Chapter 12
CHANTEL
I spend the rest of the morning doing yoga, skincare, and repainting my nails. Today is a show day, so I keep my activity light and conserve energy for this evening.
There’s a lot of prep that goes into a performance between clothing, hair, and makeup. When the program changes, we’ll also do rehearsals, meetings with the choreographer, and costume fittings.
Fortunately, there isn’t much to go over this week, so I don’t have to be there until late afternoon. After lunch, I head out a bit early so I can check in at Sanctum before I meet up with Bran this weekend.
My driver, Bruno, picks me up right on time.
He’s an older gentleman with fuzzy gray eyebrows and a friendly smile.
If I saw him on the street, I wouldn’t assume he’s Mafia, but during the drive, I discover he’s been working for the Vitale family for over thirty years.
With that said, there are two things I can be certain of.
He’s definitely carrying, and Cristian will know my location at all times.
He drives me to the downtown IVI complex and delivers me to the elevator before he leaves.
Once inside, I pass through security and make my way to Sanctum.
The Society-owned sex club sits adjacent to Black Velvet, and I have membership access through my job.
I’ve made a few friends with some of the women there, and after my visits with Bran, I feel comfortable with the environment.
Casually, a lot of members refer to it as the Cat House, but IVI has a tradition of incorporating Latin into pretty much everything they do.
In that context, it makes sense that Bran refers to me as dea, meaning goddess. It’s the counterpart of deus, which holds significance for Sovereign Sons in the Society.
They’re the highest-ranked and most respected members of IVI. In their world, that means they’re often greeted with the phrase ‘Dominus et Deus,’ which translates to Lord and God.
I don’t know Bran’s Society ranking, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he were a Sovereign Son. Though my ranking is nonexistent, I’ve only ever been treated with respect at Sanctum.
Once inside, I check in to the private clinic where they perform the mandatory health screenings.
Since I haven’t been here in three years, I’ll need clearance to have my access credentials validated by Saturday.
The process is quick and easy, and after a routine physical, an update to my consent form, and a blood draw, I’m on my way.
When I step out into the corridor and glance down the familiar hallway, a wave of nervous energy crashes over me. The thought of spending a night with Bran after so long is surreal. It’s also slightly terrifying, because I know it won’t be like any other experience I’ve ever had.
But for all my anticipation, part of me can’t help feeling torn. Every memory I have of him seems to be blurred by the past and present.
I’ve never seen beneath Bran’s mask, but my subconscious is all too happy to fill in the gaps—with the expressions, mannerisms, and dark eyes of the man who’s currently upending my life.
I have enough to worry about without adding the moral ambiguity of that problem to my life. The best I can hope for is that the issue will self-correct by Saturday.
By the time I get to Black Velvet and start prepping for the show, I manage to put it from my mind.
Hair and makeup are often an hours-long process, depending on the performance. Tonight I’ll be doing one ensemble act and two solos. That calls for my signature look—vintage waves and the classic combination of a matte face, winged liner, dramatic lashes, and a red lip.
When I arrive, the dressing room is already buzzing with activity and a racket of music, laughter, and hairspray.
After stopping to chat with a few of my friends along the way, I take a seat at my vanity, casting Kenzie a sidelong glance.
She’s at the space next to mine, and I only have to raise a brow for her to understand my unspoken question.
“It was amazing,” she answers dreamily. “I’m sorry I didn’t update you. But honestly, we kept at it all weekend.”
“In that case, I highly approve.” I laugh. “I always suspected he’d be an animal in bed. The quiet ones usually are.”
“You have no idea.” She smirks. “I’m definitely keeping him.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I tell her, and I genuinely mean it.
Kenzie deserves nothing but the best, and I can personally vouch for Andreas. He’s one of Ares’ guards, and he saved my life when he found my ex beating me.
My arranged marriage was due to take place the next day, and he took me to Ares and helped me escape. Ultimately, that’s how I ended up in Seattle.
When Kenzie had a problematic customer of her own, I asked Ares if Andreas could help her out. I’m pretty sure he’s been in love with her ever since.
