Chapter One

Rea

My exposed skin glimmered with sweat under the stage lights as I scooped up my ones and fives. Collecting pay is an art; bend at the waist, perky ass in the air. Make sure to draw attention to the way my naked breasts move with my body. Another tantalizing glimpse, my nipples swaying ever-so-close to eye level… then a graceful stand and a flirty wink over my shoulder, and I’m gone.

I was a lot of things, and a damn good stripper was definitely high on the list.

Cold was also on the list the moment I stepped out of the lights. There was always a clear line just past the curtain where the heat of the room stopped reaching and the sweat turned to ice on my skin, a reprieve from the high temperatures for a few moments that quickly turned uncomfortable. I sidestepped the next girl with practiced ease and rushed to the locker room, shivering.

“Ugh,” I grunted, dropping my discarded clothing on a chair. The locker room was far toastier, warmed by a little space heater one of the girls had brought in before I started dancing here.

“I know, right?” Cleo sighed, busy wiping her chest clean of her last client. “I just came out of the Rose Room and trust me, it’s fucking freezing. At least it keeps my nips hard.”

I laughed. “Oh, so that’s why they do it,” I joked.

“Nah, they’re just being stingy with the heating bill,” Cleo grinned back. I pressed my finger to the padlock on my lock box—I’d sprung for one of the fancy fingerprint identification ones when I first started—and waited impatiently for the little blue light. Everyone knew not to count money backstage, but that didn’t mean I had to leave it where anyone could get to it.

“You done for the night?”

“Yeah,” I answered, pulling out a makeup wipe. “I don’t like leaving after a stage dance, but that’s just how the cookie crumbled tonight. What about you?”

Cleo shrugged. “I could leave now, but it’s been a good night for me. I’m thinking of staying another hour or so, see if I can’t sell another VIP room before calling it.”

“Got something you’re saving up for?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about laser. I’m so tired of waxing.”

“Damn. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Yeah, but they’d have to zap my butthole to make it happen,” Cleo whined, pouting dramatically. I smirked.

“Oh? And here I thought you were into butt stuff.”

“I told you that in confidence!” Cleo gasped.

“You told the whole locker room. At the top of your lungs.”

“Melanie said anal was gross! What was I supposed to do, let that kind of misinformation stand?”

“O-kay, not sure what I walked into here,” Cici said, strutting in, “but there’s a customer waiting for Flora in the Dahlia Room. Bartender sent me back to tell you.” I pouted at hearing my stage name.

“Did he ask for me specifically?” I asked, hoping for a way out of the dance. I already had my flip-flops on for fuck’s sake.

“Yep,” Cici said, stooping down to her own locker. She was insanely tall, and that was without the heels. “Curtis looked pretty frantic about it too, so whoever it is must have some power. The kind of guy you don’t question, you know?”

“Fuck. Alright, fine. He’s going to have to wait for me to put my makeup back on though.”

“Think he’s one of the mafia guys?” Cleo asked. I shrugged.

“I don’t care who he is, but he’d better pay me real damn well to make up for keeping me here. Blue or black?”

“I hope he does, babydoll,” Cleo said, pointing at the bright navy lingerie in my left hand. It was one of those strappy monstrosities that was weird to get into, but looked damn good on and was easy to get off. It would take a second to get the “bra cup”, aka the wide horizontal strap that stretched over my breasts, to cover my nipples just right but otherwise it was a swift, easy outfit. Criss cross some blue ribbon up my legs and throw a men’s button-up over it and bam, good enough for a last-minute dance. Even though a dance was all this guy was getting. I didn’t feel like serving it up when I should be going home.

Cici shut her locker and headed back out to the floor, while Cleo grabbed some baby wipes and took it upon herself to freshen me up while I reapplied my makeup. Private dances were so close-quarters, and nothing was a bigger turn off than a smelly stripper.

“Thanks babe,” I said, spreading my legs obediently so Cleo could get the creases of my thighs.

