the top-shelf liquors. "I'll have a whiskey neat," he finally said, his eyes never leaving the list. "Make it the best you have."

I nodded and reached for the most expensive bottle of whiskey we had in stock, a twenty-five-year-old single malt that was reserved for special occasions and VIPs like him. Pouring it with care, I watched the amber liquid cascade into the crystal tumbler, creating a mesmerizing pattern as it coated the sides. The air grew electric with his expectancy, the silence between us as potent as the scent of the whiskey.

Handing the drink to him, I felt the heat of his hand as he wrapped his fingers around the glass. His gaze met mine, and for a brief moment, I saw something beyond the cold, calculating exterior—a spark of amusement, as if he enjoyed watching the effect he had on me. The smirk on his face grew as he took a sip, his eyes never leaving mine. He set the glass down with a thud, the sound echoing in the sudden stillness that had fallen around us.

"Excellent," he murmured, the word resonating through the bar like a declaration of victory. The tension in the room eased slightly, the music seeming to grow louder in response. "Now, tell me, Marlowe, what else does this place have to offer?"

I rattled off a list of our signature cocktails, trying to keep my voice steady despite the racing thoughts in my head. "We've got the Sweet Sin, the Blue Flame, the—"

He waved his hand, interrupting me. "No, no, not that." His eyes traveled around the bar, as if searching for something more substantial. "I'm looking for something... unique. Something that'll really get the party started."

The crowd grew restless, the energy shifting from excitement to anticipation. The air was thick with the scent of money and danger, a heady cocktail that made my palms sweat. I leaned in closer, my voice low. "How about the Dragon's Breath?"

His eyebrow arched, and he took another sip of his whiskey. "Intriguing," he said, his voice a seductive purr. "What's in it?"

"It's a special concoction," I replied, with a hint of mystery. "A blend of the hottest peppers and the smoothest tequila. It's not for the faint of heart."

He chuckled, the sound a deep, throaty rumble. "I've never been one to shy away from a challenge," he said, sliding the empty glass towards me. "Make it two, Marlowe."

I nodded and turned to gather the ingredients. The Dragon's Breath was a recipe I'd invented on a whim, never expecting to serve it to anyone. It was a risky move, but something about the way he looked at me, the way he spoke, told me he was used to getting what he wanted.

As I mixed the drinks, the heat from the peppers hit me, a sudden, sharp reminder of the power I held in my hands. I poured the vibrant green liquid into two tall, frosty glasses, each with a lime wedge on the rim. The bartop dance floor grew crowded, the music's tempo rising to match the excitement in the air.

When I slid the drinks back to him, his eyes lit up with amusement. "You're not going to try one?"

I met his gaze, a flirtatious smile playing on my lips. "I'm the designated bartender, Mr. Dinelli," I said, "but I'll make you a deal. If you and your friends can handle the heat, I'll join you for a round."

He took the glass, his fingers brushing against mine. "You're on," he said, his grin widening. He turned to his associates, passing one of the drinks to the bouncer with the neck tattoo.