Chapter 2

• VALENTINA
• ~•~
• The clock had long passed midnight when the bar manager, slid the bottle into my hands.
• “Table Nine. The Black Lounge,” he said. “Don’t spill it. It’s a thousand-dollar bottle.”
• I nodded once, carefully. My fingers curled tight around the neck of the wine, cold glass sweating against my skin.
• The upper floor always felt different. Like stepping into someone else’s world.
• My heels tapped softly up the steps. When I got close enough, the curtain parted without anyone touching it. I stepped inside, and then everything hit me at once.
• Low lighting, cigar smoke, and muffled laughters that didn’t sound real. The walls were all black leather and mirrors. The men lounged like kings, and the women—if you could call them that, some looked barely older than me—hung off them like decorations.
• I didn’t look at any of them too long. I placed my head down, moved straight to the table, and placed the bottle gently on the black marble like I was holding a damn grenade.
• “Your order, sirs,” I said quietly.
• I turned on my heel, and the moment I almost made it out, a voice called from behind me.
• “You there, turn around.”
• It slid across my back like a cold hand.
• Every nerve in my spine went tight and then slowly, I turned.
• He was sitting right in the center—of the table, of the room, of everything. The kind of man everyone else looked at before they laughed or spoke or even breathed, and the girls clung to him like he exhaled oxygen.
• He tilted his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
• “Come here.” He gestured with two of his fingers lifted, lazy and sharp.
• I didn’t move at first. My body didn’t want to. But my feet eventually gave in. Maybe he just wanted something else—another drink, a lighter, who knew.
• “Is there anything else I can get you, sir?” I asked, keeping my tone flat and distant.
• He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he looked at me like he was trying to figure out which part of me to own first.
• Then, he spoke.
• “Yeah. Come closer. I want to see the girl I’m taking home tonight.” He mumbled confidently.
• My heart skipped a bit and I stared at him in disbelief. I just couldn’t hide the look of disgust on my face, but still I tried to be respectful for the sake of my job.
• “Sir, if you don’t need anything else,” I said, voice steady but cold, “I’d like to get back to work now.”
• He smiled wider and then leaned back like this was a game.
• “Relax,” he said. “I’m not asking. Just curious. You don’t look like the others.”
• I folded my arms. “That a compliment or an insult?”
• He shrugged. “Depends. You pretending not to belong here, or are you just in denial?”
• “I serve drinks sir,” I said. “That’s it. I don’t belong here, and I don’t pretend to.”
• He laughed at that. Not loud, not fake. Just a short, dry chuckle that made the girls around him go quiet.
• Then he flicked his hand, and they stood. Like trained animals. Like they knew their time was up.
• They brushed past me, one of them whispering something I couldn’t hear. Her eyes flicked to mine for just a second.
• Then it was just me and him.
• And I had no idea what game I’d just stepped into.
• “Valentina Russo.”
• Hearing my name come out of his mouth like that—it made my stomach twist. The way he said it, all smooth and slow, like silk soaked in something toxic.
• I blinked, trying not to show anything, but my chest tightened.
• “How do you know my name?”
• He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His stare crawled over me, calm and cruel.
• “I know a lot more than your name,” he said. “I know your father thought he could play hero. He poked the wrong snakes and now he’s rotting for it.”
• My jaw locked tight. I didn’t move. My fists curled at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
• He smiled like he could see the heat rising in me.
• “I run this city, sweetheart,” he said, voice low but steady. “And if you want to survive in it, you should think about standing beside the right man. I’m offering you that. Be one of my sluts and you’d do just fine.”
• Everything in me went still and I just stared at him with a look I knew was pure hate.
• Then I turned. Slowly.
• “I’ll pass.”
• I didn’t wait for his reaction before I started walking away— step after another as I pushed past the tightness in my chest.
• Before I could reach the curtain, a guard blocked me and brought out a black card with gold letters pressed into the surface.
• I knew he wouldn’t let me leave until I took it so I just snatched it and didn’t even look down.
• Once I made it into the hallway, I sucked in air like I’d been underwater. My legs felt weak, my skin itched and I wanted to scrub his voice off me, his eyes, and his smug fucking smile.
• I made it home somehow and the moment I stepped inside, I dropped my purse, shut the door, and leaned back against it like I needed the wood to hold me up.
• The tears came fast. No noise at first—just my body shaking as everything inside cracked open. Then the sobs hit, loud and raw, like they’d been trapped too long.
• I slid to the floor hugging my knees.
• I had tried. God, I had tried. I worked every shift I could, cut corners, counted pennies. Literally everything but beg.
• And now the same people who tore my dad down were reaching for me now.
• My phone rang all of a sudden, cutting through my sobs. My hands fumbled through the mess of my purse until I found it, with “Dr. Warren.” lit up on the screen.
• I wiped my eyes and tried to still my breathing as I answered.
• “Hello?”
• “Valentina?” he said, tenderly soft. “I’m sorry to call so late.”
• My heart jumped into my throat. “Is everything okay, sir? You’ve never called me at this hour before. Is—”
• “He’s okay,” he said quickly. “He’s the reason I’m calling, actually.”
• I didn’t let him finish before panic took over.
• “Please, I’m trying. I just need a little more time. I’m getting the rest of the bill by this weekend, I swear. Just give me two more days and I—”
• “Valentina.” His voice dropped lower. “That’s not why I called.”
• I stopped talking.
• There was a pause. A long one.
• “I need you to come to the hospital tomorrow morning,” he said. “We need to talk. In person.”
• I agreed without knowing what I was agreeing to, and then the line immediately went dead.
• I stared at my phone. My chest tight again, but different this time.
• Sleep didn’t come. My body was too tired, but my brain wouldn’t stop. Every thought turned into a worst-case scenario. More bills. More meds. Surgery.
• By morning, I was hollow.
• At the hospital, Dr. Warren didn’t even make me wait. He took me straight into his office and shut the door gently behind me.
• His face said everything before his mouth did.
• “We thought it was a persistent infection,” he said. “But the recent tests show it’s more serious. Your brother has leukemia. A rare, aggressive form.”
• I blinked.
• “We need to move him to a specialized care center,” he went on. “Immediately, if we want to give him a real chance.”
• My voice barely worked. “How much?”
• He looked down and then back up again.
• “Between one hundred and one hundred twenty thousand to start,” he said. “Not including the twelve thousand still owed here.”
• I nodded slowly. A hundred thousand in seven days.
• I left the hospital in a daze, walking through the city like I wasn’t really there.
• The weight of a number that felt like the end of the road.
• Where in the world was I going to get a hundred thousand dollars from?