“Well apparently this guy shouldn’t be kept waiting, and I like your head attached, so…” I snorted, fanning my face so the primer would dry faster. I didn’t have time for a fully made-up face but I could do concealer, foundation, a little bit of contouring…I’d skip the eyeshadow and just go for an exaggerated winged liner. That plus fake lashes should be enough, as long as I went for a bold lip.

“If it’s that fucking tank top guy again…” I huffed, letting the open threat hang in the air.

“Ugh, yeah, him,” Cleo said, crunching her nose up like she’d smelled something foul. “I guess we are due for another visit from him. Though if we’re lucky, maybe he finally got caught.”

“A woman can dream,” I sighed. Honestly, he was the worst kind of guy. Always demanded our services while sneering down his nose at us, pretending he was somebody oh-so-important like his Rolex wasn’t knock-off. He was stingy as shit with his money too. “You know he wanted to fuck me for a twenty?” Cleo’s reaction was a barked out disbelieving laugh.

“And that $20 bill was probably the most he’s ever brought in at one time. Boy’s coming into a steakhouse on a McDonald’s budget. There, you’re good. Need anything else?”

“Don’t think so, but thanks. You know you’re a lifesaver, right?”

Cleo waved me off. “Bring me a supreme crunch wrap and I’ll call it even.” Cleo tapped my ass the way some people patted a horse’s flank after a good run, moving past me. “Hope he doesn’t keep you too long. I gotta get back out there.”

“Make your money,” I said, pulling out my lash glue. “I’m almost done anyway.” The two of us made kissy noises at each other, and then I was left alone for my finishing touches. It didn’t take long before I was sauntering up the steps to the VIP rooms, an orange tik-tak filling my mouth with its sugary flavor. The sleek glass staircase was fully visible to those below but once I slid behind the thick curtain I was out of sight. Normally I’d take just a second to center myself but I couldn’t tonight. I beelined for the third door on the right, carved with an intricate art-deco scene of a dahlia, and knocked.

“Hello” I cooed, hiding my body a little behind the door as I opened it for that extra tease, “I heard someone asked for me specifically.”

But my flirty smile was without an audience. The Dahlia Room was dark and silent like it hadn’t seen a soul all night, and I frowned. Was he finishing off his drink downstairs or something? I looked to the end of the hallway where a security guard loomed on his stool, gesturing in silent confusion. The large man just shrugged and waved me in, as if to say, ‘what can you do?’

It was fine. I just had to get the room ready and be waiting for him—I could lounge on the circular stage with my legs dangling just right to exude seduction, make him feel all special to see me all laid out just for him. I heaved a sigh. Staying behind for a dance was aggravating, sure, but this mystery man had me rushing in the locker room and he wasn’t even here. Entitled fucking prick. I reached my hand out along the wall to find the light switch, already thinking about my nice cool sheets back at home—

Maybe if I’d been paying a bit more attention to the moment I would have sensed the shift of movement in the air. Maybe I would have heard the rustle of clothing or something and pulled my hand back before it could be caught. But realistically he’d just moved too fast. I’d have been a sitting duck no matter what.

The breath was pushed out of me with a soft ‘oof’, my front cold and my back hot, and it all happened so fast even the adrenaline felt delayed. I’d just been standing in the doorway and now—I realized someone had caught my wrist in an iron grip and used it to pull me into the room, slamming the door behind us and pressing my face into the smooth wood with a brutal efficiency. I was trapped between the cold lacquered wood and a firm, warm body. And I didn’t even know how I’d gotten there.

I gasped as fear zipped through my whole system in a microsecond, instinctively getting ready to scream before a large hand clamped over my mouth without mercy. With long fighter’s fingers putting pressure on the curve of my jaw I couldn’t get my mouth open. I screamed anyway, but it was muffled by my own lips and the assailant’s rough hand.