“I think it’s safe to say I found one of the good ones .” Kenzie dabs some perfume onto her wrists. “Thanks to you.”
“He would have found his way to you eventually.”
“I don’t know about that,” she says. “When you told me you knew a friend of a friend who could drive me home for a while, I never thought it would turn into this.”
“Well, to be fair, the man ended up driving you home every night for a year before he finally made a move.”
She stifles a laugh. “I genuinely couldn’t figure out if he liked me or if he just thought that was his new job.”
“He was playing the super long game, apparently.”
Kenzie smiles, and a beat of silence passes as she seems to consider something.
“There’s just one thing,” she hedges.
“What?”
She shoots me a nervous glance. “We talked about our future, and well, he pretty much said he wants to make me his wife and put babies in me.”
“I imagine he was all serious when he said it too,” I tease.
“Oh, he was.” Her eyes glimmer with amusement. “He also said he wants to provide for me so I don’t have to work anymore.”
“Well, I don’t think that should come as a surprise. That man wants to give you the world.”
“I know we’ve only been together for a year, but when he talks about marriage and kids and stuff, I really want that.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know if there is one,” she says. “I guess I just wanted to get your thoughts. I can always count on you to tell me the truth without sugarcoating it. Do you think it’s crazy for me to let go of my job when it gets to that point?”
“I don’t think it’s crazy if that’s what you want.”
“Really? I was so sure you’d say it was a mistake.”
“You’re the only one who can decide what’s right for you,” I tell her. “And honestly, I’m probably not the best person to ask, because I’m a little jaded. But if I were in your position, and I was with someone I could wholeheartedly trust, I wouldn’t say no.”
“Seriously?” She raises her brows. “I had no idea you were over here harboring trad wife fantasies.”
A laugh escapes me when I see the shock on her face.
“I’m independent now because I learned how to survive on my own.
But believe it or not, I used to love the idea of being a wife and mother.
I think women get judged no matter what they do, so we should all just live our lives on our own terms and forget the rest.”
“That makes sense,” Kenzie agrees. “It’s just…I almost feel like I’m betraying myself by giving up my independence after I worked so hard to get it.”
“Trust me, I totally get that.” I rifle through my makeup bag in search of my mascara. “But I think the only way you’ll know for sure is if you establish what you both expect from this arrangement.”
“You’re right.” She sighs. “We just need to talk it through.”
“For what it’s worth, I doubt there’s a thing you could ask for that he wouldn’t agree to.” I set down my compact and turn to face her. “But, Kenzie, there’s something you should know.”
“What?” She frowns.
“He’s not actually in imports.”
“Oh, I know.” Her mouth quirks. “I think I figured that out when he showed up at my apartment with a bullet wound one night. But weirdly enough, it doesn’t really bother me. I mean, I pretty much grew up in a cult, so the Mafia feels like sunshine and roses comparatively.”
“Well, I’m glad you know, and I’ll be here to support you no matter what.”
“Thanks,” she says softly. “The same goes for you. And, Chantel, as your friend, can I say something?”
“Of course.”
“I used to think I was safe because I locked everyone out so nobody could ever hurt me again. But that also meant I could never let anyone in to love me either. You can still have the life you want, whatever that is. You just have to let yourself.”
My throat tightens as I take a moment to collect myself before I speak.
“That seems to be a recurring message in my life lately.”
“Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something,” she says. “And maybe you should start listening.”
I offer her a wobbly smile, and we change the subject, catching up on other things as we do our hair and makeup. Midway, I pause to help Kenzie with her lashes, and she helps me with my hair. But as she’s removing the pins, she frowns when she notices the fading bruises on my neck.
“What happened?” she asks.
“It’s a long story, and not really worth repeating.”
“It wasn’t the stalker, was it?” She worries her lip between her teeth.
“No. Far less dramatic than that. It was a drunk with daddy issues.”
“The absolute worst.” She rolls her eyes. “But you’re okay?”
“I am,” I assure her.
Truthfully, Marco is the least of my concerns right now. I’m just relieved there wasn’t a note from the stalker when I arrived. That alone will make the night a good one.
