“You would tell me the truth, right Corrado? If you knew something wasn’t straight here. You’d tell me, right?” Tony rolls up his sleeves and rakes a hand over tired eyes.

“What’s going on, Tony?” I say, closing his office door behind me.

“It’s going on ten years now, isn’t it?” Tony asks.

I pause by the door, my hand still on the handle.

“Ten years ago when our family was slaughtered. Since then I’ve kept the peace, haven’t I?” He motions for me to sit on the chair across from him. Shit, I hate sit downs. “I’ve tried my best to take care of all of you, right? You’ve seen me do so.”

I smile back at him. “Yeah, Tony. Of course. What’s going on?”

“I served justice–justice of my own, mind you–to the rat bastards that had a hand in the slaughter. I made them pay dearly. Some are still paying.”

I never heard the entire story. My mother told me it was probably so horribly violent even a man like Anthony Fretolli couldn’t repeat it.

But I never believed her.

I always thought Tony just didn’t know—he didn’t know what happened and who was responsible for it—therefore he made up some fictional account that was so crazy he just couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone else about it.

He’s the boss.

No one ever asked him to explain. They just took him at his word.

“I have over twenty-five whores working here and only ten came in tonight. They’re scared and they’re not even supposed to know what happened here.”

I flinch at the word whores. Felony isn’t a whore. Some of the others are questionable.

He rises from behind his desk, his face impassive and his words dry. “I went over the inside security cameras.”

We have inside security cameras?

“I’m the only one who knows about them. They’re in every room of the club except the game room.

“What did you find?” Did he watch me kneeling in front of one of his dancers like her pussy was my church and I prayed hard until she came? My pulse races.

“I found out that Franco had his hands deep in my pockets—touching things that were mine. That son of a bitch deserved what happened.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, not believing a word of what he says.

“He even came in here and went through my drawers, took a few of my Cubans. I thought I was smoking too much or losing my mind. Watched him take five at a clip, Corrado. What do you think about that?”

“I think you don't ever bite the hand that feeds you, Tony.” I lean off the edge of the chair. “You get a look at who it was that did him?”

“No,” he growls.

“No? What do you mean no?” I ask, confused.

“Someone made sure the security cameras got turned off before it happened and right back on when it was over.”

So this is someone with experience. “What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I don’t know. But I’ll tell you what I should do. I should find the guy and give him a job. Have you teach him how to clean up after himself, where to put the bodies and such. I could always use enforcers. This son-of-bitch should be on my side, on my payroll.”

I haven’t seen Felony all night. I heard her set music but Tony kept me too busy in the back, which only proved to me he must have watched me go down on her in the back room.

And get off with her in the lounge.

And get off without her in the lounge but watching her on my phone.

Twice.

I have no shame about it either. That girl tastes like gold and I was Fort cum-on-my-face Knox.

It’s after four in the morning and the girls are leaving. I hear them walking across the dressing area with their clunky shoes on. We're in the basement waiting on Junior. He was higher than a kite before, I’m betting he’s passed out somewhere. He does more blow than Tony, enough to kill a horse. But after what just happened with his old man, it’s understandable. Junior and Franco were as close as any dad and son could be.

Tony messes with his phone and music starts playing. He does this so no one hears us talk. The problem is his taste in music sucks balls and we’d all rather listen to Aunt Connie whine in her Jersey Shore accent about her nail polish chipping right after she gets them done.

I'm standing by the window when I hear someone shouting. I don’t know where it’s coming from at first, “Hey, Tony,” I shout over the techno crap he’s got terrorizing us. “Turn that down, I just heard something.”

He pauses the music and everyone cocks their heads to listen.

“You might be just hearing things,” Tony says, eyeing me doubtfully.

Enzo, another one of the boys, is in the other corner, laughing at me. “What’s a matter bro, you scared or something?”

They are all scared. One of them got gunned down in cold blood and no one knows who did it. The note that was left implies there were nine more of us to get. All of us are wondering what’s happening and who’s getting capped next.

“Ah,” Tony mutters, “I’m putting the music back on.”

I hear someone shouting again.

Something doesn't feel right, to hell with listening to Tony. I climb up and look out the window. I hear Felony's voice and a man’s voice shouting in the background behind her. I can't make out anything that's being said.

Rage flushes through my body. Something is happening and Felony is involved.

"Tony, something's happening in the lot. Something with the girls,” I say, slamming my fists down on the table as I pass in front of him to the door.