I squirmed. I kicked back at his shins and slammed my platform heel down with enough strength to break his foot, but his foot wasn’t where I thought it would be. I kicked at the door for the security guard and threw my head back in the hopes of headbutting this bastard in the mouth. Primarily I wanted to get away, but some little part of me said I should make it hurt.

“Shut-” a deep voice rumbled in my ear, “-up.”

I froze. I knew that voice.

Now, hearing the voice of a childhood best friend in a moment like this would comfort most people. Maybe the wave of nostalgia brought back by just two measly words would override the near decade of silence, maybe the pinky promises in third grade and the first awkward jaunt around the dance floor at the junior high homecoming dance would make most people catch their breath with forgotten happiness. And, for a moment, it did the same thing to me. He was the boy who had given me my very first nickname and chased me around with a worm until I tripped and skinned my hands and knees. I’d made him wear matching Barbie bandaids all week in forced solidarity.

But most people hadn’t grown up with Andrea Marino.

I had, and I knew him far, far too well to think this was going to be anything other than an explosion. It always was when he didn’t get his way, and he’d always been a possessive man. When he felt wronged he would wrong the person back ten times over and still hold a grudge, and there wasn’t a single damn thing in my life I was willing to lose.

Images of my apartment flashed through my mind, all the little changes we’d made there to turn it into a home. The pictures on the walls, the renter’s wallpaper in the bathroom, the nice cabinet pulls we had replaced the standard ones with. The look on mom’s face when I gave her the master bedroom. How much she’d cried, as if that wasn’t the absolute minimum she deserved after all she did for me. The second Andy found out about Richard, he’d snatch it all away from us, and I couldn’t let that happen.

By the time he turned me around I’d hid my dread with a poker face honed over years of sex work, because like hell I was going to give him anything to dig his claws into. Not after the way he left. I should have thrown that plate at his fucking head.

Sure enough, there he was. His face was more defined, his bearing more mature, his shoulders broader, and his eyes much much more murderous.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Chapter Two

Andy

I was a man who was used to the target on his back, which was why I only ever held meetings in my own establishments. Some might think it crude to conduct business in a strip club, but those people weren’t in the line of work I was born into.

Of the clubs that I owned, La Serra was the most ideal for meetings. With its low purple lights illuminating a wide-open floor plan and my trained security standing vigilant in every corner, it was about as safe as I could make a public space. Metal detectors outside the door ensured that no weapons entered and the round, high-back booths guaranteed privacy. The only potential setback was a dancer coming over to try to sell us a private dance, and sitting in the furthest booth in the lowest light tended to deter that action. Our—or at least, my— complete apathy to the nudity didn’t hurt either.

My father had favored this club for in-house meetings, but I hadn’t ever needed to until tonight.

I chewed on my lip as my underboss cursed the entire Cireno bloodline, from great-great-grandfather down to the men that pledged allegiance that very minute. “Maledetti bastardi,” Nino growled. “We should salt them like the fucking slugs they are. We can’t let them get away clean—we need to make an example out of them.”

“Of course we will,” I snapped. After four days of crisis control and three nights without sleep my already limited patience might as well have been a delicate spiderweb. “No one shoots goddamned innocents in my territory. Are there any updates on the situation?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sandro reported, hands folded on the table. “One of the incidental victims, one Arthur McFadden, was admitted to the hospital after being seen in urgent care. He was initially just grazed by a bullet, but infection has set in.” I frowned viciously.

“So we have another potential casualty?” I hissed. Between the violet light of the club and my boiling rage, I’m sure I looked every bit as dangerous as I needed to be. “Civilian?”

“Yes. 42 years of age, divorced with no children. He works as a teller and is diabetic.” I clenched my jaw so hard I heard my teeth creaking under the strain.

Nino slammed his fist down on the table, seething. “Those motherfuckers. They’re doing this to undermine you.”

