15. Moonlighting
Chapter fifteen
Moonlighting
(Danica)
The Sinful Moon club's staff locker room is bathed in harsh fluorescent light that leaves nowhere to hide. I hang my coat in the creaky locker and slam it shut with enough force to keep it closed.
My heart beats at a million beats per minute as I stare at the "uniform" laid out for me. It hardly comprises enough material to be called a uniform, but it suits the job, I guess.
The short leather skirt barely fits over my wide hips, and it sure doesn't cover my whole ass. The top half is a black sheer mesh crop top that's pretty much fully see-through, leaving my breasts on display for the world to see. I suspect they were the reason I got the job in the first place.
"No underwear," I was told during onboarding earlier. "And no speaking without being spoken to."
I glance at my phone as Dante's name flashes across the screen again, ringing silently for the seventh time in the past 10 minutes.
I send a quick text before dropping the phone in the locker too, locking it this time.
I love you. Don't worry. See you later. D
Breathe, Danica. Just breathe.
I'm in the belly of the beast now. The crown jewel in the Russian mob's collection. The main poaching spot for their female exports—if rumors are to be believed.
It's been a depressing week at the Fera compound; not even Dante’s golden toes could cheer me up.
After days of nobody coming up with a viable plan, we were getting desperate to find a way to put the Volkovs in their place once and for all before a full-on war broke out between the families.
Dante has been moodier than ever, and we're no closer to peace.
At least he no longer cuts me out of business meetings, debriefings, or strategy sessions, but it feels like we're going in circles. Every lead becomes a dead end, every ray of hope, another "it can't work."
Until the idea hit me two days ago. I woke up in the middle of the night with the perfect plan. Some problems can't be solved with violence. You need a more discreet solution—like someone on the inside. It all made sense.
Much to my surprise, it was easier to get a job at the Sinful Moon than I thought it would be.
I just sent in my “audition tape” (just some video I recorded on my phone), wearing a wig and something revealing.
They literally phoned me the next day, asking if I could cover a shift on Saturday—today.
One of the other girls hadn't shown up to work.
I immediately agreed, despite the nervous feeling in my stomach that threatened to upheave my lunch.
Dante didn't know I applied until they called back. His response? Less than enthusiastic.
"It's too dangerous, I won't let you," he told me this morning as I fastened my coat around my waist, ready to head out. I tried to lay out my argument calmly, but my husband-to-be was anything but calm.
He actually threw me over his shoulder, despite it still being injured and achy, and locked me in the bedroom.
"I'll be fine!" I insisted as I hammered my fists on his back, but neither of us believed it.
Furious but determined, I snuck out while he was on a call with Luigi, the accountant. It wasn't that hard—our bedroom balcony has a low wall I could scale to reach the open window of the guest suite next door.
Dario saw me leave but didn't try to stop me; none of the guards did. They watched me get into the Uber and smartly chose to turn a blind eye. Their job descriptions were to keep people out, not in.
Even Dante knows he can't just rush in here and grab me from the club. We are on enemy turf. His main argument against me finding a way in from the inside was that they would simply capture me if they found out who I was.
Hopefully, the long blonde wig and blue eye contacts will help with disguising that, or at least the many layers of makeup I'm about to plaster on my face.
Conveniently, the staff also wear masks when out on the floor, or at least that's what the chubby man with the greasy palms told me when he handed me my workwear earlier.
I take a deep breath and start to get changed.
I'm here now. No turning back.
The name tag on my useless shirt says Jasmyne, and I practice saying it out loud one more time before exchanging the locker room for the dressing room—you’d think they’d be the same room, but nope, not here.
You leave your personal belongings in this sterile room and then enter into the dark wonderland of sin and desire through the side door.
“Those shoes will never do.” A redhead in a green leotard regards me in the massive mirror wall as I enter. Save for the lights around the mirror, the lighting in here is much dimmer than in the locker room, and it takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust.
She gets up, her make-up half done, and pulls a pair of the highest stripper heels I’ve ever seen from a nearby drawer. “Try these. I’m Sasha, by the way.” She smiles broadly, handing me the shoes that look more uncomfortable than the outfit I’m wearing—something I thought impossible.