“Nobody better ding my car,” he grumbles.

I run up the stairs two at a time and bust out of the side door just in time to see Felony throw one hell of a Tyson-like right hook into some poor guy’s face. There’s a sick crunch that stops me dead in my tracks. My girl just broke that man’s nose.

Another one of the dancers sits on the ground between my car and Tony’s Mercedes. She looks scuffed up and hurt. There are tears streaming down her face and blood on her hands. It's Lace, the one on the ground, and the guy who just crumpled to the blacktop from one hell of a TKO, I recognize as Junior.

I jump in front of Felony, her eyes are unfocused and her hair is wild. She’s staring down at the heap of man on the pavement facing the sky.

"If you ever lay a hand on her again, I will kill you. Kill you!" she screams.

“Hey. Hey,” I say jumping in front of her. I gently raise my hands to her shoulder and I can feel the anger and rage coming off her in waves. “Tell me what happened. Felony, babe, what happened?”

“Nothing, it was a mistake,” Lace sniffles from the dirt and gravel. “Nothing happened.” She won't even look up at me and it's because it wasn't nothing that just happened. It was definitely something. And whatever it was would probably make her and Felony turn up floating face down in the bay if Tony was pissed enough at what they said.

The rest of the lazy assholes come walking out of the side door, Tony following behind, a gun in his right hand, index finger on the trigger.

It's dark, but the glow of the club’s lights shine on Lace's face and you could tell she's been hit a few times in the face. There are even bruises blooming across the front of her neck.

Tony walks over to her and scoops her up in his arms. "What the hell happened?"

Felony sighs. I don’t want her to say anything. I want her to keep her mouth shut, but she doesn’t. She just doesn’t know she should. "He hit her. He attacked us."

Lace is shaking her head in his arms, "No, Tony. I swear everything is okay, Junior is just really fucked up and we was just kidding around."

Felony shuffles back and forth on her feet and looks to me for help. I shift next to her and try to get her attention, but she blatantly ignores me.

Tony narrows his eyes at Felony. She stands up straighter, about to argue something with him, and I lean forward, wrapping my hand over her mouth. "Keep your mouth shut if you want to keep breathing."

Tony steps up in front of her, my hand still covering her mouth. "You hit one of my boys?" He tilts his head to me, "Let her talk, Corey."

Reluctantly, I drop my hands from her lips.

"Did you hit one of my boys?" he asks her again.

"Yes. A few times, actually." She doesn’t back down. She doesn’t shy away. “He’s a pussy that can’t take a punch from a girl.”

Tony tilts he head back, laughing loudly. “I really like this girl.” He turns his attention to me and smiles. “Make sure she gets home okay tonight. Enzo? You take Lace home.” He scans the parking lot quickly, “Oh and Lace, don’t show your face here until it looks better, or you find something to cover it up with, got it?”

“Yeah, Tony,” Lace says as she stands on wobbly legs. Enzo holds out an arm for her and leads her to his car.

The rest of them clear the parking lot until it’s just me and Felony, face to face and all alone.

“Let me take you home,” I say, tugging on her sleeve.

“No. Corrado, I don't need anyone taking me anywhere.” She’s still angry. She’s probably scared too. I bet she thought Junior was going to try and force himself on them. It’s good to know she wasn’t afraid to fight.

“I’m taking you home, Felony.”

She gives me a look of disgust.

“Get in the fucking car,” I growl, opening the car door for her.

She climbs in hesitantly, anger pouring off her like rain. I don’t care. I want her away from here. Who knows what Junior would do if he woke up and realized one of the dancers knocked him out cold?

There’s silence in the car the whole ride.

“Are you okay?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the road, or the rear view mirror.

“Yeah, wonderful. I got rainbows spurting out my ears and sunshine pouring out of my ass.”

“You beat the shit out of him. He could have hurt you.” I’m trying to be as calm as I can, but I want to scream at her—warn her about who we are.

“No, he couldn't have,” she laughs.

“You think you’re special? You think Tony isn’t going to punish you for hurting one of his guys? Humiliating Junior—days after his father gets gunned down?”

“Nope. I’m not special. At all.” That’s all she answers with—she’s not saying she’s worried about what Tony or Junior are going to do to her in the light of day. And she’s so aloof about the situation she flips down the sun visor and looks at herself in the mirror. Then she lathers some of that glossy watermelon-smelling crap all over her lips.