That much was obvious, but my blood still boiled at having it voiced. The Cirenos were taunting me, pointing their fingers and jeering, Hey, look, Giovanni’s brat thinks he’s all grown up now. They were broadcasting a message on a flashing neon sign to every crime family in Chicago: they didn’t respect the young, inexperienced, new boss. He was a pale follow-up to his father’s legacy, and anyone who could take his family could keep it.

Too bad for them, I was still a Marino. The only Marino left, and I wouldn’t tolerate any disrespect to my family name.

“This is a good time to act strongly,” Sandro agreed. “It will make them think twice about any future attacks and earn some respect from your men.”

“They should respect me already.”

“They respect the Marino name,” Sandro corrected. “They respected your father, and respect that he believed you worthy of standing in his shoes. That’s enough to get you started, yes, but true loyalty and devotion will have to come from respect in you.” I sucked my teeth but didn’t argue. As much as I hated it, Sandro was right, as he often was. He had been serving as consigliere since I was a little boy, so if anyone was going to have the perspective of experience it was him.

“Well this isn’t the dark ages, we can’t just go putting their heads on sticks to scare off bandits. We need to hit them back with twice the force if we’re going to send a message—one that makes it very clear that my father’s no-tolerance policy for innocent deaths still stands.”

Nino groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. “And just how are we going to do that, without causing innocent deaths ourselves? They shot up a popular shopping mall for Christ’s sake. It doesn’t get much bigger than that.”

“Not for us,” Sandro said evenly. “We’re Cosa Nostra. They broke our code of ethics, hitting us where it hurts, but they don’t have the same consideration we do—attacking their innocents won’t have the same effect.”

“So we find what matters to them and destroy it,” I declared. Sandro nodded his head, but Nino didn’t seem pleased.

“And what would that be?” he asked. “They have no code, they have no morals, they have no values, so what the hell do we attack?!”

“They don’t have morals,” Sandro said, “but they do have values. Flavio Cireno is a proud businessman, the thing he cares for the most is maintaining his heavy wallet and his spotless public image. That’s our golden ticket.”

I hummed, tapping my finger against the table as I thought. The Cirenos had bought out several restaurants in the past five years or so, reputable businesses with no criminal activity to speak of, which meant that the Cirenos must be using them to run insurance scams. It was a classic formula: buy the business, heavily insure the business, operate the business as cheaply as possible, and then run the business into the ground and take the hefty insurance payout. Some of the Cirenos’ restaurants were probably ripe to be plucked, but if something shut them down early Cireno would be at a loss.

“Have someone who’s uninitiated or otherwise unrecognizable go into Cireno’s busiest restaurant,” I ordered. “I want them to make a huge scene at the front about how his family got food poisoning there, make sure the customers can hear him. In the meanwhile start falsifying internet reviews and get at least two gossip magazines to publish a piece on it. The editor at Flare still owes us for our generosity, so start there. Their insurance might cover all the loopholes but the court of public opinion won’t care.”

“I’ll see what I can find on their insurance policy,” Nino said, catching on quick.

“Check the water contamination policy specifically,” Sandro advised. “We’ve gotten lucky on that before.”

“Smart,” I nodded, always pleased with my consigliere’s insight. “Shutting down those restaurants would be a huge smack in the face to a greedy bastard like him, but it’ll be the smear campaign that will hit him hardest. His business reputation will be scarred forever.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nino grinned ferally.

“We’re Italian, we’ll drink to anything,” I rolled my eyes. A quick glance out of our booth showed the club still running smoothly, our conversation covered by the low pumping of the bass and the attention of every customer on the beauty on stage.

My breath jumped in my chest as my eyes returned to the dancer. All of my dancers were attractive women, with varying attitudes and body types to cater to the different tastes that walked through our door, but this woman. Even eight years later, I knew this woman’s body on sight.

Rea.

The air buzzed in my ears as I stared at her. She was still so beautiful, even more than she had been before, time having added a lithe roundness to her curves. She’d clearly kept up with her running regimen, if the tantalizing bounce of her ass was any indication, and were her tits bigger? As she ran her fingers over her breasts I realized they definitely were. Those delicate hands covered less than they had before. I could practically feel them falling into my open palms.

