Chapter 3: Hades

“Never force the physical; instead infect your targets with heat, lure them into lust. Morality, judgement, and concern for the future will all melt away.” -Robert Greene

"Ummm, Mr. Velimir, I think I've found something that might interest you." My account timid voice states over the phone.

"What's going on, Martha?" I ask, trying to sound calm and collected when internally I am anything but every plan I've made this week has failed.

"It's hard to explain over the phone, Mr. Velimir. I think it would be best if I bring the paperwork to your office or if you come out here." Martha replied.

I bounced my baseball off my closed office door, deciding if I'd let Martha, who'd been trying so hard all month to get me to notice her, into my office, or if I'd invade her space with my presence. The ball bounced back and forth from my palm to the door multiple times before deciding.

It had been too long since I'd given in to my sensual pleasures, and if Martha asked nicely, I'd let her partake.

"Come here," I replied, cutting the call and sending a quick text to my assistant to not interrupt me for the next hour.

I take off my stuffy suit jacket and loosen my tie before unclasping my long sleeve shirt and pushing the sleeves up. I am Hades James Velimir, owner of Velimir Enterprises, heir to the Velimir fortune. I am an upstanding citizen with a perfect track record. I manage several small businesses throughout the state and am the founder of several charities, but that man, the one the world is allowed to see, he's just a front.

In reality, I am Hades James Velimir, heir to the Velimir Kingdom. I own the town of Genesis and the smaller towns surrounding it. I run the gun and drug trade, and I have my hand in the pornography business. If this deal goes down tonight, I'll have more than a hand in the business; I'll be running that. I didn't stumble into this trade; I was born into it.

My great grandfather started the business here when he and his men left their country and came to America. Our last name Velimir means the one who is great at maintaining peace, and my great grandfather maintained the peace. He pushed out the multitude of gangs in Genesis, and he took over the territory, building his business from the ground up. Without rival gangs shooting up the area and fighting over turf, there's been peace in Genesis, and my great grandfather thought he'd succeed in his mission.

But Great Granddad forgot one very important rule; he wasn't some small-town gangster. He was a Velimir; when his older brother Henry passed, the family came looking to Great Granddad for advice, and that's how the mafia moved into Genesis. And with the mafia, there can never be peace.

I pour myself a glass of whiskey on the rocks while I reminiscence my family history on what it means to take over the family business. Dad's dying; he wants me to be his successor, but he's given me a task to complete first; takedown the Brutt family. It's something I once thought impossible. The Brutt's were an impenetrable force; they didn't have a weakness; at least that was the case, but Teddy went out and got himself a little family; he opened himself up to vulnerability. Now I had the perfect plan to take him down, a plan that involved his sexy little stepdaughter.

'Err Hmm." Martha clears her throat as she enters my office, stirring me from my thoughts.

"Please, sit down." I smile down at Martha, laying on my best playboy charm.

"Thank you, Mr. Velimir."

"Please call me Hades; Mr. Velimir sounds so formal."

Martha's cheeks blush red as she fans herself with the manila folder she's brought in.

"May I?" I ask as I leave my drink on the windowsill and walk toward my desk, standing directly behind Martha, my hand just barely grazing hers as I reach for the folder.

"Y..Y...Yes." Martha replies as her breath hitches.

Instead of going to my normal seat on the opposite side of Martha, I take the seat beside her, sitting so close to her that I can feel the heat radiating off of her skin. I open the manilla folder and peer inside. I can tell from a glimpse that it's a bookkeeping record, but I can't tell what it means, just that the numbers through the last quarter have dropped drastically.

"What's this?" I ask; all the previous playfulness gone from my tone.

"It…it... it's the records for Chesters." Martha finally manages to spit out.

"Okay..and?" I ask, trying to contain my temper; it wasn't poor Martha's fault. I was sexually frustrated and now had yet another thing I needed to fix before I could release my frustration.

"The profits… they're dropping drastically. Compared to the third quarter last year, they're down by nearly fifty grand." She whispers out quickly, visibly cringing as she gives me this information.

Fifty fucking grand. Who the fuck does Mickey St. Thomas think he is. I get everyone wants to make some profit, but fifty fucking grand in one quarter. Either Mickey has a death wish, or he is that incompetent; either way, it looks like I'll be visiting Chesters tonight. Maybe Sonya will be working; she's always down.

"Leave." I manage to growl out to Martha before standing up and heading back over to grab my whiskey.

"Sir?" Martha questions the confusion evident on her face.

"Leave," I repeat, not caring if I sound like an ass; it's best if Martha stays away from me anyways.

"Uh, is there anything I can do.. to errr… help you?" Martha asks as she stands, her eyes tracing every inch of my body.

"Unless you want me to bend you over my desk and fuck you until you can't walk, I suggest you leave now," I growl out, not caring about keeping up my friendly, easy-going multimillionaire persona.

Martha bites her bottom lip as if she's considering my suggestion before she slowly nods her head in agreement.

