Blood spills from the guy’s face.

I can’t even believe I have to do this dirty work.

As Edison Shaw’s right-hand man, I should be above this sort of shit.

But for some reason, he wants this job done by me personally.

He always does that for the important work.

My entire life revolves around getting out from under the thumb of this guy...Edison Shaw, mob boss of the most dangerous organization in LA, New York, and all the major cities of the world.

My life in the mob started innocently enough.

I was in college, barely able to pay my bills. He found me working at an upscale restaurant. Edison approached me and asked me to do a couple of small things for him, deliver a package here, deliver a package there. I did the work and I asked no questions, and that was fucking stupid.

I was innocent back then, as innocent as a teenage boy can be.

I did the work and I never imagined I was secretly working for the biggest mob boss in town, or in the whole goddamn country.

The thing is, he paid me well…too well. I was swimming in money and happy about it. I’ve never had a dime my entire life, and suddenly I was a big player.

I punch the guy out and he’s begging for mercy.

“I’ll get the money to you soon. I promise,” he’s saying and crying all at the same time.

“This is your last warning, Bobby. You’ve jerked Edison around for too long, and now we’re fucking sick of it,” I say.

“I promise,” he stumbles over his words. “I’ll have it to you tomorrow.”

I look at him and take pity on the guy. I always do.

Then I look at my guys, Titus and James. I nod toward them and they know exactly what it means. I deliver one final punch to the guy’s face, and then they drag him off to an undisclosed location.

I wipe the blood off my hand with an Armani handkerchief and then get into my waiting limo.

Edison fucking Shaw.

Yes, I’ve been rolling in money from the time I was in college. I paid off my student loan debts in less than two weeks.

And then as soon as I graduated, Edison came down on me. He told me that I was never gonna get out of the mob. I’m in for life. And that I’m forever indebted to him. That’s what he said.

Little does he know that I have fucking strength, more strength and aptitude than he’s aware of.

Little does he know that I have a plan to get out.

I’ve been working hard to get to this point. I’ve made more money than I know what to do with. I’m a fucking billionaire, thanks to Edison and his dirty work.

But I’m also respected.

I have guys that are loyal to me and only me.

And this is going to be my way out.

I’m going to take over Edison—to kill him, if I have to. I’ll do whatever I fucking can to secure my freedom.

I deserve it.

I never asked for this life.

And now I know so much about the business that I can create my own organization, where we do things aboveboard.

I’m a master at making money, and I plan to make more of that.

The thing I’m not into is all the killing, all the blood, the violence, the prostitution rings, and the drug trafficking. None of these suits me.

And that’s why Edison has to go.

He thinks he can constrain me. He thinks he owns me.

But nobody owns Nathan Sharp.

I’m a force to be reckoned with.

I’m a force that Edison has underestimated.

I’m fucking good at my job, and I learned from the best, Edison himself. He doesn’t know that I’m gonna overtake him, and when I do, I’m gonna make him pay for every single crime he made me commit against my will.

The limousine winds its way through the Hollywood Hills. It’s as glamorous as ever here.

The only thing that offsets my regret over having to be involved in thug life, is the fact that I get to live in fucking Hollywood.

And what makes it even better is the fact that I have so much fucking money I can do whatever I want. I own this town.

I tell the driver, “On second thought, take me to Phantom.”

It’s a club I own.

I make it my mission to expand my portfolio and to make sure I have reasonable, legal investments all over the place. I own real estate, restaurants, clubs, stock, everything. I’m an entrepreneur born out of the mafia.

Edison created me, and now I’m gonna take him down.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun first.

The driver turns the car around and I watch the lights of the city flicker from the Hollywood Hills.

It’s all glitz and glam here. It always is. It’s a town full of people trying to make something of themselves. I was once that kind of person.

And now that I’m at the top, I realize it’s not so great. I’m missing something in my life, something unnamable.

There’s a permanent hole etched in my heart, and I don’t fucking know why, but I’m always trying to escape it.

I pour myself a heavy glass of scotch and take a sip as I watch the city glamour outside my window. Yeah, I’m on top of the fucking world, and I should be fucking grateful for it, right?

Well, if you had to commit crimes the way I do, maybe the top wouldn’t look so blindingly perfect.

The blood on my hands from the work I’ve had to do is always gonna be there. My conscience will never be clear.

Somehow, I ventured into this dark world of crime and money, and I’m desperate to fucking get out.

Maybe that’s the reason I have this unspoken dissatisfaction with life. Maybe it’s because I’ve gone to the dark side. I’m in so deep that there’s no way out. Nothing can ever appease my crime-weary soul.

I drink my scotch, but it does nothing to tame my reckless spirit.

I need something—anything to distract me from myself.

The limousine pulls up to the back entrance of the club. I’m nothing if not discreet.

I go inside the unmarked door to the VIP area. My guys know me here. Everyone does. And even as I speak, a stripper’s climbing on my lap.

“Hey, Bambi,” I say, peering at her huge fake tits, finding some sort of reprieve at this moment.

“Hey, baby, do you want your usual?”

“Yes,” I sigh heavily.

And then she gets down on her knees, unzips me, and starts sucking my twelve-inch cock.

I watch her lick and tease the tip of my cock like she always does. She peers up at me from under false lashes and I take a minute to just admire her beautiful fucking body.

“That’s good, baby,” I say, taking a fistful of her hair. “Suck it. Suck it fucking hard.”

She moans around me and it nearly sends me over the edge, but I wait. I always wait, making sure to extend the moment.

I force her head down upon my shaft and she tries and fails to take in all twelve inches. She gags and moans. I see that her eyes are watering, and that makes me even fucking harder, if you can imagine that.

I need to come, to spray my hot load all over her face. It will help me forget this dark day and all I had to do.

So I do.

She sucks my cock so fucking hard and I pull out just in time to explode all over her perfect face and tits.

“Good fucking girl,” I say as she laps up all the come she can.

I watch as she scoops it off her face. She sucks her fingers clean and I just fucking watch.

“That all tonight, baby?”

“Yeah, that’s all,” I say, zipping up.

She gets up, kisses me on the cheek, and returns to her VIP duties, dancing for the rich and famous.

I tell my guy Tommy to pay her a thousand bucks later. She’s not my whore, not a prostitute. And I don’t want to treat her like one, but she needs the fucking money. He won’t tell her who it’s from. But she’ll likely assume it’s me.

I’ve been fucking her for about a year.

It’s simple.

She doesn’t ask questions, and she doesn’t pry.

I need this kind of relationship, all surface. Because if I dare look into my own heart, I fear there will only be blackness. And that’s nothing to offer a woman.

I sit back and watch the scene unfold around me. Hollywood is full of debauchery.

Bambi’s dancing on some other guy’s lap.

People sit, doing coke around a table.

I am so fucking sick of everything.

Isn’t there a single ray of sunshine or hope in this cold world?

I’ve been hardened by crime, and there’s no going back.

Everything I once believed in is gone, and now, there’s only the shell of a man who’s seen too much.