12. Valeria
VALERIA
“Are you sure about this?” Lacey, who once skinny dipped in Lake Michigan on a dare, sobers me with her concern.
“I’m sure,” I say, even as my stomach roils with nausea.
The truth is, I’m terrified.
Mom and Dad gone, Giovanni breathing down my neck, and now, I’m missing the safety net of a job.
But I know the source of all this—Nico. If I stand a chance of getting my old life back, I need him to let me go.
And if he won’t, I’ll run.
Lacey gives me an appraising look. “You know, I meant what I said. I have money—three thousand. You can just have it.”
I look up from the straps I’m tightening around my thigh, and my heart swells with affection. She needs the money for her sisters, not for some idiot who’s caught up in man troubles.
“Have I ever mentioned that you’re my best friend?”
She bounces forward to wrap me in a hug. “Don’t make me cry, you’ll ruin my makeup.” She helps me finish getting dressed and then steps back to check me out. “Well, at least you look amazing.”
I’m wearing tall platform heels, black and strappy, a micro skirt that fully shows off my ass, and a glittery black bra. A masquerade mask and dark smoky makeup with black lipstick complete the look.
“I know you haven’t done this in a while, but don’t forget,” Lacey says, “I’ll be there next to you the whole time. Say the word, and we can end the night early.”
“Thanks,” I say. I swallow past my dry throat. It’s not the dancing I’m worried about, or the men that’ll be here tonight. It’s the after, when Nico finds out.
We stride through the back rooms, the bass thumping louder with each step, until I can feel it thundering in my bones.
Then I’m on the main floor.
I’ve danced with Lacey and Mei a few times before, usually right before a new school semester, when I need the money most, and the stage fright right before you step onto a platform never really goes away.
A little part of me is excited—thrilled—like usual, and another part of me is resentful that I have to be here in the first place.
“Stick with me,” Lacey says, and then the change passes over her—the moment where she shifts from regular woman to enchanting seductress. She pushes out her chest, smiles coyly, and struts to the nearest pole. I follow her to the pole next to hers.
We practiced a little backstage, but I’m clearly rusty as the women around me throw themselves in spins, climbs, and inversions.
It’s fine. I’m not here to impress anyone. I’m here to ruin my reputation.
I fix a smile on my face and point myself toward the nearest man.
“Hey there, handsome,” I say, and the middle-aged man’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “How’s your night going?”
“A lot better now that you’re here.”
I grab the pole and swing myself around it. I don’t even try to lift myself in the air like Lacey is doing now, but the man in front of me doesn’t seem to mind as I sway my hips to the music and weave around the pole. He throws a few dollar bills onto the stage.
I dance for hours next to Lacey. More men come to my stage as the night progresses, just like she said, attracted by my newness.
Most of them encourage me with compliments and praise, but many also ask me about myself, my name, where I’m from, what I like to drink.
And for the first time since I’ve started dancing, I tell the truth.
I tell them my name is Valeria. I’m from Chicago. I like pina coladas. My husband doesn’t know I’m here tonight.
And when I have a big enough crowd going, I take off my mask to roaring applause.
I stuff the money they throw into my garter belt, dozens of faces blurring as I spin.
I’m weightless. I’m free.
I bet Nico feels like this all the time. To be able to choose your own destiny and set fire to the rest.
Once he lets me go, I’ll have to move. The thought fuels me. I could leave the country and go somewhere warm, where the sun always shines on my face.
I scoop up another layer of bills, before a man’s face catches my eye.
Stefano.
I have one second to recognize my brother until I’m ripped off the stage, and a hand clamps over my mouth.
Lacey screams.
My brother’s friend drags me through the strip club while Stefano follows behind. I fight tooth and nail, trailing money behind me like candy from a pinata.
The man throws me into a VIP room, and I stumble backwards until I slam against a wall.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Stefano demands.
His friend, Henry, looms over us, his gaze skating down my body hungrily.
Stefano shrugs off his coat and throws it at me. “Cover up, you look like a whore.”
I clutch the coat in shock. “What are you doing here?”
“Somebody recognized you and came to tell me my sister was acting like a fucking slut.” An angry flush covers his face.
I glance at Henry, who watches me smugly, his arms crossed.
“I thought you had this handled,” Stefano says. “You have one fucking job—make your husband happy. Where the fuck is he?”
I press my lips together. If I say anything, he’ll just use it against me. He won’t hurt me, he’s too scared of Nico. Another man saw me, which means the Family will eventually learn that Nico’s fiancée is a stripper.
I just need to get through this evening, and then I’m done. I’m out.
Stefano approaches me, hand rising.
