Chapter Ten
Valentina
T wo weeks pass in a blur of dances, bottle service, and learning my way around Firenze with Aurora’s help. My days are kept so busy with actual work that I don’t manage to carve out any time to dedicate to the real reason I’m here. I’m impatient, anxious and antsy to get long-awaited answers, but I know that rushing before I see an opening means endangering myself. These initial weeks are going to be paramount to my survival.
The great news is that my time isn’t being wasted. I familiarize myself with the ins and outs of the club until I know the front and back of the house well enough to go through every section blindfolded. That knowledge will come in handy if I ever need to make a quick escape.
I was naive about how dangerous this was going to be before I came here.
Aside from Aurora, the monsters lurk everywhere. Guido continues to manhandle the girls anytime he sees fit. He’s not the only one. I see how countless other Made men make their way into the changing rooms and collect a girl of their choosing. Aurora assures me that sexual services are strictly forbidden and not on the menu, but I watch those girls come back with their hair disheveled, their makeup running down their cheeks and a hollow look in their eyes, and I don’t need to think very hard to imagine the horrors they’ve just been put through.
Mercifully, the men all stay away from me. I think Matteo’s little performance during my first dance made them think I was forbidden fruit. They’re mistaken but I’m still thankful for the protection those unfounded assumptions provide.
I haven’t seen him since that night. He’s stayed far away from me and I haven’t gone looking for him. Sometimes my skin itches like I can feel his gaze on me, but when I look over my shoulder, he’s never there. I’m either paranoid or going crazy, and I’m not sure which is worse.
The man I do see is Enzo.
He comes to the changing room every day before my set and motions at me to show him my chosen outfit for the night. If he doesn’t approve of my choice, then I have to change it. He often dislikes it, although he doesn’t share what his criteria are for judging my clothes. The only thing that seems consistent is ensuring maximum coverage of all my essential bits. When I point out that it seems counterproductive to the clothes off business they’re trying to run, he just shrugs and tells me to pick again.
Enzo communicates almost exclusively through grunts, head nods, and head shakes, which I actually appreciate. No need to pretend this is anything other than what it is—it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the only reason he’s here is because his boss has ordered him to keep an eye on me.
I’m in the changing room, bent over the counter of my vanity when Arabella appears behind me. She fists my hair and yanks it viciously, pulling me down to the ground with a sadistic smile on her face. I scream and fall, clawing at her hands to try and free my hair.
“Fucking bitch ,” she spits at me.
Not for the first time, I wonder how someone so beautiful on the outside can be so ugly on the inside.
Based on the way she confidently sat on Matteo’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck the last time I saw him, the two of them are familiar with each other in a biblical sense.
She got his attention and he’s ignored me since, so I’m not sure what exactly has fueled her behavior to go from bad to downright cruel. It’s been two weeks of constant attacks. Most times, it’s one of her cronies carrying out her orders. The moment my guard dips, one of them jumps me from behind.
I drew too much attention to the fact that I can fight when I twisted Arabella’s wrist on my first day, so I mostly grin and bear the pain until it’s over.
“Arabella, stop ,” I yell.
She kicks me in the ribs. I cry out and curl into a ball, drawing my knees up into my chest to protect myself.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her leg pull back as she keeps her hold on my hair. I bury my face in my hands and brace myself for impact, resigned to my fate.
Nothing happens.
After what feels like an eternity, I look up. My eyes collide with Arabella’s. They’re wide with fear, the pupils constricted down to pinpricks and the whites glassy and bright.
I understand why when I see the gun pressed up against her temple.
“Let her go,” Enzo orders coolly.
Arabella does as he asks, then turns slowly towards him. “She–she stole my makeup palette. I—”
“Give me those and get out.” He gestures for whatever she holds in her hand, then waves his gun towards the exit. “All of you,” he bellows at the other three girls present.
I don’t watch them go but I hear them leave. Hiding a wince at the throbbing in my side, I sit up gingerly.
“She’s lying. I didn’t steal from her,” I mutter, my gaze turned away, my face hidden behind my hair.
A dull ache spreads through my chest and I wonder if the crazy bitch didn’t crack a rib. It certainly feels like she has.
Enzo reholsters his weapon and crouches next to me, careful not to touch me. “I know.”
“How?”
“You don’t strike me as the type to steal eyeshadow for the fun of it.”
Despite the heaviness in my heart, I manage to aim a faint smile his way. That’s when I notice what he’s holding in his hand. A pair of scissors glinting under the light.
His fist tightens around them when he sees me staring. His jaw shifts tautly back and forth.
“She was going to cut your hair,” he informs me.
I stare unseeingly at them as my mind takes me back four years into the past.
“Sit,” Adriana orders, pointing at a chair she’s positioned in front of my bathroom mirror.
I groan loudly. “I thought we were going to the movies. Do we really have to do this now?”
“Yes,” she answers firmly. “I was sitting behind you in English yesterday and nearly gasped out loud when I saw your split ends.”
My hand comes up defensively to the back of my head. “Alright, no need to be dramatic.”
“I’ve seen forks in the road with less splitting than what’s going on back there.”
I park a hand on my hip. “Now you’re just being rude.”
Adri snaps a pair of scissors open and closed between us. “How much ruder do I need to be to get you to sit?”
“I’ll sit,” I grumble, doing just that.
“Smart choice,” she says, turning my shoulders towards the mirror and grabbing my hair. “I don’t know why you’re fighting me. You love it when I cut your hair.”
“I just really wanted to see Amor en Vuelo . You know I’m crushing on the main actor.”
“Exactly. I heard he’s going to be at tonight’s premiere so I got us tickets.”
I shriek. “He is?!”
“Why do you think I’m trying to get your hair sorted?”
