Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Chloe
Silvio leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted as he studied me. His eyes slid from my face to my neck, from my neck to my chest, traveling down until they landed on the wet stain across my thigh.
He whistled.
Looking at Silvio's smile made me feel sick and scared at the same time.
Silvio. Middle-aged with a beer gut. Manager of the strip club. A man who'd spent years using his power to grope and intimidate the girls who worked here.
And the bastard who killed Casey.
He was the last person I wanted to be alone with in this club, especially after he'd started showing interest in me lately.
"What a shame." Silvio dragged out the words, a smile on his lips that made my skin crawl. "Looks like the big boss wasn't too pleased with you."
I ignored him and tried to squeeze past. But he threw an arm up against the doorframe, blocking my exit. He reeked of cheap cologne and sweat. It made me want to puke.
"Move."
"That how you talk to me? Looks like you need to learn some manners." Silvio dropped his arm from the doorframe and reached toward me.
Just as his fingers were about to touch my shoulder, the sharp sound of clinking glass echoed down the hallway. Liam appeared around the corner, carrying a tray stacked with cocktails, moving fast. As he passed Silvio, the edge of the tray slammed hard into Silvio's elbow.
Four or five drinks in various colors flew through the air and splashed all over Silvio. Ice cubes bounced across the floor, rolling everywhere. A blue cocktail landed right on his crotch, soaking through a massive wet patch.
"Fuck!" Silvio looked down at his ruined clothes, teeth clenched. "Liam! You got eyes in your ass?"
"Oh my God, sir, I'm so sorry!" Liam bent down in a panic, fumbling to pick up the broken glass while shooting me a quick look.
The message was clear: get out of here.
I didn't hesitate. While Silvio cursed and yanked at his shirt, I slipped past him and hurried down the hallway toward the dressing room.
Behind me, Silvio's swearing mixed with Liam's constant apologies, but I didn't look back.
Not until the dressing room door closed behind me did I finally let out a breath.
I slid down against a locker until I hit the floor, covering my face with my hands.
Ever since what happened when I was thirteen, I'd felt sick and terrified whenever men looked at me that way. I thought working as a stripper would've cured me of that by now.
But my fingers were shaking. My whole hand was shaking, my arm, my shoulder. I took several deep breaths before I could stop my body from trembling.
I don't know how long I sat there before someone knocked softly on the door.
"It's me." Liam's voice came from outside.
I wiped my eyes and opened the door. Liam stood there holding a clean T-shirt and sweatpants—his own spare clothes.
"Put these on." He handed them over, eyes fixed on the hallway floor, avoiding my direction. "You can't wear that dress anymore."
I took the clothes. Liam's T-shirt was at least three sizes too big, hanging on me like a dress.
But it helped more than he knew.
I'd been dragged here with almost nothing of my own. Every other outfit in this club was practically naked. Compared to those exhibitionist costumes and that dress covered in God knows what, this T-shirt was a godsend.
"Thank you." My voice was full of gratitude.
Liam came in and sat on the bench nearby, hands braced on his knees, head down. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a dull glow on his brown hair.
"Silvio won't let this go." His voice was low. "Casey wasn't the first. Before her, at least three other girls were assaulted by him. Not one of them fought back. Not one of them said a word."
"I know."
I looked at his hunched shoulders, a sour feeling rising in my chest. In this godforsaken place, he was the only person willing to risk standing up for me. I stepped closer, standing in front of him.
"Silvio was furious earlier. Did he dock your pay?"
Liam glanced up at me and shrugged.
"He didn't dock my pay. He just assigned me to clean the bathrooms for a month."
I frowned. This was my fault. I couldn't let him take this humiliating punishment for me. "That's not fair. I'll talk to the manager tomorrow. I'll do the month myself."
Liam immediately shook his head. "You can't do that job. He specifically assigned me to the men's room. Every night it's full of drunk assholes. It's too dangerous for you to go in there."
He was always thinking about my safety. My eyes burned.
"Liam, thank you. I don't know how to tell you how grateful I am."
Liam opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just sighed. He stood and headed for the door, then stopped.