“Hi, Da—” I start but catch myself in time. “Jasmyne. Nice to meet you.”
“These should be your size, but if they’re a bit big, just shove some toilet paper in the front. I take it you’re the new recruit?”
“Yeah, they needed someone urgently.” I sit down to change my shoes, looking around the room. Two other girls are busy getting ready amidst a scattering of make-up and accessories.
“They always do.” Sasha takes a deep drag from her discreet black vape, blowing a soft cloud of vanilla smoke my way.
She seems about my age, probably a few years younger. However, it’s hard to tell with all the makeup caked on her tired face. It would be days later before she told me that she was only 22 but had been working here for almost three years already to support her six-year-old.
I want to pry, but I know it’s too soon. The aim of my undercover mission is seemingly simple: get to know the girls, find out what I can, and get to the big cheese Russian dude in charge here—without getting kidnapped or recognized, of course.
Foolish, I know, but so is sitting at home, watching Dante brood and worry about our safety.
I’m tired of looking around every corner, worrying about what’s waiting for us. I just want to be free to live my life as Mrs. Fera already, and the fucking Russians are standing in my way.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” I admit, sitting down beside Sasha to do my make-up.
“Yeah, Nikki is usually better with the onboarding but things have been a bit crazy as of late. It’s easy: just take people their drinks and get on stage when it’s your turn.
If anyone wants to book you privately, you can take them to the dungeon downstairs.
Ivan works the door there; he’ll let you in.
And if there is any funny business with the client, he’ll step in and make sure it’s resolved. ”
“Does that happen a lot?” I ask cautiously. The idea of walking around the club in this skimpy outfit and having strangers lust over me is incredibly erotic for some reason that I don’t even question. But the thought of having to go to a private room with an unknown man seems scary.
“Sadly, not all of our customers are as well-behaved as they should be. But don’t worry, they don’t usually let the new girls work the dungeon. At least not for the first week, not before you’ve done the rest of the induction course.”
The dungeon is where all the money is, apparently.
You can make good tips down there.
But I’m not here for the money.
Sasha blows another vanilla smoke cloud my way, smiling sweetly.
I find myself staring openly as she gets up, straightening out her skimpy outfit, the back a mere G-string that leaves her entire ass uncovered.
What a beautiful ass—so full, thick, tanned.
Like the rest of her, it’s curvaceous, round, and incredibly enticing.
She winks at me in the mirror and shakes her ass, twerking until everything jiggles. What a Goddess!
“I’ll see you out there. Mommy needs to go make some rent money.” She blows me a kiss and disappears out the black door, a big red feather boa draped around her neck.
On paper, this is a burlesque club, but everyone (including the cops) knows it is so much more than that—according to Emilio’s intel.
For the right price, everything goes in here. Ask no questions and hear no lies. Way shadier than the club where Adira works.
I take my time with my make-up, trying to ease the anxiety in my stomach.
Who knows how long before I cross paths with one of the Russian big bosses? They look pretty mean in the photos we have in the ever-growing intel folder that lives in Dante’s desk drawer.
What if they recognize me first?
What if I get raped by some asshole before Ivan can break it up?
Too many questions. Zero answers.
You got this, Danica, I try to feign some confidence.
I flick the whore-red lipstick over my lips, smacking them together as I drink in my image in the mirror.
A complete stranger stares back at me, a stranger with long blonde hair that drops down over her shoulders and stormy blue eyes hiding behind pounds of thick black eye makeup layered onto her unrecognizable face.
One of the other girls smiles at my reflection, catching my gaze. “Don’t worry, babe. With those knockers, you’ll get dungeon privileges in no time.” Her accent is British, thick.
I blush slightly, overly aware of how little modesty my outfit offers. “Thank you.”
The final touch is the delicate black Venetian mask I fasten over the top half of my face, completing the uniform.
It makes me feel more secure, more inconspicuous.
But I know that, in reality, I’m no safer than I was a week ago when we stormed the ports in the hopes of overthrowing the Russians with pure force.
I jump as the door opens, and the chubby man peeks his head inside.
“Jasmyne? You’re up!”
Oh god, what am I doing?