Jackson double checked the address on the flier that Sam had given him. It was a church... or at least the building was a church... but the flier said that the name of the club was the Antichrist.
He thought it was hilarious and he liked it in that instant. But still... this was the right place right?
Wary and not wanting to step in on mass or something, he opened the door and nearly sighed with relief when instead of being presented with pews he saw dark floor, ceiling and walls, lights being tested, a bar set up and a few people milling about preparing the club.
"I'm here to see Tony Deluca," he said to one of the people passing by who pointed to the corner where a couple of tables were set up. A man sat there in a white shirt, dark jacket and dress trousers looking completely at home in the club setting. And he screamed mafioso. Being a bouncer in New York, he'd come to recognize the type even when they didn't have two scantily clad big chested women on each arm and men that would dwarf Jackson in size trailing behind them.
Striding forward confidently, Jackson held his hand out when he got closer to Tony. "Jackson Mercer," he said. But as he approached, he felt that now familiar sense of knowing. This time it was as strong as the one between Gin and Keiran but different again. Gin it was warm and full of desire, with Keiran it was warm and brotherly, with Tony it was... distant, respectful and oddly filled with a glee he only felt when he was wading into a fight and bashing some heads in.