Chapter One #3
After Dark smelled like expensive whiskey, leather, and something darker underneath, like fear that had learned how to wear perfume.
I stood in the small back room they gave the new girls, staring at myself in the mirror.
The outfit Dario had chosen was barely there: black lace that covered almost nothing, and heels high enough to make my ankles ache.
My black hair was down. My makeup was heavy.
I looked like a different person. I looked like…
someone who belonged in a place like this.
Dario waited just outside the door. He had brought Camilla with him “for motivation.” She was asleep in her carrier in the hallway, one fist curled under her cheek. The sight of her made my stomach twist so hard I thought I might throw up.
A man appeared in the doorway. Tall. Dark hair. Expensive black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There was a stillness to him that reminded me of another man in white gloves from a long time ago… My pulse spiked.
“You’re the new one,” he said. His voice was low, calm, and carried the kind of authority that didn’t need to be raised. “Santino Moretti. I own this place.”
I forced myself to nod. He studied me for a long moment. His eyes were sharp, missing nothing. “You look like you’re about to walk to the gallows. Someone forcing you to be here?”
Dario waited just outside the door. From the hallway, his hand clamped down on my thigh hard enough to bruise. His fingers dug in cruelly, a silent warning. I kept my face carefully blank.
“No,” I said. The lie tasted like blood. “I want to be here.”
Santino’s gaze flicked briefly toward the hallway where Dario stood, then back to me. Something unreadable moved behind his eyes. Before he could say anything else, another man, broader, older, with a permanent look of irritation, appeared at his shoulder.
“Boss. Problem on the floor. One of the private rooms got out of hand.”
Santino exhaled through his nose, watching me. “We’ll finish this conversation later.” Then he turned and followed the other man, Marco, I heard someone call him, into the main club.
Dario’s grip on my thigh loosened. He leaned in close, breath hot against my ear. “Good girl. Keep lying like that and maybe the kid stays in one piece.”
The first time they called my name, my legs almost refused to move.
The main floor of After Dark was dim and amber-lit, full of shadows and quiet conversations and the low pulse of music that felt more like a heartbeat than a song.
People in expensive clothes watched from leather couches and private booths.
Some wore masks. Some held leashes. I tried not to look too long at any of it.
I danced the way Dario had instructed me in the apartment: slow, hesitant, eyes down.
Every brush of air against my bare skin made me want to disappear.
I could feel my stepfather’s stare from the corner booth he had claimed.
When I risked a glance, I saw his hand moving under the table, open and shameless, eyes locked on me the entire time.
Disgust coated the back of my throat like oil.
When the song ended, one of the floor managers approached me about private dances. I shook my head. Once. Twice. A third time, harder. Dario was waiting when I came off the stage. His smile was gone.
“You’re refusing money?” he said quietly.
“I can’t,” I whispered. “Please. I’ll dance. I’ll do the stage. Just not… not alone with them.”
He stared at me for a long second. Then he turned, walked to the hallway, and picked up Camilla from where she was sitting, dragging her over. Panic ripped through me so violently I thought my knees would give out.
“Dario, wait… please.” I followed him, voice cracking. “I’ll do it. The private dances. Whatever they want. I’ll do all of it. Just don’t take her. Please. I’m begging you.”
He stopped walking and looked at me over his shoulder. For a moment I thought he might soften. Instead, a slow, ugly smile spread across his face. He set my sister down carefully, then stepped in close so only I could hear him. One hand came up and patted my cheek, almost gently.
“Listen to you,” he murmured, loud enough for the humiliation to sink in. “Begging. Crying. Suddenly so willing.”
He leaned in until his mouth was next to my ear. “Now you know what happens when you say no to me.”
He pulled back, eyes bright with cruel satisfaction.
“You had your chance to be smart the first time. You chose to refuse. So the kid comes with me. You want to see her again? Keep dancing. Every night. No more refusals. No more attitude. Maybe in a few weeks, if you behave and the money’s good, I’ll let you look at a picture. ”
He grabbed my sister’s hand. Camilla made a small sleeping sound. The noise nearly dropped me to the floor. “Dario…”
“Earn her,” he said simply, and walked out.
I stood in the hallway of After Dark with the bass thumping through the walls and the ghost of my sister’s weight in my arms, and understood that whatever thin piece of life I had left was gone.
From that night on, I danced. I danced while strangers watched.
I danced with Dario’s threat wrapped around my throat.
And every time I closed my eyes, I saw Camilla’s sleeping face and repeated the same silent promise I had made the night our mother died. I would get her back. No matter what it cost.