I clap my hands happily. “You’re the best.”
Adri laughs when I straighten from my slouching position, sitting dutifully as she starts trimming my ends.
“I know.” She sighs as she runs her fingers through the silky strands. “Split ends aside, you have the most beautiful hair in the world. I’m so jealous, I wish mine would behave without needing to be fried using heat at levels that rival the temperature of the Earth’s crust.”
“Your curls are adorable! You look like Mama.”
Adri’s eyes soften as they meet mine in the mirror. I offer my palm over my shoulder to her and she takes it, squeezing my hand tightly.
Thirty minutes later, my hair is bouncy and healthy looking, and I feel like a brand new woman. Adri leans over my shoulder and meets my eyes through the mirror.
“Promise me you won’t ever let anyone else cut your hair, Leni. They’d just butcher it.”
I smile. “I promise.”
“Melody?” Enzo questions, ripping me from the comfort of my memories.
Emotion constricts my chest like a band as I thread my fingers through my hair. Tears crawl up the back of my throat, determined to make an appearance.
Crying in front of any of these people, even the ones who help me, is the last thing I want to do. I’m afraid that if I start, I won’t stop until there’s nothing left of me. I’ll start crying about the scissors and I’ll keep crying about things a lot more tragic and a lot more painful than a mean girl attempting to cut off my hair, breaking a long held promise in the process.
“I don’t need you to defend me,” I hiss defensively.
Enzo’s tone is even when he answers. “Okay.”
“Or save me.”
“Okay.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Okay.”
“Stop saying okay.”
There’s a hint of a smile in his response. “Okay.”
For some reason, that’s what makes a tear crest past my waterline and slip down my cheek.
Enzo hands me a Kleenex. Our eyes cross, an understanding of some sort passing between us. This is the most words we’ve exchanged since we met.
I sniffle. “You really didn’t need to help me.”
He sighs. “Yes, I did.”
I stiffen, looking over at him. “Why?”
“Matteo is under my protection and you’re under his. Whether I like it, and whether you want it or not, that means you’re under mine as well.”
Try as I might, I can’t find anything to say to that. I sniffle but he’s kind enough not to comment on it.
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me like this.”
“Saw you like what?”
I snort, the sound deeply unattractive, and lift my head, swiping away at a falling tear. It’s my second secret with the people I swore to hate. Finding out there may be some good apples amongst the rotten bunch is confusing.
He watches me quietly while I dry my eyes and blow my nose. “This won’t happen again.”
“You’ll make sure of it?” I say with a caustic laugh.
“No.” Enzo stands, his jaw set. “The boss will.”
???
The following day, Arabella misses her set. Guido comes by after we wrap for the night and announces that she won’t be returning.
When Enzo comes by the next day, I ask him about it.
“I told you Matteo would take care of it,” he replies.
It’s so eerily reminiscent of what happened to Adriana that I immediately can’t breathe.
“Did he… Did he hurt her?”
Enzo frowns, looking at me with a puzzled expression. “No, he’s not in the business of hurting women. He fired her. Likely threatened her a bit too.”
Relief floods me. As much as I despise Arabella, I don’t want another family crushed by the loss of their loved one.
Matteo’s fixation doesn’t make sense. I’ve seen the way the men react to Arabella, she’s one of his best—and therefore I assume, most profitable—performers. Why would he defend me over her when I pale in comparison?
It can’t be because there’s a zero tolerance policy for violence as Enzo intimated. We’re at the very heart of a criminal organization.
“I’m surprised he’d get rid of his girlfriend just because she hit me,” I say offhandedly.
Enzo snorts derisively. “Matteo has no interest in any of the dancers. Now hurry up and show me what you’re planning on wearing tonight, I’ve got actual shit I need to do.”
“Feel free to go do all your very important mobster work, Enzo, I’m not the one who requested all my outfits be vetted by the indecency police before I wear them,” I reply moodily. “And Matteo is welcome to have no interest in me as well.”
“Just moments ago, you seemed really concerned by the fact that Arabella might be his girlfriend.”
“That’s because she’s a terrible person,” I say, crossing my arms defensively. “It wasn’t concern, it was indignation at his potential lack of discernment.”
Enzo scrutinizes my face for long moments before his features tighten. He seems to be wrestling with whether or not to speak before he says, “If you’re a smart woman, Melody, you’ll stay away from Matteo.”
“I didn’t ask to be the object of your boss’s fixation and I didn’t ask to be under his protection. My only interests are doing my job, getting paid, and going home,” I say, indignant.
Enzo’s eyes search for the truth in my statement. Eventually, he nods. “Good. If you understand even ten percent of what’s going on around here, then you know who he is.”
It’s the first time someone other than Matteo openly alludes to the Underworld activities happening behind the scenes at Firenze . I’m surprised Enzo would take me in his confidence like this.
“Yes, a violent criminal.”
“No,” Enzo corrects. “A man who’s about to enter into an arranged marriage with a Mafia princess. There’s no room in his life for you, Melody. Don’t ever forget that, no matter what happens.”
My stomach twists at his words even when they’re an echo of my own reality. I’m likely months, not years, away from my own engagement to someone in the cartel.
“You don’t need to worry about me, Enzo, although it’s cute that you do. Your boss is the one who needs the reminder. He’s the one with the obsession, not me.”
“I’ve told him,” he answers, surprising me. “But I need you to have it in the back of your mind as well.”
“Why?”
“Because he won’t be able to stay away from you,” he answers honestly. “So I need you to, for your own sake. Otherwise I promise you won’t like how this story ends.”
“And how will it end?”
“With you having a front row seat to watching him watch someone else walk down the aisle to him.”
That final warning issued, Enzo walks out without checking the outfit I chose for the night.