Chapter 5

• VALENTINA
• ~•~
• “I want you to myself. No more of this pole shit. No more waitressing. You work for me exclusively.”
• For a second, I honestly thought I’d misheard him. But no, he wasn’t joking. He looked too calm. Too damn sure.
• “Name your price,” he added, like it was that simple. “Whatever you want. I’ll give it to you.”
• I let out a laugh—cold and sharp. “You’re joking.”
• “I’m dead serious.”
• Of course he was. I shook my head slowly, fighting the knot tightening in my throat.
• “I’m not some commodity you can buy, sorry.”
• He tilted his head and smirked like I was being dramatic. “I don’t see it as buying you. You need money, and I’ve got more than I know what to do with bambola. You give me your service, I give you stability.”
• “Service?” I said, voice low. “You mean you expect me to dance on command? Warm your bed whenever you’re bored?”
• He raised an eyebrow, like he was bored of the accusation already, then waved a hand like it was nothing.
• “I said work for me. If I wanted just a body, you’d already be in my bed.”
• The disgust hit my throat hard, mixed with confusion because I couldn’t tell if I wanted to slap him or not.
• “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” He said, and I stopped breathing.
• “What?”
• “I pay you one-fifty,” he said again, smooth like glass. “That’s what your time is worth to me.”
• “Go fuck yourself,” I said, sharp.
• He didn’t even flinch. He just kept looking at me with a dirty smirk, calm and patient, like a predator waiting for the deer to realize it had nowhere left to run.
• I turned. My heels snapped against the floor as I stormed toward the door. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. My hand reached for the knob—shaking, angry, but ready to be done with this nightmare.
• Then his voice hit me again.
• “Don’t try to walk out on me ever again, or else I’d chop those legs off.”
• My fingers were already on the handle of the door, but now my entire body paused. There was just something about this man that scared me so much.
• When I turned, he was holding a check in two fingers like it meant nothing.
• Ten thousand. Ten. Fucking. Thousand.
• My heart skipped.
• “First taste,” he said. “You didn’t even have to do anything but obey like a good little kitty.”
• I swallowed hard. My eyes stayed on the paper. I hadn’t seen this amount of money in my entire life, and it was just floating there in front of me like it was pocket change.
• I stared at the check, and that’s when it hit me that he wasn’t bluffing. He wasn’t just playing with me. This wasn’t some twisted power trip or fantasy. This man really meant what he was saying.
• He leaned forward, slow and calm.
• “You’re smart enough to know you don’t have options,” he said. “And time even. Think about your brother, chica.”
• I bit down on my lip, trying to hold the emotions back—confusion, rage, shame, all of it crashing against my ribs. My throat burned.
• “How the fuck do you know these things?” I whispered.
• He just smiled like he’d been waiting for me to ask.
• “Why me?” I asked, louder this time. “Why not one of the other girls? They’d probably kill to be in my position. And they’d want to do anything you want. Hell, they could fuck you for a long as you want.“
• His shadow stretched across the room as he walked toward me, slow and steady.
• “You’re not like them,” he said, voice lower now, more serious. “You have something they don’t.”
• “What? A broken bank account and a dying sibling?”
• “No,” he said. “Fire. Pride. Pain. So much pain it leaks through your eyes, chica.”
• I looked away, my jaw tight.
• He smirked. “And I like pain. It breeds loyalty.”
• “You don’t even know me,” I snapped.
• “I know enough,” he said. “I know your name. I know your father. I know your brother’s dying. And now I know you’re desperate enough to be here half-naked when you were serving tables just nights ago.”
• My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. After a beat, I said, “You know everything about me… and I don’t even know your name.”
• “Gustavo DeLuca,” he said as he stepped closer, like it meant something sacred. “Some call me the King of New York.”
• “Gustavo DeLuca…” I repeated under my breath. His name felt heavy. It tasted dangerous.
• I crossed my arms tighter. “And if I agree to this… employment… what exactly would I be doing?”
• “I want a live-in maid,” he said. “Someone to manage my house. Keep things in order. That’s all.”
• I narrowed my eyes. “That’s it? You expect me to believe that?”
• “You are free to believe whatever helps you sleep kitten,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m a man of my word.”
• “And what if I don’t trust your word?”
• He tilted his head and grinned. “Then we put it in writing.”
• I raised an eyebrow. “You’re willing to sign a contract?”
• “Of course,” he said smoothly. “If that’s what it takes to ease your fragile conscience, then you’ll have it on your doorstep by morning.”
• I looked at him long and hard, my thoughts spiraling. Nothing about this felt right. But everything about it screamed necessary.
• I glanced down again at the check still between his fingers. Ten thousand dollars. Just for standing in that room.
• A hundred and fifty thousand if I said yes.
• I couldn’t respond, but I saw it in his face that he already knew.
• “You may go,” he said quietly. “Think fast bambola. Life’s not known for its patience.”
• I left without another word. The walk home was dead silent. But inside my head, it was chaos.
• By the time I stepped into my apartment, I was exhausted in a way I couldn’t explain. I peeled off the heels, dropped my purse, and barely made it to the bed before I collapsed.
• I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling. I hated that man down to every word he said and even to the way he smiled like he knew me.
• But god help me… I needed that money. It didn’t even matter to me who I got it from anymore.
• And if he really meant what he said, if this was just a job and nothing more…
• How bad could it be?