“Nico won’t be happy if you touch me.”
He won’t be happy that I’m here in the first place, but the threat is enough to make Stefano reconsider, because he stops, his jaw working like he’s chewing through gristle.
“You think you’re so fucking clever,” he says. “Doing whatever the hell you want, and fucking over your family, but if I have to post a guard around the house twenty-four seven, I will.”
He reaches forward and snatches a fistful of my hair, pulling painfully. I grit my teeth and don’t cry out.
“He is going to break you, or I will. You will not fuck this up.”
He drags me by my hair through the VIP room, and I stumble after him.
I try to hold it in, but a whine escapes my mouth.
He’s pulling out hair.
My scalp burns.
“I don’t have to leave a mark to hurt you,” Stefano promises.
The door slams open. Nico strides through.
He’s wearing his usual black boots, ripped jeans, and bomber jacket, looking like he’s stepped off the back of a motorcycle. He takes in the scene in front of him without expression.
Stefano tosses me forward by my hair into Nico’s arms. I bounce off his chest, and would’ve stumbled to the ground if it weren’t for him grabbing my arm to hold me steady.
“Her shitty friend Lacey made her do this,” Stefano lies. He’s never liked Lacey. “I caught her just in time.”
Nico casts a dispassionate eye over me, inspecting me.
When his gaze meets mine, I blink away the tears of pain and raise my chin in defiance.
He’ll see right through Stefano. No one forced me to do this.
I’m bad.
Nico lightly touches the back of my head and strokes down like I’m the family pet.
A shiver rolls down my spine.
“What happened to her hair?” Nico asks in a dangerous voice. He doesn’t stop from stroking me. Sparks skitter along my neck. I twist against the hand holding my bicep, but he doesn’t let go.
Stefano’s instincts kick in. “She didn’t want to go. That fucking friend of hers had her brainwashed. You ask me, you should get her taken care of. She’s a bad influence on Valeria.”
“Lacey didn’t do anything wrong,” I blurt. Real panic ratchets up my voice. “This was my idea.”
Stefano throws Nico a look, like see?
I can’t see Nico’s expression, but he continues to stroke my hair. I don’t know what he’s thinking.
“I can see where Valeria’s gotten her bad influences. Thank you for taking care of your sister,” Nico says evenly behind me. “Now go home and pull out your fingernails.”
My stomach roils.
Stefano opens and closes his mouth like a puppet. “What?”
Nico pulls me flush against his chest. I’m hot and sticky from dancing, but he doesn’t seem to care as he pins my back to him and binds me with an arm across my belly.
“You heard me,” he says. “All ten. And send me a picture when you’re done.”
Stefano laughs incredulously, before glancing at his friend who’s smart enough to stay silent. “Come on, boss. I was keeping her safe for you.”
Nico shifts, and in the corner of my eye, I see the silver flash of a gun.
“Nico, please,” I whisper, holding his arm. I might not love Stefano, but I still don’t want to see him get shot.
“You’re running my patience, Stefano. Now go do as you’re told.”
Stefano pales, glancing from the gun to me with wide eyes, before bolting from the room, his friend trailing behind.
Once the door shuts behind them, Nico releases me and steps away, the heat of his body disappearing from my back.
I’m almost too scared to turn toward him, but I do anyway, fixing an empty look to my face.
“If you needed money so badly, I would’ve given you some,” he says coldly. The guy who laughed and teased me at our café date is gone.
This is the real Nico. Cruel and remorseless as he tucks a gun into his waistband.
Blood roars in my ears. I wish he’d just hit me and get it over with. I hate anticipating his next move.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks, a hint of false vulnerability slipping in.
Like that. I hate when he talks to me like that, voice soft like he cares.
“To remind you who I am.” My voice sounds calmer than I feel. “An Aceto.”
A beat. Then, he laughs. “You’re as much Aceto as I am Matassa.”
“That’s cute.”
Anger flashes in his eyes. He scoffs and scrubs a hand over his jaw, his body tense with the pent-up energy of a caged tiger.
“We’re not doing this.” He snatches my wrist. “Come on. We’re going home.”
I wrench against his grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m in the middle of my shift.”
Nico scoffs, before swinging me and shoving me up against the nearest wall.
The air whooshes out of my lungs.
“What the fuck do you need to dance for, pretty girl? Daddy’s allowance run dry?”
I’m cold. Freezing with anxiety and anger. “You’re so fucking ignorant. Not all of us can make easy cash like you, stealing and threatening people. I need to eat. I pay rent.”
Nico blinks. “What?”
The rising tension between us crashes to a halt.