Chapter Four
Valentina
A low, carnal growl reverberates deep in his throat. “You can’t dance here,” he announces.
My lips part in shock. His eyes drop to my mouth and linger there.
“Why not?”
I jump when his other hand curls around the front of my neck, closing tightly. His strong fingers necklace my throat and hold me at his mercy. The harmless illusion he projects is gone, easily replaced by this darker version of him.
Dozens of emotions swirl in his obsidian irises.
Anger. Hunger.
Desire .
A spark of danger shines in his gaze when he repeats, “You’re not dancing here.”
I lick my lips. “You liked it. You liked the way I danced.”
“I didn’t.”
Emboldened by the persona I’ve donned, I try something that Valentina would never dare, but that Misty doesn’t bat an eyelid at doing.
I reach over and palm his cock through his trousers.
His very hard cock.
It jerks under my hand and I feel my cheeks heat in response.
“Junior here says you did like it,” I argue.
His top lip curls back slightly, eyes roving over my face. The timber of his voice drops even further. “Careful,” he warns, his hand tightening in my hair.
The word vibrates off his lips and seems to fall directly into my ear.
“You liked it,” I repeat, releasing him. “I earned this job fair and square.”
“I said no.”
Frustration simmers in my veins. I don’t understand. He clearly enjoyed what I did.
“Why?”
“I don’t have to give you a reason.”
Irritation morphs into anger. I’ve spent too much time working on this and have too much hope invested to let this stranger stand in my way.
“Then I’ll just go dance somewhere else,” I gamble, jutting my chin as much as I’m able to with his hand still wrapped around me. “I hear Tanta is hiring.”
Tanta is the cartel’s largest and most profitable club. I’m hoping announcing I’ll go dance for a competitor of Firenze will rile him up.
I try to stand, but his hand tightens around my throat, nearly cutting off all oxygen. It’s a clear warning but I don’t back down. He doesn’t understand that I’ll risk my life to get this job.
And, worse, the pressure feels good .
My eyes flutter shut. I try to suffocate my physical reaction to his rough treatment of me, but it only grows stronger the more I attempt to fight it.
When they reopen, my eyes clash with his flinty, dilated ones. Fury smolders in his gaze. My threat didn’t land on deaf ears. Whatever reason he has for not wanting me on his stage, he doesn’t seem to want me on anyone else’s either.
“Tell me your name,” he demands.
His face is like granite, issuing me a warning not to lie to him again. But revealing my real name could mean the difference between life and death for me.
“It’s… Melody.”
Melody Martinez. That’s the name I used for the fake ID and bank account Joaquín helped me get. He’d initially refused, telling me that my brother was going to kill him when he found out, but eventually he grew tired of my begging.
His jaw ticks. He says nothing for long seconds.
I start to think he might have believed me, until the hand at my throat moves. His thumb brushes across my bottom lip. The caress could be mistaken as gentle, but it feels like a threat. His words only go to underline that.
“You’re a very pretty liar, Melody .”
A hollow, cold sensation creeps over me. He must have felt my pulse jump when I lied.
I glare at him. “I’m not a liar.”
A grim smirk slashes his face. “Do you know what this place is?”
My head spins at the abrupt subject change. He’s not asking about the nightclub, he’s asking if I know what it’s a front for.
“Yes.”
A wave of sorrow washes over me, as powerful as it is unexpected. I wish I could have given the same answer a year and a half ago.
Then Adriana would still be alive.
“You say you know what this place is.” He eyes me thoughtfully. “Do you really think I’ll let a liar walk through these doors and work here?” he growls.
I inject as much truth as I can in my answer. “Listen, I don’t give a fuck what goes on around here.” True . “I need this job.” Technically true . “I need the money. So long as I get paid what I’m owed when it’s due, I have zero interest in anything else. I’m trustworthy.” Big old lie .
He twirls my hair around his hand until it’s wrapped entirely around his fist. He tugs slightly, the move less violent than when he first grabbed me, and his eyes haze over, a fresh wave of arousal sweeping through his gaze. Clearly, he likes my hair.
I note with a measure of self-loathing that I’m not unaffected by him myself.
His voice is guttural when he speaks.