"I won't be easy, and it will mean absolutely nothing. You'll still be my employee at the end of it, and I'll still be your boss. That will be the extent of our relationship." I reply, not wanting the poor girl to leave here with a big romantic notion in her mind that isn't true.

Martha hesitates for a second too long, and I no longer feel the want to use her body to quench my thirst.

"Leave," I state again for the last and final time. "I agree." She replies too late.

I'm not in the business of repeating myself, so I ignore her as I grab sling back the rest of my whiskey, setting the glass on my desk as I swoop up the manilla folder and walk out the door past Martha. "Please lock up on your way out, Miss O'Neil." I holler over my shoulder, walking out toward my secretary's desk.

"Ruby." I smile down at the busty blond who started just last week.

"Yes, Mr. Velimir," She comes leaning forward and slyly tries to push her bust closer together as she does so.

"I'm leaving for today; cancel all my meetings and forward all my calls to my voicemail. Oh, and send an email to payroll ask them to increase Martha O'Neil's salary by twenty-five grand."

Ruby's jaw drops, and her eyes widen. I'm a generous man; if you help me, I'll help you. A twenty-five grand increase was nothing when Martha saved me from another fifty thousand dollar loss.

"Ruby darling, I think I see some drool." I joke smilingly, gently trying to ease her out of her shock.

"Oh, so sorry, Mr. Velimir. I'll… I'll get right on that." She replies.

"Thank you, Ruby," I replied, walking out of my office, my business persona turning off as I jumped into my Mazaratti and headed home to change.

**********************************************************

"Boss Man." Mickey shouts, a smile plastered on his face as he greets me at the club entrance, "What are you doing here?" He asks, surprised to see me as he throws an arm over my shoulder like we're old chums.

"Move your arm, or I'll have it removed," I growl.

"No need to be like that old buddy." He laughs but removes his arm without hesitation.

I glare at him, but Mickey doesn't seem to care.

"You're in for a treat tonight. It's audition night, and these girls that I have lined up are edible." He purrs as he adjusts himself.

I cringe at the sight of him. He's disgusting; why did I hire him as the manager of this establishment. I take in the crowd, and I'm reminded of why I chose Mickey. He fits in with this crowd; he blends in, making it easier for the strip joint to be a front for our drug business.

"We need to talk business, Mickey," I state, my facial expression blank

"It'll have to be after tryouts," Mickey replies, not bothering to look at me as the lights dim and the first girl walks out onto the stage.

I want to force Mickey to the back room so we can discuss his skimming of profits, but there are too many people around. It'll cause too much attention, and with the current exchange I witnessed in the back room, I couldn't afford for a commotion to break out. Instead, I decide to sit back and watch the girls perform. They're also an aspect of the business. The first girl's performance is your typical stripper performance. She's fresh out of school, and I can tell by the far-off look in her eyes that she's high. Her body is tight, though, and she has curves in the right places, and she knows how to work her body. I take her file from Mickey and take a picture of it. This girl will only last so long in the stripper industry until her coke habit becomes too expensive. If that deal goes through, I'll offer her a position in the porn business. Case, my second, should be texting at any minute to let me know how the deal went.

It's the second girl who piques my interest. There's something vaguely familiar about her, and she isn't dressed like the other girls. She has on baggy sweats, a baggy sweatshirt, and a cute little headband. If it weren't for her makeup and heels, I would think she wandered into the wrong place. As she walks across the stage, she drags a little chair out with her setting it center. She nods her head to the DJ, and he starts her music. It's a classical tune, and my lip curls slightly as I recognize the sonnet. She's dancing to Mozart. She takes a seat showing her back to us as she straddles the chair. The tune starts slow, and one can tell by the form she holds her arms in as she gently grabs the hem of her sweater and playfully tugs it upward that she's been professionally trained. Her body glides to the beauty of the music. Beside me, Mickey looks like he's bored and ready to pass out, but the beauty of her dance entraps me. As the pace of the music starts to pick up, the dancer's moves become wider and more enhanced, slightly vulgar. She's dropped her sweater back down as her legs spread wide open. She throws her left leg back and then swings her right forward, spinning in the chair until she's facing us. Her face is cast downward, so I still can't make out who she is or why she feels familiar, but I am eager to find out. Her folder is the next on the stack in front of Mickey, but if I look at the folder now, I'll miss her performance. When the sonnet reaches its crescendo, the dancer finally reveals her secrets. She knocked the chair onto the floor, and with the same movement, she stripped off her sweatpants. Fuck. Her legs, her ass, her thighs. Her everything. And then she loses her top, and I'm undone. Her body is a work of art. It's as if Michelangelo hand-sculpted her himself. Her outfit, dance, and the way she gently glided across the stage, wrapping her body around the pole, was pure seduction. It was an art form that only she knew.

When the music ends, the dancer finally looks up. Her emerald eyes meet my blue, and I can't help but smile. It looks like my luck is finally turning around.