There are two more hours until the club opens and I’m behind the bar slicing lemons and limes thinking about what Corrado said to me two nights ago. It’s on repeat in my head—the wild, dangerous way he looked, soaked in blood, to the heat of his whispers against my skin demanding me to leave. As I stand here I can still feel the grip of his hand on my face and how aroused it made me.

I didn’t listen to him, though. I didn’t pack my bags. I can’t. I can’t leave this place. It’s my home. And the truth is, I have nowhere else to go.

“Mignotta.”

I freeze at the vulgar word—one hand squeezing the blade of a knife, the other crushing the life of out the lemon I was slicing.

Junior slides up behind me and repeats himself in a whispery, taunting voice. “Mignotta.”

He’s calling me a whore.

Instantly his giant frame cages me in, his rough callused hands grabbing my wrist so hard I know there's going to be bruises as soon as he lets go, if he lets go. "Tony wants to see you."

I hesitate for a moment, tightening my grip on the knife, imagining what it would feel like if I pressed its tip through his skin and muscles and bone. But instead of fighting, I drop the utensil and the fruit. Junior isn’t going to hurt me if Tony wants to talk to me about something. He’d wait until after, so I’m buying time.

He twists me around fast and yanks me against him. It’s like hitting a brick wall and all I can feel is the hard metal of the gun in his waistband and the erection from his pencil-thin dick right next to it.

His hand slides down to my ass and squeezes so hard my eyes tear from the pain. "And mignotta, I ain't done with you, yet."

I close my eyes shut tight. His breath is rancid and smells of spicy sausage and cigarettes.

He drags me out from behind the bar, right to Tony's office and shoves me inside. I stumble to get my footing and hit my elbow against a corner of a shelf and curse under my breath.

"Sit." Tony’s voice is gravelly and demanding.

I stare right into his eyes and walk to the chair that’s set in front of his desk and do as he commanded me to.

I never lose eye contact.

I don’t drop my gaze, but I know he wants me to. He’s dying for me to. Because he’s sitting behind his desk cleaning about half a dozen guns. Well, not cleaning them, he’s polishing them with a rag like they’re trophies he hangs on the wall. He’s trying to intimidate me. There’s a cigar in a large crystal ashtray next to him with a long, thin string of curling smoke drifting up from it. I’m more intimidated by the cigar and its secondhand smoke in my lungs than any of Tony’s guns—or any of Tony’s boys.

I’m just one of the dancers. Worthless in their eyes. Whatever this is, it has nothing to do with me. I’m just a pawn in some game they’re playing.

I straighten my back and sit quietly, like I’m ready to listen, to obey.

“This is what’s going to happen,” he begins, lifting up an abnormally huge gun and inspecting it with a close eye. He’s still just trying to threaten me. I didn’t look down at his toys so he’s bringing them up to my eye-level. “In a few minutes, Corrado is going to walk through that door,” he explains, pointing to his office door. “And he’s going to see something that makes him real angry. Got it?”

I don’t dare speak.

I give one quick nod.

“If you want him to stay alive you’ll play your part right now. You understand what I’m getting at?”

My gut instinct is to play stupid. I’m just a dancer. A worthless mignotta, in their eyes. “I don’t understand, but I’ll do whatever you ask me to.”

He regards me for a moment and places the gun back on the desk in front of him. “I have to find out who has my back,” he says, quietly. He stares at me without expression for a few more moments then leans forward. "Do you know anything about Franco and Carmine?" he asks. “How about Paulie and John?

I squint my eyes at him like I don’t comprehend. "Excuse me?"

“Ah, never mind,” he says waving a hand, disregarding me.

Because I’m just a stupid dancer. A worthless mignotta, right?

He leans back in his chair and takes a pull from his cigar. Smoke billows out of his mouth. "I walk through my club when you're on stage, all these men about to bust their nut just from watching you. And the only one you want to touch you is the one that won't pay you. I watched Corrado eating that pussy of yours in the back room. Free pussy for my Corrado?”

Oh shit.

“You like my Corrado?"

“Y-y-yes," I stammer, voice shaking.

"Y-y-yes?" he mocks, barking out a laugh. Spittle and saliva fling from his lips. He walks out from behind his desk, and crooks his finger toward me. “Get up,” he growls.

He doesn’t wait for me to stand. As I lean forward, he yanks me up by the hair and pushes me onto the desk. My back arcs over the edge and he shifts in front of me, pressing his groin into my stomach. He smiles over me, grinding his hips and the erection behind his pants into me. "You'll fuck who I say to fuck. No more free pussy for Corrado. You stay away from him. Corrado is like my son, you're not good enough." Then he chuckles and slides his flat hot tongue from my jaw up to my temple. “Well, let’s see if he passes this test.”

A thick meaty hand comes up and grabs at my chest, roughly palming one.

“No,” I groan, trying to push him away.

"You like fighting, little one?" His right hand grasped onto my cheeks, squeezing my mouth open. "I like when girls put up a fight too," he laughs, sticking his tongue in my mouth. The other hand squeezes at my breast.

My muscles clench, the veins in my temples pound, my pulse rushes with a rage. Fury. I want to kill him. I want to take that huge gun off his desk and blow his dick clean off and stand over him, laughing.

Suddenly I'm collapsing to the floor, and I'm squeezing my eyes shut tight.

“You’re doing good, Felony. He should be here any minute.”

My eyes snap open. He should be here any minute? Corrado? He wants Corrado to walk in and see this? He wants to see how Corrado reacts to it? How I will? He wants to see who he can trust because someone is murdering his little wise-guy club, one by one.

