Chapter 4

• VALENTINA
• ~•~
• I sat on the edge of the bed, the paper shaking in my hands. The numbers blurred together, but they were burned into my mind by now anyway. One hundred and twenty thousand. That’s what it would cost to keep my brother alive.
• I’d gone over it a hundred times. The jobs, the tips, the odd cash pickups. I had maybe a thousand to my name. If I didn’t eat next week, maybe twelve hundred. But that was it. I could work until my legs gave out and I still wouldn’t come close.
• I looked at the paper again and thought of Luca. I needed that money.
• The image of the club crept back into my head. The velvet lights, the pounding music, the men tossing thousands in a single night for girls spinning on poles—for a flash of thigh and a sway of hips.
• It made me sick. But it also made me think.
• If I could just do it once. Just enough to get close. Maybe someone would tip heavy. Maybe I could make ten grand in a night. Maybe—fuck. Maybe I’d survive the shame if it meant my brother lived.
• I reached for the bag sitting next to my bed and pulled out the bikini I’d bought. It covered enough to keep me from vomiting at the sight of myself, but it clung in the right places.
• The walk to the club felt longer than any I’d ever taken. My shoes echoed against the sidewalk, each step heavier than the last. I kept thinking about my dad. About what he’d say if he saw me now. About how I used to believe I’d be more than this. But dreams wouldn’t pay the hospital bills.
• I didn’t go to the bar when I arrived. I headed straight to the back hallway, the one I’d only ever passed by on the way to the kitchen. It smelled like perfume and sweat and something faintly metallic.
• The dressing room door was open and laughter spilled out, loud and sharp. Glitter lined the tables, wigs and lashes were thrown everywhere, and half-naked ladies were doing their makeup.
• I stepped in slow.
• One girl turned. She had bleached hair and lips lined too dark. She gave me one long look and smirked.
• “Well well,” she said. “Fresh meat?”
• I didn’t answer. I just walked to the corner and started undressing, my fingers stiff. I could feel my body shaking but forced it to stop. This wasn’t about pride. This was about my brother.
• Another voice cut through. “Wait a sec—weren’t you one of the waitresses? What the hell are you doing back here?”
• I froze, my bikini top in one hand, and my other arm halfway out of my shirt. My mouth opened but nothing came out.
• The blonde sauntered closer, her tone sharp now. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” She looked me up and down like I was something spoiled.
• Before I could say a word, a new voice came in—firm, older, but not cruel.
• “She’s here for the same reason we all are,” the woman said. “The money. Leave her alone.”
• I glanced up and saw her—maybe mid-thirties, eyes lined with just enough to hide the tired. She stood between me and the blonde, arms crossed like she meant business.
• The blonde rolled her eyes. “Well, she better not try touching any of my regulars.”
• She flipped her hair and walked away, heels clacking like a warning shot.
• The older woman turned to me and nodded once. “Ignore her. She’s all bark.”
• I managed a weak “Thanks.”
• “Name’s Talia,” she said, reaching for her lashes. “If you need anything back here, just ask. First night always sucks. It’ll suck less tomorrow.”
• I nodded again but I still couldn’t speak much.
• I finished dressing without looking at anyone else.
• The beat dropped like a hammer.
• I stood at the edge of the floor, eyes glued to the glowing pole in the far corner. My skin felt too tight, every breath shallow and sharp. The other girls took their spots like they’d done it a thousand times.
• I didn’t know what I was doing but I moved anyway. I wrapped my hand around the cool metal and let my body follow the music—slow and uncertain, but steady. I kept my eyes low, blocking out the crowd, the lights, the pounding bass that made my ribs throb.
• And then the money came.
• They tossed it fast. Crisp bills rained around me like paper snow. Hands reached out but didn’t touch and eyes followed every shift of my hips like they were starving. I hated every humiliating second but I shut it out. I thought of brother again. This was for him.
• I let the music drown everything else. The shame, the fear, and even the ache in my stomach that came from moving like someone I wasn’t.
• Then one man stepped closer. He crouched just enough to place two thick wads of cash at my feet.
• “Come with me,” he said. “My boss needs a private dance.”
• I froze. My body tensed up, but he only smiled at my silence, then tossed another bundle of cash onto the stage.
• “There’s more where that came from.”
• I looked at the money, then at him, then back at the money again. My throat burned but I stepped down.
• My legs felt like rubber as I followed him through the velvet curtain. The hallway was dim and quiet, too familiar. I had served drinks here, but I was barefoot in stilettos, barely dressed.
• He opened the door and then nodded for me to go in without saying anything.
• I stepped through. Red light flickered on overhead, casting shadows on the dark walls. The door clicked shut behind me like a lock, and then a chair turned, only for me to see the same man from days ago.
• His eyes met mine with the same heat from the last time—but this time it burned deeper. His gaze dragged over me, slow and sharp like a blade, and I felt it cut straight through everything I was trying to hold together.
• “You again?!” I snapped before I could stop myself. “What the hell is this?”
• I turned to leave.
• “You can’t,” he commanded, voice calm like he was already bored. “I paid. You’re mine for the hour.”
• “I’ll return your damn money.”
• He chuckled, low and amused. “You think it’s that simple? The house takes their cut. You gonna cover that too? Or you wanna owe the club now?”
• I clenched my fists at my sides. Every part of me screamed to walk out anyway, but the thought of getting blacklisted… of losing even this chance… stopped me.
• “What do you want from me?” I asked.
• He stood slowly, the chair creaking under him. A pistol hung from his hand as he started circling me like a lion bored of pacing in its cage.
• “Who would’ve thought,” he said, “that we’d meet again… like this. The cop’s daughter. Selling dances for dirty money. Life is full of surprises, I must say.”
• I rolled my eyes. “If you’re done pretending to be poetic, I’d like to go back out now.”
• “You know,” he said, stopping behind me, “you move like you hate being looked at. And that’s what makes them look harder.”
• I turned to face him. “You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted this?”
• He raised a brow. “Didn’t say you wanted it. But you chose it.”
• “No,” I said. “I didn’t choose anything. Life cornered me, and I did what I had to.”
• His eyes flicked over me again—lower this time, slower. It was possessive, and that scared the shit out of me more than the gun in his hand.
• I stepped back a little, but the room felt like the walls were closing in just for him.
• I swallowed hard. “Why me?”
• He smiled, dark and slow. “Because I like breaking things that think they’re too strong to bend.”
• He stepped forward again—close enough to feel his breath when he spoke.
• “And now look at you. Bending just fine.”