Chapter Seven
Valentina
O nce Matteo and his grim-faced acolyte leave, the host from earlier appears, announcing that his name is Amadeo and that he’s been tasked with taking me to meet the rest of the dancers.
I follow him quietly, stewing in my head in a mess of my own making. I’ve successfully infiltrated the viper’s nest and it’s suddenly all too real. Until I walk back out the door through which I came, there’s no one I can rely on, no one I can trust except myself. I look into the faces of the staff we pass on our journey to the dancer’s changing room and all I see is their potential guilt. I’m deep in enemy territory; I have to be vigilant and constantly on guard, holding my breath like I’m setting off on a marathon swim.
Being here isn’t easy. There’s been a constant pressure on my chest since I realized who Matteo was. It feels like an elephant is sitting on me; my breaths come in progressively shorter spurts as we near and finally walk through the familiar main dancefloor. Dread slithers through every inch of my body. It takes everything in me not to hyperventilate.
This is the last place I ever saw Adriana alive.
If I think about it, I’ll lose it.
We approach a door marked ‘changing room’ and Amadeo bursts through without knocking. The sound of the door banging against the wall doesn’t startle any of the girls inside, even though most of them are in various states of undress. It tells me that they’re used to men barging in like they own the place with no regard for common decency.
My jaw tightens. I didn’t consider all the ways in which this mission of mine would be difficult.
The changing room is unremarkable in every way, except it appears well lived in. Standalone vanities lined with bright bulbs grace all four walls, each with its own locker next to it. Hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of makeup and brushes cover every available inch of the countertops. Racks of clothes are congregated in the middle of the room. Beneath them are bins of wigs and a selection of the highest stilettos I’ve ever seen. Girls move between the racks and vanities, pointedly ignoring our arrival.
Infiltrating Firenze as a stripper was a tactical decision. I’d wager there’s no freer exchange of information in this entire place than the women’s changing room.
“Arabella,” Amadeo purrs, his voice taking on a sweetly seductive lilt that he hasn’t used with me, thank god. “Come here.”
A blonde woman sitting at the vanity in the far corner, surrounded by six other girls fawning over her, stands. She walks over to us in a very skimpy blue lingerie set worn underneath a loosely tied Hollywood-style silk bathrobe with long, flowing sleeves, looking more elegant than I ever have.
As beautiful as she is, I see up close that it’s surface level. She comes armed with a sneer, her eyes raking judgmentally down my body, and I instinctively know she’s the kind of queen bee who belittles the hive instead of uplifting it.
Not my kind of girl.
“Yes, darling?” she simpers, batting her lashes at him.
“This is…” He turns to me, seemingly only now remembering that I’m a sentient person. “What’s your name?”
“Melody.”
“This is Melody. She’s new. Set her up with a station and show her the ropes for me, will you? Explain to her what’s on the menu.”
“Melody?” she scrunches her nose in distaste, speaking to him and ignoring me. “She’s not Italian.”
Amadeo squeezes her cheek. I send up a quick thanks to whoever’s watching over me that I’ve been spared that particular attention.
“Does it matter?” He steps closer, whispering, “I can’t wait to buy a dance from you tonight.”
Gag .
Arabella ignores him, her probing eyes now pinned on me. “Since when does Guido hire non-Italian girls?”
Amadeo drops his hand, no doubt realizing that his girl is more interested in me than him. He shrugs. “You’ll have to ask Matteo. He’s the one who hired her.”
That gets her attention. Her face snaps to the side, her eyes widening when they meet his.
“What do you mean? Matteo hired…her? Her ?” she asks, going into full blown hysterics. “ Personally ?”
He nods, losing interest in the conversation, and looks down at his watch. “I don’t have time for this. Show her the ropes. She’s in the rotation starting tomorrow.”
With that, he disappears and what remains of Arabella’s mask falls. She closes the distance between us and towers over me in her high heels. Her hand snaps out and she grabs my face between brutal fingers, squeezing my jaw so hard that it clicks.
“So that’s how you got through these doors? By fucking your way into this job?” she sneers. “We have no room for a whore like you here. You should check with the brothel down the street.” She strokes my cheek contemptuously with her free hand. “You’re exactly what they’re looking for over there.”
Behind her, a couple of her harpies snicker.
Good one.
Heat rises up my neck as my temper flares bright red. I grab her wrist and twist it. Her friends gasp dramatically in the background. My brother didn’t teach me how to fight just so I’d stand here and let another woman bully me.
“Don’t touch me.” A whimper falls from Arabella’s lips and she releases my jaw. “I auditioned and was hired, that’s how I got this job. Who that dance was for makes no difference to me.” I smile sweetly, adding, “However, watching the interaction you just had with Amadeo, I’d say fucking your way into a job is a concept you must be very familiar with yourself.”
I let Arabella go and she stumbles back a step, clutching her wrist like I broke it.
“Unlike you, I have no interest in slut shaming. Sleep with Amadeo. Sleep with Matteo. Hell, sleep with all of them if you want. We should all start being as slutty as men are, I’d hate to think they were the only ones having any fun.” Sobering, I add, “But leave me out of it.”
She straightens, her eyes flashing with rage as she faces me. I sigh internally, cursing my own temper. I’ve made an enemy. I have no doubt there’ll be consequences to deal with.
“You won’t last here,” she vows.