I still wanted her. I had always wanted her. I’d dreamt of her from my empty bed in Milan, thought of her any time I saw cannoli on a restaurant menu, pretended not to compare every girlfriend or one night stand to her. I’d managed to push her firmly into the past, but now she was right in front of me and every bit of it came rushing back in full technicolor. She’d been in the back of my mind for eight long years, and here she was slipping her bra off her shoulder for a room full of strangers.

The rage was intense and immediate, and it was only years of managing my image that kept me from leaping up and punishing her right there for all the room to see.

“A drink might be just what we all need,” Sandro said, snapping my attention back to the moment. “Frankly, after this week, I wouldn’t mind a few. Anyone else?” Nino whooped.

“Alright,” I said evenly. “I think we all deserve a few hours to let loose.” Sandro smiled at him approvingly. I knew I’d worried my father’s best friend recently, too immersed in balancing my grief with my new role to take proper care of myself, and I felt a distant pang of regret for causing Sandro concern. I couldn’t pay it much attention though, not with the white-hot fury pulsing behind my eyes.

I casually waved down a waiter, my brow barely twitching as Rea’s bra finally dropped. “It’s on me tonight. You’ve worked your asses off so let’s enjoy it.”

“If you say so, Don Andrea!” Nino cheered cheekily. I flipped him off, just because I could, and silently seethed as Rea spun leisurely in the air. It was vulgar, the way she pressed the pole between her plush thighs, pressing her hips into it rhythmically like she was begging the cheap, pathetic perverts around her to imagine her moving her ass that way in their beds. This was the little girl who sat next to me in kindergarten, the preteen who had laughed when my voice cracked, the young woman who turned bright red the first time I devoured her. And now she was just a fucking slut.

I slowly sipped my Cezarac, unbuttoning my shirt down to the third button and not hearing a damn thing Nino was blathering on about. One of his many party stories, all of which I had either been there for or had heard about a thousand times. No, I didn’t need to listen to his company, not when my mind was full of the image of my woman crawling to another man on her hands and knees just because he waved a dollar at her. She had the nerve to take it with her fucking mouth.

The waiter came back over to refill us and I subtly passed him a folded note. I watched the waiter take it to the bartender, not taking a single glance at it just like he had been trained, and then watched the bartender read the five words I had scrawled.

This dancer. Dahlia Room. Now.

The bartender glanced up, wisely decided not to question who I was, and flagged over the nearest dancer. I looked away and finished my drink, watching Rea seduce some low-life strangers. Was she planning on taking any of these goons to a private room? Would she wrap them up in her hands, or her lips, and grin at them like she had at me? I let myself watch, let the outrage and betrayal sit inside my chest. She didn’t deserve the mercy of quick, shallow anger.

I placed down my empty glass and stood smoothly, patting my dress pants as if they could possibly be dirty. “I’ll see you two tomorrow,” I said smoothly.

“Are you headed out already?” Sandro frowned.

“No,” I answered, jerking my head to the staircase to the coveted second floor. “I’m headed up.” Nino’s hoots followed me all the way to the Dahlia room, unknowing that I wouldn’t be celebrating anything up there tonight.

I turned off the light, not caring to look at the raised stage where Rea had danced for other men before, or at the black leather sofa where she’d likely ridden some creep’s pathetic dick. I snarled to myself and poised for attack.

It took a few minutes—ha! What was she doing, fingering herself open?—for her to arrive and by then I had the double advantage of adjusted eyesight. It was all I could do to remain still and ready against the wall when she rapped at the door. Her voice was sickeningly sweet when it called out for me. It made my stomach curdle.

I waited, patient but coiled tight like a panther on the prowl, my heart pounding from the adrenaline that shot through me as the door opened. I knew I was invisible, covered by the door as it swung open. A beam of light split the dark room. A moment of silence, a put-upon sigh, and one, two, three steps into the room…

I exploded.

