Chapter 1 #3
It feels like a sledgehammer just hit me in the chest.
“You… you—”
I can’t even think of a name base enough to describe this monster of a human.
So, instead, I tear the check from the book and rip it into small pieces in front of his face.
Then I look back at the two men expectantly.
I don’t care what they do to my uncle as long as they don’t hurt my father.
They can drag him out of here and torture him for all I care.
The smaller one pans his gaze to me slowly, sensing that I’d be more than happy to give my uncle over to them.
So, why are they dragging this out?
Agostini looks up, lazily. “Your uncle here gambled away a hundred thousand dollars of our money.”
I swallow, unable to look at Callum again. My contempt for him is too great.
“That’s a lot of money,” I say quietly.
He nods. “Yes it is. And because of his actions, your family owes us.”
I choke on a breath and take a moment or two to recover.
“His family? I haven’t seen this man in nearly ten years!” I lower my voice so my father can’t hear. “I don’t even want him in the apartment. I don’t want him anywhere near us.”
The man shrugs. “Boss’s orders.”
“What do you mean?” My voice climbs in pitch. “What orders?”
“It’s obvious this asshat can’t get his hands on the money,” Agostini explains calmly. “And I’m sure you wouldn’t want him dead…”
He tips his head to one side. As much as I hate my uncle, I don’t want him dead. I don’t want anyone dead. The whole reason I became a nurse was to help prevent people from dying.
“So,” Agostini continues, “we have another repayment method in mind that would solve a problem for both of us.”
The room feels suddenly cold, as though a ghost just walked through it.
“We need someone to work one of our clubs; your family needs to pay off a debt. It’s an arrangement that suits us all.”
Arrangement? I gulp. He’s talking like this has already been decided.
I pan to Callum. “Guess you better polish up on your bartending skills,” I say to him.
But Agostini tuts. “No. Boss doesn’t want him. Boss wants you.”
My voice shakes as I extend a weak arm in the direction of the living room. “I quit my job so I could care for my father.”
“Your father sleeps at night, yes?”
I fold my arms firmly. “Of course he does.”
“Well then, he won’t even know you’re gone.”
I gasp in shock. “This is crazy. I can’t work in a club. I’m a nurse! And why should I have to pay off this imbecile’s debt? Can’t you find him a job?”
The man turns to Callum, who is watching the whole exchange through stretched eye sockets, and smirks. “Oh yeah. We could find him a job alright…”
Callum swallows loudly.
“…but like I said, the boss wants you.”
His expression flattens. It’s not a question. It’s not a request. It’s not an offer. It’s a notification—a command. These men are Di Santo’s. No one refuses the Di Santo’s.
“What club?” I ask, defeated.
“Velvet. Downtown. Be there at eight p.m. and ask for Dante.”
“Velvet? I’ve never heard of it.”
His gaze strokes me up and down slowly and he offers me a pitying smile. “You’re not the target clientele.”
I gulp for the millionth time in twenty minutes.
“You want me to work in a strip club.”
Agostini darts me a sharp, warning look. “Don’t let anyone else hear you call it that. Understood?”
His tone is so cutting, my mouth snaps shut and I nod.
He stands, unfolding himself limb by limb to his full height and pulls out a blade. My breath sticks in my throat as I watch him feed it between Callum’s wrists and slice through a rope.
The cretin wastes no time in rubbing the circulation back into his hands and knuckles while eyeing me warily.
“Be there tonight. Eight o’clock sharp,” Agostini says.
I crane my neck to peer up at him. “Wh—what will I be doing?”
Please don’t say ‘dancing.’ I have two left feet, no rhythm and a pathological fear of standing on stages.
His lowered gaze softens for a millisecond. “I’m not privy to that kind of information, Miss.”
I stare after the two men open-mouthed as they leave, then I turn back to Callum. My father is still sitting in the living room so I need to keep my voice down.
“You want to pretend you’re family?” I take a shaky step toward him, my fists clenched at my sides. “Then you take care of him.”
He blinks, a frown ghosting over his idiotic features. “What?”
“When I’m ‘working,’” I say, “you will need to check on him. You will need to make meals for him. You will need to make sure he takes his medication.”
He half-laughs. “Wait—you’re asking me to—”
“I’m telling you,” I cut in. “If I have to pay off your debt by working in a nightclub, caring for Dad is the least you can do.”
He watches me carefully but doesn’t object.
“And I don’t want you here when I come home,” I finish.
A minute of silence hovers between us, then he nods, slowly.
“All right.”
It doesn’t sound like agreement. It sounds like calculation—like he’s buying time to think about how else he can make my life a living hell. But, for now, it has to be enough.
“Good,” I say, straightening. “Now please, for the love of God, leave.”