"You don't need to thank me. I wanted to do it. Just remember—if Silvio does anything to you, you tell me."
Liam didn't wait for an answer before walking out. The door closed softly behind him, leaving only the buzzing fluorescent lights.
I sat on the bench, clutching the hem of Liam's T-shirt, gripping it tight.
I knew Silvio wouldn't let this go.
The way that man looked at me was exactly how Richard had looked at thirteen-year-old me. Disgusting. Vile. Predatory. They never cared what women thought. Our consent didn't factor into their considerations at all.
I couldn't let him get his hands on me.
The next afternoon, all the dancers gathered in the rehearsal room as usual, waiting for Silvio's pep talk. He stood at the front wearing a new shirt—yesterday's alcohol-soaked one was probably in the trash.
His eyes kept crawling all over me. Sticky. Revolting. Made me want to vomit.
When the talk ended, everyone started filing out.
"Chloe, stay behind."
The moment he spoke, the girls heading for the door all slowed down at once. A few glanced back at me. A girl with purple hair brushed my hand lightly as she passed, saying nothing.
I knew they pitied me but were completely powerless to help.
One by one, the doors closed. Footsteps faded. The rehearsal room was down to just me and Silvio.
Silvio flashed me a smile, then walked to the door and locked it. The sound of the metal bolt sliding into place echoed several times louder in the empty room.
"Sir, whatever you need to say, you can say it now." I tried to keep my voice steady. "I need to get to the bar."
Silvio turned around and started slowly unbuckling his belt.
"No rush." His lips curled back, showing a row of crooked teeth. "Today's main objective is improving your skill set. The boss said yesterday your technique was pretty average. As your manager, it's my duty to help you get better."
I backed up step by step until my back hit the wall. "Don't come near me." I tried to sound tough, glaring at him.
"You know something, Chloe?" He kept talking as he walked toward me. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen. Prettier than Casey, prettier than Tess, prettier than anyone in this whole club. Being noticed by me? That's your lucky day."
Silvio's hand grabbed my wrist.
In that instant, the man in front of me turned into someone else. He wore a plaid shirt, had a kind smile, a gentle voice—the good neighbor everyone waved to, the beloved teacher Richard Vance.
He'd walked into my room the same way. Closed the door. Pulled at his belt as he approached me.
Said almost the same thing. Give it a kiss, my dear girl, beautiful Chloe.
Silvio's hand moved from my wrist to my shoulder, the other hand yanking at my collar. His nail scraped across my collarbone. I could smell cigarettes and mint mixed together in his breath—nauseating.
"Don't touch me!" I finally broke free from that thirteen-year-old nightmare, slapping his hand away hard. "One more step and I scream. Everyone outside will hear."
Silvio froze for a second at my reaction, then gave a contemptuous smile.
"Go ahead. Scream." He tilted his head, tone casual. "You think anyone out there's gonna do something? They're glad it's not them being called in here. In this place, sweetheart, no one's coming to save you."
That's right. No one would save me. I'd learned that lesson young. Not even my own mother.
I only had myself. I wasn't thirteen anymore. I wasn't that little girl who could only curl up in the corner of her bed, trembling. I had a baby in my belly who needed my protection.
I'd be damned if I'd let this happen to me a second time.
I jerked my knee up toward his crotch. Silvio twisted sideways, dodging most of the impact, but my knee still grazed the inside of his thigh. He stumbled back half a step, his grip loosening for a split second.
I seized the opening, twisting toward the table nearby. There was a glass vase with plastic flowers on it. I grabbed it and raised it over my head, swinging at him.
"Go to hell, you piece of shit!"
Silvio reacted faster than I expected. He caught my wrist.
"Bitch, you dare fight back? You're about to find out what that gets you."
Five fingers clamped down like a vise. The pain of my bones being squeezed made my fingers spring open involuntarily. The vase slipped from my hand and rolled across the floor to the corner.
Silvio grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. My scalp screamed with tearing pain. Tears sprang to my eyes. His hand started tearing at my clothes. Liam's T-shirt collar stretched and deformed, the sound of ripping fabric sharp and piercing.