I was a man who knew how to use my formidable frame in battle. I was all too familiar with the heavy thump of bodies, the mind-boggling solidity of impact, the rib-creaking way a wall broke a fall. I’d done it a thousand times. But to have Rea’s body crushed against me again after so long was absolute bliss.

I was pretty sure I heard her head crack against the wall, not hard enough for a concussion but definitely enough for a nasty headache, and a savage thrill burst through me. She kicked backwards, immediately fighting against me where I put all my weight onto her back. It must have been hard to breathe with her cheek crushed against the wall. Still, I was pleased when she tried. It gave me a perfect excuse to clap my hand over her mouth. I wanted her to fucking smother.

I grunted when Rea managed to wrench one arm free to throw an elbow back at me, the impact so much stronger than I expected from her pretty little frame. My blood rushed. Ah, she never did disappoint. Still, I couldn’t let her do it again; I caught her by the wrist, feeling her pulse jackrabbit under my fingers in terror as she tried—and failed—to scream.

“Shut,” I finally grit, “up.”

Her beautiful body, that same pretty little body that had just been displaying itself for anyone with a cock and a dollar, froze instinctively. I growled in the back of my throat. Good. This was how she needed to be, quiet, subservient and obedient to me, if she wanted to walk out of this room on her own two feet. God, those heels were horrific. One low sweep of my leg and she’d be down, both ankles snapped like twigs. My rage grew ever higher. How could she make herself this vulnerable?

Then her body relaxed minutely, as if against her will, and I realized she knew me. The same way I’d known her body at a glance, two words was all it took for her to place my voice in her ear. She hadn’t gotten me out of her head yet either. She couldn’t.

I felt high on the knowledge and I flipped her around, unceremoniously shoving her back against the wall once she was facing me. She winced at the impact, she glared—oh, her eyes were just as deep and dangerous as they had always been. Still that darkest brown, and I knew if I turned the light on there would be a single pinpoint of green swimming near her right pupil. But she had the nerve—the impossible fucking nerve—to glare right back up at me. I’d known better than to expect tears from my vicious little sweetheart, but no fear at all? After all that fight? It was like she’d stopped seeing me as a threat the moment she placed my voice. That just wouldn’t do. I wanted her quaking at my feet, begging me for mercy, but she didn’t seem interested in the slightest and I had never felt more disrespected. She knew exactly who I was, and she wasn’t afraid.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I growled at her, barely holding back. I decided to give her a chance—my clubs did their best to weed out women being pimped out by someone else, but she could have slipped through the cracks. Maybe a relationship gone wrong or a drug addiction led her here. That wasn’t her fault. I could help her.

But she just looked up at me flatly and declared, “Paying my bills.”

That was the last straw. There was no crying, no tragedy, no remorse; she was here of her own free will and I wanted to rip her apart for it. I shook her roughly. “Your bills?” I roared. “Your bills?”

Rea narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, you know, rent and groceries and all that. Prices have really gone up while you were off enjoying the fine life.”

“You have some fucking nerve,” I bit out. “I was preparing to take over my family’s empire, and you were here doing what? Shaking your ass for lowlife johns?!”

She just looked at me blankly. “Are you done yet?”

I saw red. It was just like when we were younger. No matter what I did, how angry I became, she just sat there unimpressed. Like she was watching a child throw a tantrum and not getting a front-row seat to the wrath of the most powerful man in Chicago. And just like back then, I was consumed with the urge to make her react.

I slammed my fist into the wall beside her head with a loud crack, making sure my knuckles passed so close to her that she could feel the air displacement on her cheek. That at least got a minute flinch. I’d had debtors on the ground blubbering for mercy with less but she just stood there like an unmovable stone.

“Oh, I’m not done,” I hissed, “you’re done. This is my club, and you’re never dancing in it again.”

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