“Why strip?”
I can hardly keep up with the way he bounces between topics. I’m sure that’s his intention – to keep me off balance so I’ll mess up and accidentally reveal myself.
He doesn’t know what kind of opponent he’s facing. “I told you, stripping is the family business,” I quip. “You should have seen what my grandmother could do on a pole back in her day.”
He growls, not appreciating my humorous approach. “The truth, Melody .”
“I don’t owe you any answers about my life.”
“Do you want this job or not?”
My gaze narrows on him, annoyed. “I’m starting to think only if I’m guaranteed absolutely no contact with you. Are you nearly done playing with me?”
“Almost,” he deadpans. “You haven’t asked who I am.”
I shrug. “I don’t care.”
His eyes flash.
Wrong thing to say.
“Can I get up now?” I try.
“No,” he grunts in response. “In fact, you should get used to being on your knees for me.”
My mind bristles at the suggestive tone he uses. My body, however, leans into his touch as the hand at my neck moves, the backs of his fingers trailing gently down the column of my throat to my collarbone. My breath hitches when they move further down still, brushing softly over the cording. He doesn’t touch my skin but goosebumps still erupt across my breasts at his closeness.
His eyes follow the journey his fingers take, his gaze hooding when he notices the way my flesh raises at the mere suggestion of his caress.
“Take it off,” he orders hoarsely.
“W-what?” I stutter, sure I’ve misheard him.
He curls a finger through the loop holding the cording together, gaze intently fixed on my chest.
“If you want to dance here, take this off and show me.”
A finger slips beneath the cording and traces the valley between my breasts. It’s barely the ghost of a touch but I gasp.
His eyes jerk back up to mine at the erotic sound. His pupils expand slowly as his eyes turn heavy. The look on his face is so viciously carnal, it’s almost impossible to keep the contact going. Something tells me that if I look away, he’ll snap.
As it is, I’m not certain that he won’t pounce once I start stripping.
My breathing grows shallow, the air thinning with every taut, passing second. I’m still kneeling on the stage and he stands in front of it, towering over me. We seem frozen in a moment in time, our gazes locked together, waiting for me to make a decision.
Tired of waiting, he makes it for me.
His finger trails back up the valley of my breasts, drawing a rattled breath from my lips in the process.
Something dark and unidentifiable stirs behind my ribcage at the way his face contracts with lust.
His hand journeys to my shoulder where his finger hooks underneath the top edge of my bodysuit’s sleeve.
He watches me with eyes that miss nothing as he slowly starts to drag the fabric over the rounded slope of my shoulder. It stretches tautly. Like a living metaphor for the tension between us, I fear it’s about to snap. His eyes never move from their intense examination of my face as he pulls it down my upper arm.
My heart is thumping so high in my throat, I’m afraid it’s going to beat right out of my mouth and fall to the floor between us.
If I don’t stop him soon, he’s going to bring the fabric down low enough that my breast will fall out.
My lips part and he pauses but I…
I say nothing.
His eyes turn pitch black and I see it in his gaze. He’s going to lunge for me. He’s going to pin me to the floor and fuck me senseless. He’s going to shove his tongue between my lips and between my l—
“Boss.”
The stranger stiffens, his face shadowing and his jaw locking. He releases me and shoves his hands in his pockets, my hair unraveling slowly from around his fist and falling in waves around my shoulders. And then he breaks our eye contact, looking over his shoulder at whoever interrupted us. He steps away, adding distance between us.
Immediately, it’s like a spell is broken. I sag in relief, my heart racing. All of a sudden, my thoughts – my sanity – come rushing back in and the horror of what I almost let happen washes over me.
I think the men exchange words, but I don’t hear them. There’s a sick feeling in my belly, one that rivals the still cooling lust, and I lean forward, holding my weight on my palms.
How do I keep failing Adriana at every turn?
The stranger turns back towards me, his eyes catching on my half lowered sleeve. When he pulls it back up into its original position, I flinch.
I don’t need to glance at his face to know he’s not happy with my reaction.
“You’re hired,” he announces. My eyes fly to his, widened in excitement, and his mouth curls upward in response. “But no nudity, semi or full. No private dances or lap dances either,” he continues. “You can dance with full coverage and that’s it.”