The door to his office opens. I instantly look up but all I see is Tony with his hand around his small, stubby cock, leaning over me as if he was ready to fuck the life out of my face.

"Uncle Tony?" Corrado's voice trembles with rage.

Corrado pushes past and stares at me, stunned.

He’s either going to think I’m sharing myself with everyone or he’s going to think Tony was trying to force me.

I shake my head at him. Tears welling in my eyes.

What kind of a man is Corrado? I guess I’m about to find out.

What’s he going to believe? That I’m nothing more than a worthless whore?

Or is he worthy, really worthy of someone like me?

Tony tucks himself back into his pants and motions for me to stand up. He even holds out a hand to help.

Corey's eyes look livid. He’s breathless with fury. I want to say something but I can’t. I can’t think of anything to say.

Tony takes another drag of his cigar and he’s back to business, turning his back to me to face Corrado. “We just got word Paulie and John got popped.”

With his back to me, I think of a thousand ways he could die with his back turned. But someone like Anthony Fretolli deserves a little bit more than that. He deserves the giddy stare of his killer and one of those long movie monologues about how much he’ll suffer in Hell.

“What?” Corrado asks Tony, but his eyes don’t leave mine. They’re frantic. Wild. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do—what to believe.

“Paulie. John,” Tony says, shifting in front of me to break our eye contact. “They were in the parking lot of Dante’s, eating meatball heroes. But they had to stop in response to the bullets that popped them in the backs of their heads. In broad fucking daylight.”

I bet they deserved not to finish those sandwiches.

Tony tosses Corrado a crumpled note, which he reads quickly and out loud.

Soon you’ll all fall down.

Who will be next?

Maybe a better question is who will be left?

"What does it mean?" Corey asks in a whisper.

"Someone is killing off my family, Corrado. That's what it seems, huh? What? You think you're above it?” Tony shouts.

"You ever think it's one of your own?" I ask.

"Bullshit, this isn't an inside job, you just keep sucking dicks, bitch. If you weren’t my best dancer, I’d fuck a hole in the side of your head. I don't keep you here for your thoughts on my business."

"Tony, what the fuck?" Corrado growls.

"I watched you two in the lounge. In the back rooms. You tapping this two-bit stripper like she’s something more to you? Ah, kid the way you're looking at that whore is a loud fucking answer. Go find a nice girl you could be proud of."

"I'm not a whore,” I say.

"Shut her up, Corrado."

Corey's eyes are on mine.

I’m shaking my head, rage is vibrating through my shoulders, chilling me to the bone. “I’m not a whore.”

"She's a stupid puttana, Corrado. How difficult could it possibly be to pacify her? Stick your cock in her mouth, gag her, carve out her tongue, do whatever you have to do!"

Corey is on me in an instant. His lips slamming against mine hard. Every inch of my body bursts into flames.

His breathing is hard and ragged, hot against my mouth. His tongue presses in and all I can remember is how hard I came against it as he kneeled before me in the back room. I can’t help wrapping my arms around him and kissing him back.

When his lips abruptly leave mine, I can barely stand. His forehead is against mine and he’s panting heavily. “I told you, babe. I told you to leave.”

I look up into his eyes and I wish, I wish so hard I could let him know how much and how long I’ve loved him. But he would never understand. “I didn’t want to leave you,” I whisper.

“Uncle Tony?” he says, not taking his eyes off mine. “I love her.”

“You love her?” Tony asks.

He’s staring at me and I know he can’t really love me. I know he’s saying it just to keep me alive to keep me from Tony using me as his club whore. But I’ve waited what seems like a lifetime to hear Corrado say those words that I take them. I take them right there and I never want to let them go.

“I’m taking her to meet my mother. And I’ll set up a dinner with Aunt Connie, too.”

Tony walks over to the both of us, his expression a mixture of curiosity and shock. His eyes dart back and forth between us. “Corrado, everybody needs to watch their backs. Even the girls need to be looked after. Make some calls, we need more people here. And let me speak to her alone.”

When Corrado leaves, Tony has his arm around my shoulder and he walks me to the door. "I’ll give it a chance. A few more weeks and we’ll see. Corrado don't put his lips on anybody. Him kissing you changes things."

"What do you mean?"

"Last person he kissed, he was fifteen and she was a dead girl."

He looks me dead in the face and smiles. "A few more weeks for the both of you. You know what they say. Keep your friends close,” he leans in and kisses my temple. “And keep your enemies closer.”

It’s not until after my set that I find Corrado waiting for me right outside the dressing room. I haven’t seen him all night, he didn’t even watch me dance, and now he’s standing crooked, leaning heavily against the wall, reeking of expensive whiskey mixed with Cherry’s cheap perfume.

“Did you suck Tony’s dick?”

Heat rips across my chest and my stomach drops. How could he ask me that?

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.

“I didn’t think so,” he chuckles. “Because you suck cock like a pro and if you did Tony, he wouldn’t be able to shut up about it.”

Tears sting at the bridge of my nose, burn at the corner of my eyes. I suck cock like a pro.

I guess he does think I’m a whore.

“You know I’m not in love with you, right?” he asks, laughing, and the world falls out from underneath me. I don’t know how I’m standing still. I don’t know how I’m not running away. Or slapping him.

“But it’ll keep you alive.” He stumbles backward. “You should have left. I gave you enough. Eighty grand was a lot.” He laughs louder, his words slurring all together. “Eighty grand’s the most I ever paid for a blow job. But man, like you’re really…you’re a pro.”

He staggers away, leaving me with the wall holding me up, and the rest of the dancers and cocktail waitresses running back and forth past me like my heart just didn’t crash down and shatter all over the floor.