I smile pleasantly. “We’ll see.”
Still clutching her wrist, likely for dramatic effect, Arabella advances on me once more. I stay in place, not flinching a muscle, even as she uses her height to try and intimidate me.
“There are girls here who have been waiting a lot longer for him. If you stand in our way, well...” A grim smile crosses her face. “We’ll make sure you don’t. By any means necessary.”
It takes me a second to understand she’s talking about Matteo. “You can have him. I’m not interested.”
Her lip curls. “He’s not yours to give away, whore .”
This time, my sigh is audible. “I’m either in your way or I’m not. Make up your mind because this is starting to get quite boring.” Offering some type of olive branch to try and keep the peace, I ask, “How about you show me around instead?”
She looks seconds away from hitting me, the expression on her face so full of contempt that her cheeks turn red under the strain of her anger.
“Show yourself since you’re so fucking smart.”
With that, she turns on her heels and walks back to her cronies, leaving me standing in the middle of the changing room.
With the confrontation over, my adrenaline lowers and my mind clears. Beneath the waning rush, I find the anxiety and fear that I’d momentarily set aside. My chest tightens and the air thins as fresh panic sets in. I turn on my heels, scanning the rest of the changing room, desperately searching for a place to hide. Revealing my weakness now would be like dropping a bucket of blood in shark infested waters.
The area is too open, there’s nowhere to hide. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. Pressure compresses my chest. Lowering my head, I hide behind my hair and duck for the other corner of the room.
A girl comes out from the nearby bathroom just as my unsteady legs take me to the vacant stool, my hands clutching the counter desperately for purchase.
“Woah,” she says, catching my elbow and helping me onto the seat. “Are you okay?”
She lowers to her knees beside me, rubbing soothing caresses up and down my arms.
My head feels light, my skin clammy as I start to rock back and forth, wrapping my arms comfortingly around myself.
Even through the attack assaulting my body, I make out kind doe eyes staring back at me.
“I’ll be fine. Please,” I churn out through chattering teeth. “Please just don’t bring attention to it. To me.”
“I won’t.” She shakes her head. “What do you need?”
“Nothing.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “It’ll pass.”
Her teeth worry her bottom lip, as she takes in the way I shake. “I’m going to make you some tea. I’ll be right back.”
The gesture may be small but it nearly undoes me with its kindness. It’s the first time since I stepped through the doors of Firenze that I feel marginally less lonely.
She’s back five minutes later, clutching a steaming cup and handing it to me. “Drink this,” she orders. “It’s chamomile. It’ll make you feel better.”
I nod wordlessly and take a sip, letting the liquid burn a path down my throat and warm me from the inside.
“Thank you.” Gratitude echoes loudly in my voice.
“I’m Capri,” she tells me. “You must be new, right?”
“Yes—”
“Capri,” a voice snaps from across the room. I don’t need to turn around to put a face to the name. “The new girl was very clear that she doesn’t need our help. Leave her alone.” The order from Arabella is clear. The Firenze queen bee has declared me persona non grata .
Capri gives her a genuinely sweet smile. “That’s alright, Arabella. She’s changed her mind and I’m happy to help her.”
Arabella glares at her and turns away without another word. The titters coming from her corner grow louder.
Capri gives me an amused look. “What the hell did you do to get on Arabella’s bad side?” She crouches back down beside me. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s the worst, but you haven’t even been here ten minutes. Or was I in the shower far longer than I realized?”
I shrug and take another sip. “You should listen to her. I don’t want you ostracized for helping me.”
She tuts dismissively. “Arabella already thinks I’m beneath her. That’s the first time she’s spoken to me in months. She might go home and wash her mouth out for it.” A cheeky grin curls Capri’s lips, revealing two small dimples. “Come to think of it, many worse things have been in and out of that mouth of hers. It’s long overdue for a good cleaning.”
I snort loudly into my mug, finding that the tightness in my chest is loosening, the abject fear receding. Capri runs her hand up and down my forearm, smiling at my relaxing expression.
There are mottled black and blue bruises on her arms.
She tracks my eyeline and hastily removes her hand when she sees what I’m staring at, tucking her arms into her sides to hide them.
The sinking feeling in my stomach is for an altogether different reason now, but her features shutter. I know better than to pry. She has her secrets and I have mine, I just hope hers aren’t connected to anyone who works here.
“Are you feeling better?” she asks, bringing the attention deftly back to me.
“Yes, much better. Thank you for helping me.” I clear my throat, looking down at my mug. “You didn’t have to.”
“You were ghostly pale and looked like you were about to faint. I’m just glad you’re doing better. What happened?”
When I don’t answer, she doesn’t press me.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. But if you ever do need someone to listen, I’ll be here. What’s your name?”
“Melody.”
“Well, Melody, it’s lovely to meet you.” She stands and extends a hand down to me, her dimples flashing onto her face. “Let me show you around.”
True to her word, Capri shows me Firenze . We move through the different entertainment areas, from semi-private and private VIP rooms, to the two main suites like the one I auditioned in, which host larger audiences, capping attendance at thirty customers at a time. Capri informs me that many VIPs bring their associates here for business meetings, including members of the Famiglia . My ears perk up at that, but I smother any further reaction.
It’s as we’re walking back to the changing rooms and she’s starting to explain the various services on the ‘menu’ that someone comes up behind me and violently slams me into the wall.