I frown. He’s severely limiting what I can do. No real dancer would accept these terms, not when they also limit the amount of money I can realistically make.
“The tips won’t be as good,” I complain. “I need to be able to do lap dances.”
“You’re also banned from doing that side split move from earlier,” he finishes, acting like I didn’t even speak.
My gaze moves to the door where the other man stands partially hidden in the shadows. Unlike his boss, he looks like he comes included with the building and all its atrocities. He’s the very picture of violence with harsh, brutally handsome features. His eyes are shrewd and pinned on me with a look that tells me he doesn’t like what he’s just walked in on.
Me neither, buddy , I want to tell him.
He runs a hand across his jaw, revealing mangled knuckles that have been broken far too many times to count. His entire aura gives off that he’s a fighter, both in body and spirit. His assessing gaze sends a shiver down my spine.
“ Cugino ,” he interjects again, his voice full of a warning I don’t understand.
I glare at his boss instead.
“Hello?” I question, getting to my feet and putting both hands on my hips. Green eyes trace down to my hands and darken. “Did you not hear what I said? I need the tips.”
He scowls at me, his expression cooling. “You can supplement with bartending and bottle service. Those are my conditions.”
I mask my reaction so he doesn’t see it. Handling bottle service in the private rooms will give me actual access, the type that’s limited if I’m stuck on a stage removed from the conversations.
This is perfect for Valentina, but I know Misty/Melody would keep arguing.
“Why do you care?” I question. “I’d imagine your VIPs want strippers. Shouldn’t you be thrilled at the prospect of more nudity?”
“Not you,” he snaps sharply.
“Ouch.”
He must hear something in my voice because his eyes meet mine once more and he unveils them completely, letting fresh hunger flame to life unconcealed in his gaze. With one look, he lays out all the unholy, unbiblical, potentially illegal in some countries, things he wants to do to me.
More than the desire in his gaze, is the interest. No, the clear intrigue . He looks at me like I’m a puzzle to be pieced together or a riddle to be solved, and that…
That is far more dangerous than simple lust.
That is a level of getting noticed that I needed to avoid when I walked in here today.
It tells me that whatever just went down between us, it’s far from over.
“Oh.”
He chuckles softly, that same inviting sound from earlier, and adds with finality, “And no pyro.”
“Pyro?”
“Pyrotechnics,” he clarifies. “No tricks involving fire.”
I snort. “I think I’ll manage.”
He smirks, his gaze raking one more time down the length of me. “I have no doubt you will.”
“ Matteo ,” his sidekick barks, angry now.
With one word, all the heat blazing through my body instantly cools.
“Matteo?” I croak. “That’s your name?”
The blood rushes from my head. I’m suddenly so lightheaded, I feel like I’m going to faint.
A playful twinkle shines in his gaze. “I thought you didn’t want to know?”
“Tell me your last name,” I demand, and neither man misses the edge of desperation in my voice.
The stranger closes the distance between us. Now that I’m standing on the platform, I’m slightly taller than he is and he has to reach up to cup my chin between his fingers.
“You said you knew where you were.” His voice is like molten molasses, thick and rich and delightful, but it no longer charms. It freezes me to my core. “If you know this place, then you know my name, pavona .”
The Italian word, whispered like a term of endearment, hits me like a gunshot.
I shake my head. “I don’t.”
“Leone, Melody,” he purrs, fingers squeezing my chin. “My name is Matteo Leone.”
Frost chills my spine and bottoms out my stomach. Every inch of my insides lines with lethal icicles until I’m so frozen that I can’t move.
He watches my face shutter with eyes that see too much, then simply walks away. His associate follows him out. The door closes behind them with a soft click and I fall to my knees in agony.
It’s so much worse than I could have imagined. I’m so stupid, so fucking stupid, for not even considering this was a possibility, for being surprised by who he is.
He’s not a Leone cousin or related to the Leones as I thought he might be.
He’s a Leone son .
This time, when the bile rises in my throat, I can’t stop it. I vomit right onto the stage.
I just spent the last thirty minutes with a man who more than likely murdered my sister.