After hair and makeup, Kenzie and I do some stretching and warm-ups together before it’s time to dress. Our costumes are elaborate, often consisting of corsetry, stockings, garters, and well-placed pieces of adhesive tape.
Tonight’s ensemble is circus-themed, and my costume is complex, with a lot of pieces.
The black leather bra is overlaid with a strappy harness and anchored by gold O-rings at the center of my chest and waist. There’s also a high-waisted pair of leather briefs with garter straps, fishnet stockings, gloves, a choker, and black knee-high dominatrix-style boots.
The opening number is always a big performance.
It’s our first chance to pull the audience in and let them know what to expect for the evening.
This particular act can only be described as organized chaos.
It has a bit of everything, including human carousels, jugglers, dancers in tight formations, contortionists, a couple of Strongmen, and of course—aerialists.
We all have to be at the top of our game, working together like a million moving parts in one big machine.
This is why we practice every show an insane amount of times until it’s ingrained in us like muscle memory.
But it doesn’t matter how many performances we do, the vast majority of us still get nerves.
Ten minutes before every show, our stage manager Meredith gathers us into a circle.
We shake out our limbs, do some breathing exercises, and then hold one note in unison until we inevitably start laughing.
It’s a good way to break the tension, and tonight when we finish, I’m feeling pretty centered despite the turbulence of the last few days.
When it’s time for us to take our places on stage, the usual madness unfolds with last-minute costume adjustments, sound checks, and Meredith doing her final walk-through. Describing it as a circus would be accurate.
The aerial tech checks the flight harness that’s hidden beneath my briefs and secures the flight line. I confirm that I’m locked in before it retracts into the ceiling where it’s obscured by lighting.
On Meredith’s cue, the music plays, and we begin the performance to the low instrumental build of Circus by Britney Spears. The idea is that the stage is already alive, so when the curtain rises, that’s exactly what the audience sees.
The ringmaster commands center stage with the crack of a whip, while dancers hold small, rigid formations. I’m currently stationed in the cane line, where our choreography consists of floor taps with circus-level precision.
After twenty seconds, a few of us exchange restless glances. Then one of the aerialists intentionally misses a beat, and the formation starts to crack.
I’m the first to break away, spinning the cane in my hand as I stroll toward center stage in search of something more exciting. The other aerialists follow, moving toward their positions as I approach the ringmaster in silent challenge.
Circling around, I size him up as the illuminated circus sphere descends from the ceiling above me.
On the beat, I stop in front of him, shoving my cane against his chest. He grabs it and stumbles back in confusion as I slip my wrist through the hand loop attached to the circus sphere.
To the audience, it appears as if it’s all that’s holding me up, but behind the sphere, the flight line engages, and my rig catches tension.
I’m pulled upward, disappearing into a haze of smoke and lights. While I’m obscured from the audience, a backstage tech fastens a cropped ringmaster jacket onto me using magnetic closures.
The music shifts, and I begin my drop, spinning rapidly while the other aerialists descend from thick ropes on both sides of the stage. Midway through, I slow the turns and execute a split extension, back bowing gracefully just before I reposition myself for landing.
It’s a smooth transition onto the stage as some of the ensemble cast closes in around me. Once I’m concealed, the flight line releases and vanishes into the ceiling.
The other dancers break away into two line formations, and I adjust my lapels as I confront the ringmaster. The music cuts, and the entire cast freezes when I yank him closer for my examination. When he submits, I remove the whip from his hand and dismiss him before I turn to face the crowd.
With the crack of the whip, the power reversal is complete, and the music resumes.
As I walk slowly downstage, the ensemble reorganizes, waiting for my cues. I glance at each formation and set them into motion for the final twenty seconds.
The volume increases, the lights pulse, and the choreography takes a dramatic turn.
By the final beat, I’m standing at the edge of the stage, whip slung over my shoulder as I stare out into the crowd.
But just before the stage lights go dark and the curtain falls, I catch a glimpse of six familiar faces.
Not only is Cristian here…but so are five of my friends.