I screamed. Used every bit of air in my lungs.
I fought with everything I had, kicking and clawing, but against a man's absolute advantage in size and strength, all my resistance was pathetically weak—a cruel joke.
Just when I was nearly out of hope, a dull cracking sound suddenly rang out from above.
Silvio let out an inhuman howl, his body pitching forward, hands clutching the back of his head. Blood poured through his fingers, running down his neck, staining the collar of his new shirt red.
Enzo stood behind him. I didn't know when he'd opened the door and come in.
He held the vase—the one that had just fallen, now half-shattered—in his hand. The base was covered in blood and a few strands of hair. His face was expressionless.
Silvio rolled on the floor twice in agony before finally lifting his head to see who it was. His face twisted, then rapidly shifted to terror.
"Mr-Mr. Falcone."
Enzo didn't let him finish. He lifted his foot and stomped down on Silvio's outstretched, pleading right hand. The crunch of bones shifting under his dress shoe echoed through the rehearsal room. Silvio's scream tore through the entire space.
"Get this thing out of here." Enzo's voice was colder than usual.
Two guards in black walked in from outside, grabbing Silvio from either side. Enzo added, "Castrate him. Dump him in the trash."
Silvio's screams grew fainter as he was dragged out the door, until the door closed again and the rehearsal room went silent.
The willpower I'd been forcing myself to hold onto finally collapsed. My body slid down the wall, legs curled against my chest, trembling violently.
That night when I was thirteen came rushing back. It reached out from the past and wrapped a hand around my throat. My breathing came fast and shallow. The lights swam in front of my eyes. My ears filled with buzzing.
Someone was calling my name.
"Chloe."
Far away, like through glass.
"Chloe, look at me."
Something warm draped over my shoulders. Hands gripped my arms—firm, but not painful. Those hands pulled me up from the floor and helped me sit on the couch.
My vision finally focused. Enzo crouched in front of me, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, the old scar on his right arm exposed under the lights. One hand rested on my knee. The other held out a glass of water.
"Take a drink."
I took the glass. When it touched my lips, my teeth knocked against the rim with a chattering sound. The water went down my throat, cool spreading down my esophagus. My breathing finally slowed.
Enzo waited patiently while I finished, then pulled over a chair and sat across from me.
"So if you're this scared, why the hell are you in a place like this?"
I took a deep breath and let it all pour out—everything that had happened recently. This string of blows had been building up inside me, way past the breaking point.
That damn diagnosis. My mother, who'd sold her own daughter to a strip club.
The only thing I didn't tell him was that I was pregnant.
Whatever else, we weren't a couple. What happened in the elevator was an accident. It didn't change anything.
After listening to my rambling account, Enzo leaned forward slightly, fingertips pressed together under his chin, silent for a moment, like he was thinking something over.
Then he made his decision.
"Be my mistress, then."
I thought I'd heard him wrong.
"What?"
"I'm interested in your body. You're exactly my type.
" His words were blunt to the point of shocking.
"And I happen to have more money than I can spend.
You don't need to stay in this place getting harassed by garbage anymore.
You move out, I give you an apartment, and I cover your monthly expenses.
In exchange, you're available when I call. "
Logic told me this was the best way out I had. I could leave this club. Have a safe place to live. Have money for prenatal checkups, baby supplies, planning for the future.
Any one of the things Enzo casually promised was something I couldn't get right now no matter how hard I tried.
Besides, from every angle, Enzo was an ideal choice as a lover. I had to admit I didn't dislike him—my heart often raced when I was near him.
But.
I didn't want to be anyone's mistress. I refused to accept this shameful transaction of trading my body for money and protection. And I had an overwhelmingly strong feeling that Enzo was a man ten thousand times more dangerous than that idiot Silvio.
"I need time to think."
Enzo nodded, standing without hesitation, pushing the chair back to its original spot.
"Let me know when you've decided." He picked up his jacket from the couch, draped it over his arm, and headed for the door.
"But don't make me wait too long. I'm not a patient man."