“That's it? That's all you’re going to tell me? All you’re going to say?” I reach over and slam the visor back up, punching it into place.

“Yep.”

How many times am I going to warn her? I pull up in front of her place and scan the yard and house. It’s a nice place to live, good neighborhood. Supposedly she has the top floor to herself. She probably doesn’t even need to dance, does she? “You don't even like dancing there, do you? You don't move like the other girls, you don’t even talk like them, you talk like you went to Harvard.”

“Yeah, well maybe I did.”

“Nah, you wouldn't be in this shit hole, letting men get off on your moves.” I know it’s a low blow, but I’m calling a spade a spade. Tony calls his girls whores, and she’s one of them.

“You know what, Corrado? You don't like working there either.”

She had me there. "Tony doesn't give people a choice."

"Bullshit, it's something else," she says, turning her body to face me.

"Yeah, you think so?"

"Yeah," she says, leaning back on the window.

She’s jerking me around. She knows who Tony Fretolli is. And that means she knows who I am too. But I’ll play this game with her. “Okay. Okay, do you know who I am? My old man was Luciano Fretolli? Tony’s brother.” I look at her, waiting for some sort of a response.

She doesn’t even blink.

How the hell does she not even blink?

“So Tony Fretolli? He’s my uncle. Anthony and Luciano and their best friend Angelo were the top guys in the Acerbi crime family. Angelo being the boss. I grew up in that family.”

“Good for you,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Good for me? Does she not know? Could there be someone in this city that didn’t hear about the massacre? Doesn’t she watch the news? Read the newspaper? “Ten years ago somebody put a hit out on my entire family. We lost a lot of people. Do you even realize who you’re stripping for? Goddammit, Felony—or whatever your real name is—He's Tony Fretolli. He's the God damn boss of the Acerbi crime family!”

“Yeah,” she says, covering her hand over a yawn. “I remember that in the news. I was a kid, though, but I remember it. You guys ever find out who did it?”

“No,” I growl at her crass, rude, uncaring attitude. “No one took responsibility for it. No one authorized it. But I have my theories.”

We stare at each other through the darkness of car, the only light around us coming from the soft glow of the street lamps that line the sidewalk.

She leans forward, a curious expression falling over her face. “Their families, the kids, they were killed too, right?”

I don’t like talking about this. I inhale deeply and try to stay calm and cool. “Angelo had two kids and a wife. She was like a mother to me.” My voice cracks. “The kids were everything to me.”

“Yeah?” she asks. Her tone is strange, like she doesn’t believe me.

“Yeah, the son was my best friend. We did everything together.” I clear my throat and drop my gaze from hers. “His kid sister, too.” My voice completely breaks over the words. They always do when I talk about Giana.

“Kid sister? His kid sister was important to you too?” she asks, her voice full of doubt and crass.

I glare at her. “She died in my arms. And she wasn’t just my best friend’s kid sister. She was the girl I was going to marry.”

That made her blink and shame her enough to look away.

“What happened to your family, huh?” she asks after a few moments of silence.

“My mother lived, my two baby sisters were killed in their strollers. They were twins. Almost three years old.”

“You ever feel strange about that? You, Tony, Franco and his boys, you’re the only ones that lived?”

"Baby, you’re asking questions that are going to get you killed."

She stares back at me without a trace of worry in her eyes. Does she think I can save her from whatever Tony wants to do to her? All I could do is buy her some time.

"Why are you working for Tony, stripping?" I ask.

She shakes her head and stares out the windshield, saying nothing.

"You don't do it just for the money."

She still doesn’t answer.

"Let me guess, you're stripping for revenge? Daddy issues. Step-Daddy issues."

Her head slowly turns back in my direction.

Oh, that must be it. Maybe she is like all the other girls at Tony’s. "You had a strict daddy?"

"Yeah."

"Getting even, huh?"

"Something like that, yeah. Or maybe I just like when complete strangers find me suitably fuckable. Maybe I like knowing my pussy is worth a hundred bucks if I give it to someone in the backseat of their car."

All I see is red. "I don't want you dancing there anymore."

"I don't care want you want."

"What if I said I wanted you? What if I say I’ll take care of you and you don’t have to—"

She opens the car door and steps out before I finish. I lower the window down on the passenger side to shout, but before she walks away she leans in the window, elbows on the door. "You don't even know me."

"Yeah? So who are you?"

"Maybe I'm one of the bad guys. Just. Like. You."