Chapter 9 Leanna
LEANNA
I stand in the bathroom, hands pressed to my flushed cheeks, staring at my reflection like it might offer answers.
My heart is still racing.
My breath is ragged.
Did I really just do that with a stranger?
God. That was insane, like something ripped from the filthiest chapter of one of Rylee’s steamiest novels, only a thousand times hotter.
My body still buzzes, alive in ways I didn’t know it could be.
I have kissed men before. No, let’s be honest, they were boys. Boys, in comparison to this faceless God of a man who really almost made me come with just his dirty words.
No one has ever made me feel the way he just did. Free. Sexy. Desired.
And isn’t that… backward?
Aren’t dancers supposed to make the clients lose themselves, come undone?
Not the other way around.
I exhale sharply, shaking my head.
I’ve always been shy about my body, self-conscious in ways I can’t fully explain.
Afraid I won’t look right.
Scared I won’t feel anything.
Terrified I’ll mess it up, or worse… that he won’t want me.
And yet.
Maybe it’s the mask.
He doesn’t see me. Not really.
And I can barely see him.
But I can see his mouth. His sinful, tempting, impossible mouth.
Oh, that mouth.
Oh, those words.
His desires are dark. He stopped himself; I could tell. The equipment in that room tells the rest of the story.
He’s holding back. Waiting.
And somehow, even now, standing here barefoot on cold tile, that idea turns me on more than I want to admit.
Maybe not tonight.
Maybe not for a while.
But someday, if I want it…
I might let him show me everything he didn’t do tonight.
I wash my face, blow out a long breath, and shove my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, then put on sweatpants and an Oversized Navy Pier t-shirt.
Comfortable. Ordinary.
Totally miles away from the woman who just got finger-fucked in a dark room by a masked stranger.
The train ride back to campus is a blur.
When I get home, the girls are sprawled across our hideous Goodwill floral couch, half a pizza sitting like a sad centerpiece on the rattan coffee table. I grab a slice, shove half of it into my mouth, and flop down next to Rylee.
“Where were you?” she asks. “Luke just slept with Verona, then ran to tell Alexis he’s in love with her.”
I glance at the TV. Sure enough, Luke is whispering sweet nothings to Alexis while Verona is probably somewhere crying into her ring light.
Poor Alexis.
Poor Verona.
Poor, clueless, average, emotionally constipated Luke.
He’s got nothing compared to my stranger.
I’m not ashamed, not really. What I’ve done with my stranger made me feel good. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever.
I felt powerful. Desired. Free.
Uninhibited in a way I’ve never been before.
And this time, Vasiliy handed me two thousand dollars before I walked out the door.
Cash.
Down the rabbit hole I go.
What would my friends say if I told them the truth?
That I danced for a stranger behind a locked door.
That I let him touch me.
Would they call it gross? Dangerous? Slutty? Creepy?
Would I?
Was I being reckless?
But… he didn’t feel like a creep.
He didn’t act like one.
He was fit. Well-dressed. Clean.
He smelled incredible, like pine trees after rain and sin.
And he’s very controlled, controlled enough to keep himself from coming, even as I ground myself against him.
And he seems…powerful. He reminds me of a caged panther, elegant and dangerous.
And I should find that off-putting.
I’ve met plenty of powerful men.
Plenty of hungry, sexual men. And I did not want any of them.
But I want him.
I’m pulled from my thoughts as Rylee smacks my arm.
“What is up with you, weirdo? You okay?”
I shake my head with a smile. “Fine. I’m fine. I think I forgot to grab coffee before class this morning. My brain stopped working like two hours ago.”
“You were studying?”
“Yeah,” I lie, trying not to blush.
“Well,” Rylee says, leaning closer, “if that’s studying, I seriously need to re-evaluate my life choices.” She grins.
Makayla chimes in, “There’s a party at Fiji House tomorrow. Hula theme or something. You going?”
“I can’t,” I say, and this is not a lie. “I have a thing with my dad.”
“Oh,” Rylee says, feigning disappointment. “A…fun thing?”
“A hockey game,” I say. “You know… my dad and his Chicago Reapers.”
Makayla whistles softly. “Wow. That’s amazing. Your dad’s actually cooler than most people your age could ever dream of being.”
Rylee leans back, smirking. “Yeah, no kidding. Tall, sharp… scary in that ‘don’t mess with him’ way, but also ridiculously good-looking. Leanna, you have to admit, that’s impressive.”
I groan, half-laughing, half-cringing. “You make it sound like I live with a movie star.”
“Exactly!” Rylee grins. “And you’re the leading lady, living with him every day. Lucky—or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.”
Makayla winks. “Either way, you’ve got the coolest dad on campus. Hands down.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You two are ridiculous. But… thanks.”
The truth is, my dad rarely goes to the games.
He claims he prefers watching them at home, but I know it’s more about keeping his profile low.
People don’t readily know he owns the team, and he likes it that way.
When he does show up, he takes the owner’s box and fills it with Campisi loyalists.
To anyone, it appears to be a corporate outing.
I don’t love going to games.
There are many reasons, but mostly it’s the way my dad leans in and says, “One day, all of this will be yours.”
And that’s… awful.
Because, a.) I don’t want it.
And b.) Vince is usually within earshot, and later, when no one’s around, he makes me pay for it, physically.
Of course, my brothers will be taken care of when Dad passes.
