A visit from the Don

Jack parked the car in The Parthenon's lot and smiled at Millia. "Ready?" he asked.

Millia nodded, her delicate fingers absently smoothing the folds of her chiton. The garment, once reaching her calves, now stopped just above her knees, revealing ivory thighs that seemed to glow in the evening light. The neckline had deepened too, showcasing the upper curves of her pert breasts—full and inviting, yet somehow managing to maintain an innocent appearance despite their obvious allure. Her golden hair cascaded down her back, framing her heart-shaped face and accentuating her wide, curious eyes.

Jack couldn't help but stare. Was he imagining things, or had Millia changed since they'd first met? Perhaps it was just his perception shifting as he became accustomed to her ethereal beauty.

As they entered The Parthenon, Jack spotted Liza at the far end of the bar, engaged in an animated conversation with a waitress. The platinum blonde's gaze shifted toward them, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly—just a fraction that vanished as quickly as it appeared. For a moment, Jack thought he saw something like fear flash across her features, but it was replaced by her usual haughty expression before he could be certain.

Liza's form-fitting blue dress clung to her curves like a second skin, showcasing her hourglass figure. The fabric hugged her ample breasts, pushing them up to create a dramatic cleavage that was impossible to ignore. The dress's hemline stopped mid-thigh, revealing shapely legs that ended in strappy high heels. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, framing a face that radiated power and confidence—or at least, it usually did.

"Ah, finally," Liza said as they approached. Her voice held its usual condescending tone, but the heat was missing—the fire that normally burned behind her words was reduced to smoldering embers. She extended her hand to Jack, but her eyes kept darting to Millia. "I was starting to worry you'd gotten lost on your way here, to the place you've worked at for the last decade. Nice to see you haven't fallen quite so far yet."

Jack shook his head, a sad smile playing across his lips. "What... is that supposed to mean, Jack?" Liza asked, her eyes narrowing as she tried to meet his gaze. She attempted to look mad and pissed off, but she couldn't maintain the facade while pretending Millia wasn't standing right beside him.

"Was I given the power of invisibility without anyone telling me?" Millia asked, her head turning left and right as if searching for some hidden observer. Her voice carried a musical quality, each word spoken with perfect clarity and just a hint of amusement. "It would certainly be convenient for my work if I did."

Jack chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on Millia's shoulder. The contact sent a subtle warmth through him, a reminder of their bond. "No, don't worry, my dear," he said. "I think Liza just has some trouble coming to terms with being **** to act like a dog, humping your foot and begging for permission to cum. I can't imagine how humiliating that must have been for her, the woman who prides herself on being in charge of everyone." He glanced at Liza, whose face had flushed a deep red, the embarrassment and shame written plainly across her features. "And, not to forget, being **** to crawl on the table and kiss your feet, worshiping you like a **** to a goddess."

Millia giggled, the sound like tinkling bells—sweet and innocent yet somehow slightly wicked at the same time. "Oh," she said, "Is that what happened? From my end it looked like she quite enjoyed it, seeing as she begged us to stay and allow her to keep humping my toes. No? Am I wrong, Liza?"

Jack watched as Liza's face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, the humiliation and shame so potent it seemed to hang in the air between them. The blonde woman's breathing had quickened, her breasts rising and falling with each labored breath as she struggled to maintain eye contact. "I did what I had to do in order to keep this place running smoothly," she mumbled, her usual ferocity absent from her voice.

As if on cue, the doors to the entrance burst open with excessive ****, causing the entire establishment to fall silent. A tall, broad-shouldered man in his early fifties entered, his presence commanding attention. He wore an immaculate suit—the fabric so shiny it looked liquid in the light—paired with a crisp white shirt and a black tie. His salt and pepper hair had been slicked back, the man's appearance suggesting he was ready for a high-society gala rather than a night at a bar.

Behind him, four other men entered. One looked like a bodyguard—built like a tank and radiating an aura of contained ****. The other three wore earpieces, their postures and gazes suggesting they were security personnel of some kind.

"Ah fuck, what is Marco Esposito doing here?" Liza whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "This... can't be good." But she squared her shoulders and moved toward the new arrivals, Jack and Millia following closely behind.

"Mr. Esposito, welcome to the Parthenon," Liza said, extending her hand. The silver-haired man glanced at her offered hand, then back to her face, his expression unreadable. With a dismissive snort, he grasped her hand but instead of shaking it, he pulled her in close, wrapping his arm around her waist.

"Let's skip the foreplay, shall we, Liza?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll be out of your hair momentarily, just as soon as you've told me where the fuck my daughter has gotten to."

Liza struggled against his grip, but it was like trying to escape from steel bands. "Your... daughter?" she managed to ask. "I... I don't know what you're talking about." Her eyes flickered to Jack, silently pleading for intervention.

"Don't play dumb," Esposito growled, pulling her even closer. "The last place she was spotted was here, and I know you're not stupid enough not to have eyes on her. Now, tell me where my Nicoletta is, or I'm going to burn this place to the ground."

Jack could feel the tension coiling in Liza's body, see the panic rising in her eyes. She was losing control of the situation rapidly, and everyone in the bar could sense it. This wasn't how she operated—she was the one in charge, the woman who called the shots. But right now, she was at the mercy of a man who looked more than capable of carrying out his threat.

"Or do you mean to tell me that my daughter was here, but you didn't bother keeping eyes on her?" Esposito asked, his grip on her waist tightening until Liza winced audibly.

"She's a grown woman, Marco," Liza said, desperation creeping into her voice. "I'm sure she's just found some handsome stud to-"

Aaaand that was Jack's signal. He stepped forward, placing a hand on Esposito's arm. "I think my boss said she didn't know where your daughter is," he said calmly. "So why don't you take your hand off of her and give her some room to breathe, Mr. Esposito."