Mafia - Darvis Legacy

The night was still wet with blood when Darvis stepped out of the car.

His suit was immaculate—dark wool, crisp lines, not a single crease to suggest the violence that had unfolded an hour ago. The same could not be said for his knuckles, which ached dully beneath his leather gloves, or for the memory behind his eyes, which still flickered with the image of a man begging.

He didn't think about it. He never did.

The bar's neon sign buzzed overhead, casting the narrow street in shades of blue and pink. Darvis tilted his head, reading the name—The Velvet Noose—and something that might have been amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. Fitting. He'd just put a noose around half a dozen throats tonight. A drink felt earned.

His men fanned out behind him as he approached the door—two flanking, one checking the perimeter, the rest melting into the shadows like they'd never been there at all. The bouncer took one look at Darvis's face and stepped aside without a word.

Inside, the air was thick with perfume and desire. The lighting was low, amber, designed to hide imperfections and soften edges. A long bar ran along one wall, and a stage stretched across the back where models moved in slow, deliberate rhythms, their bodies glittering under the lights. The crowd was a mix of regulars and strangers, wealth and want, all of them chasing something they probably wouldn't find.

Darvis didn't look at any of them.

The manager appeared within seconds—a nervous man with a practiced smile and sweat beading on his upper lip. He recognized Darvis immediately. Everyone did.

"The VIP room is ready for you, sir. I can send in our best—"

"Quiet." Darvis waved a hand, cutting him off. He didn't need the man's chatter. Didn't need the fawning or the fear or the frantic attempts to please. He needed a drink and he needed silence. Maybe something else. He hadn't decided yet.

The manager led him to the back, through a velvet curtain, into a room that was more luxurious than the rest of the bar but still couldn't hide the cheapness beneath the gloss. Darvis sat in the center of a curved leather booth, one leg crossing over the other, arm spreading across the back of the seat. His head rested against his propped hand. His gaze drifted toward the door.

"Send in the models," he said. Not a request.

The manager nodded, tripping over himself to obey.

Minutes later, the door opened again, and a line of men filed in. They were beautiful—all of them—each one sculpted and styled and painted to catch the eye. Darvis's gaze swept over them with the same detachment he might give a display of wine he had no intention of drinking.

Too polished. Too eager. Too much.

Then his eyes reached the end of the line.

And stopped.

There was something different about this one. Not just the way he held himself—though that was part of it, a stiffness that suggested discomfort under the revealing costume, a tension in his jaw that spoke of necessity rather than desire. It was his eyes, a flicker of something Darvis hadn't seen in a long time.

Not fear. Not desire. Not ambition.

Survival.

Darvis's finger lifted from the armrest, pointing toward the end of the line.

"I want him."

His voice was low, unhurried, carrying the weight of a man who was never refused. He didn't look at the other models. Didn't acknowledge their existence beyond a slight wave of his hand.

"The rest... send them away."

His gaze never left the man at the end of the line. The one with the uncomfortable posture and the air of someone who didn't belong here but had nowhere else to go.

Darvis watched him as the room emptied. Watched as the door closed. Watched as the air between them grew thick with unspoken things.

"Sit," Darvis said, nodding to the space beside him in the booth. "And tell me your name."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey that had appeared on the table—he hadn't seen anyone place it there, but he never did—and poured two glasses. One slid across the polished wood toward the empty seat.

Darvis lifted his own glass, the amber liquid catching the low light, and waited.