I don’t want to think about that day, but death comes for us all. Eventually.
When he goes, trust funds will be waiting for all three of them, enough cash that they’ll never have to work another day in their lives.
But that doesn’t mean they’ll be happy.
Especially Vincenzo.
Ruthless. Hateful. Sadistic.
And completely unsatisfied with anything short of being Don, which will never happen.
Ever.
Vince is uneducated, unhinged, and utterly lacking in leadership. A spoiled, rich man-child with the emotional intelligence of a spoon and the temperament of a pit bull on bath salts.
He has no value to the business.
He’s a goon—one of the worst.
That’s why Dad insists I’m the one to take over.
Makes sense.
Ezra isn’t great either, but at least not anywhere near Vincenzo’s level of viciousness, and he’s loyal. Obedient. Another Campisi goon, through and through.
Then there’s Alessandro—Alex. A year older than me, not particularly skilled at crime, but passionate about it: currently serving three to five years, and I swear he treats jail like a badge of honor. Loyal soldier. Prison, to him, isn’t punishment; it’s some twisted rite of passage.
So, it’s just me.
The only one with a remotely level head.
The only one who’s gone to college, who can think beyond muscle and fear.
The only one who could run the business side without wiping us out or landing in prison.
And yet… the thought of making decisions that could cost lives terrifies me.
I know a lot of these people are bad, so how are we really any better?
I have more questions than answers about this life my family leads. The idea of running the legitimate side of Campisi’s empire intrigues me.
The crime side? No real interest.
Dad knows it. He just doesn’t care. He doesn’t take no for an answer.
But I love him anyway.
He is a good dad, in his way.
As normal as a mafia don could be.
He came to my school plays. Took us to the zoo. Went on roller coasters and held my hand when I cried after Mom died.
Mom died when I was ten, and he never remarried.
Nannies came and went; Sure, some of them probably warmed his bed, but he never tried to replace her.
She was the love of his life.
And he loves us too. I know he does.
That’s what makes it so damn hard to walk away.
Even though I’ve got no taste for blood, I used to think it would kick in eventually, like a dormant gene waiting to be activated. That one day I’d wake up as a ruthless, unflinching killer, maybe, just like the rest of them.
But it never came.
I don’t crave power. I crave stability. Business. Real estate. A clean ledger and bigger numbers at the bottom of the page. I want money without blood on it.
I’m not psychotic like Vince.
Not reckless like Alex.
Not cruel like my father.
Every day, I get closer to deciding to run.
It’s really late. Or, I suppose, really early, depending on which way you look at it. Either way, I can hardly keep my eyes open anymore.
Rylee and Makayla are still entirely into this reality show binge-fest.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce, forcing myself up from my comfy spot on the hideous couch.
“Night, night, bookworm,” they say without looking at me.
I grab my bag and trudge to my tiny square room with scratched hardwood floors, crappy plastic blinds, and a single bed shoved into the corner. Clothes, books, and random crap litter the floor and the dresser.
Classic college chaos.
And it’s nothing like the room I grew up in—enormous, ornate, four-poster bed, walk-in closet, ensuite bathroom with a clawfoot tub big enough to bathe a miniature horse.
Over-the-top.
Excessive.
Completely ridiculous.
I pull the envelope from my bag and drop the cash into the shoebox I keep stashed in the back of my closet.
Two thousand dollars just for letting a hot guy finger me to climax.
I blink. Twice. No, seriously, this is real.
I haven’t had much of my own money—just a high school ice cream job, minimum wage plus tips, maybe a thousand saved over three long, sweaty summers.
And here I am, two grand in one night.
The second night? Four grand in my pocket.
It boggles my mind.
If I keep this up once a week until graduation, I could vanish.
False identity.
Plane ticket.
New apartment.
A life somewhere far from my family’s expectations.
The plan begins to unfold. I know a guy who can discreetly provide me with a new identity. He’s money-motivated, so a bonus should keep him quiet. However, the documents must be flawless, including flight bookings, TSA checks, and police clearances, all of which must be convincing and accurate.
And it won’t be cheap. It’s not an option to dip into my family accounts. That much money moving would raise flags with their accountants.
I plan to meet with my contact soon to discuss the costs and timing. Then I’ll know how many more dances I need to have enough that I can afford a flight, a starter apartment, and a real escape.
Graduation’s three months away. Four Fridays a month. If he keeps paying two grand a dance, that’s…twenty-four thousand. And Vasiliy hinted that I can set my rate if we go further. Please him, try the toys, the equipment…have sex.
I’ll have to think about this. Dark desires swirl through my head. Desires that curl in my stomach just thinking about them. Maria said I need something darker, and that I’ve never truly wanted more because I’ve never had it.
This man has shown me. He’s awakened it.
I want more. I want him. I want the feeling.
I think I could want it all… just not tonight.
But I have so little time in the grand scheme of things.
I will figure this out. I have to.
It will be hard to leave my dad, but I think he’ll forgive me. I think he’ll understand.
That he’ll remember he raised me to be smart, strong, and capable.
Even if that means walking away.
I have to believe that.
It takes a long time for me to fall asleep, despite being desperately tired.
My mind is a storm, spinning with numbers, plans, escape routes, and fear.
And him.
The stranger behind the mask.
Not just the money. Not just the danger.
It’s how I feel in that room.
Unseen. Untethered.
Free.