Christian
From the first moment I had met her, I knew she was a spitfire. What kind of woman glares at me, turns up her perfect little nose, and walks away? Yeah, I know I said she ran away. She didn’t. I just liked lighting a fire under her ass. I never knew what I was going to get from her, and somehow, I didn’t think that would ever change.
I watch her clear as day strut over to where Matteo is seated with Jordan, watch her every move. From the moment she bends over in that sweet, sexy, little thing and hands them their drinks until I see Jordan rising from his seat unexpectedly. I’d just spoken with him not even five minutes prior, and he agreed to stay for at least another hour. Something has changed, I don’t know what, but I can, for some reason, feel the alarm bells ringing deep in the pit of my stomach, telling me that whatever it is, it isn’t good.
He beelines for the door. Instinctually, I follow him, knowing that there is a reason for his sudden change in plans. We are both outside the doors of Russo’s when he pulls me around the corner to the side of the building.
“Yo, what the fuck?!” I snap. No one touches me, not even my fucking brothers.
“Yo? What are you in, third grade?” Jordan hisses, pulling his phone out from his pocket and focusing on the screen. His eyes don’t waver as he continues to speak. “Varca is a fucking snake. The bastard thinks I won’t do my homework? Who does he think we are? Some punks off the side of the street who will do his bidding! We’re the Steeles. The fucking Steeles! And he thinks we’re dumb enough to steal guns from Gabriele DiGiovanni.”
I listen to what my brother tells me, there is no element of shock here. Matteo has always been a sleazy man, it’s why I’ve never once trusted him. We have done business in the past together to maintain our good relationship with Gabriele, but if his relationship with Gabriele has burned to ashes, it means we have no reason to be doing business with Matteo. Good riddance if you ask me. Let’s fry this little fish if it means we catch the big one.
“I’ve been texting with Lorenzo, he told me that Gabriele and Varca have…ended their relationship. Arielle doesn’t have the hit out on Varca.” Before Jordan even finishes, I already know what he’s about to say. “Gabriele does.”
My, my. How the tides have changed.
“Care to elaborate on why Gabriele DiGiovanni put a hit on low life fucking scum like Varca?” This can’t be something small. There’s a reason Varca has the guillotine hanging over his head, and I plan to find out exactly why.
“You know as well as I do that the DiGiovannis do not air their dirty laundry, and I can smell Varca from here. Whatever it is, it isn’t something small. He had to have fucked over Gabriele good to land him an open contract with the Arcane.”
The Arcane.
The Arcane is a group of hitmen and women or assassins. They’re the best in the world, and only the highest paid open contracts are listed with the Arcane. Some would tell you that the Arcane isn’t real, but I can tell you first hand that our dark world is very, very real. If you’ve managed to get yourself a spot on that list, you have done one of two things:
1. Cross the wrong person.
2. Done something dirty, and most likely, malicious.
There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Varca has not only done one but both of those things. I can’t help but wonder exactly what he has done. I suppose it doesn’t matter, though, it’s only a matter of time until I find out what exactly he has done to get his head on the chopping block. After all, I’m a Steele, which means that I’m one persistent mother fucker.
“I’m shocked you haven’t asked me yet,” Jordan says to me clear as day, lifting his eyes from his phone.
“Haven’t asked you what?” I inquire, wondering where Jordan is coming from.
“You haven’t asked me his contract price,” he says with a smile. “I’m surprised that you didn’t ask me. I’m also wondering why you’re letting him be alone with your Cinderella, the girl that you raved on to me for months about. It’s the first time you’ve seen her since the art exhibit opening, and you’re outside talking to me about business, leaving her alone with him, yeah?”
I don’t utter a single word, instead, I turn on my heel and head back towards the door into Russo’s.
“Three billion.”
I turn my head back to look at my brother. Three billion isn’t chump change. The highest hit I’ve seen on that list was for a little over one billion, and that was last year. A hit was put out on Mariana Vasile, the queen of the Romanian Mob. To put a three billion dollar hit out on Varca, well, I am interested, to say the least.
“I’m not a hitman.”
“You and I both know that’s a lie.” I don’t give him a second to finish saying what we both know is true. I pull open the double doors to Russo’s and walk back in. My brothers and I aren’t too close. It’s odd. We’re family, so they know me, as they should. However, Jordan and Logan don’t understand the things that go on inside of my head. The fucked up, demented thoughts that plague my mind every single day. I smile, proud of myself for manipulating the tabloids into thinking I’m simply just a spoiled, bratty, little manwhore of a party boy. My brothers get to peek past the surface of who I really am, but no one else gets that special preview of my life. I have to wonder if anyone ever will see me for who I am, monsters and all.
The thing about Jordan is that he thinks he knows everything about everyone, including me. Ever since I was a wee tyke he’s always been that way. When I think hard about it, Logan is too. Deep down, Jordan thinks that he knows me, but his ideas about his baby brother are figments of his imagination. He knows that I’m dark, but I can guarantee you that he is only seeing the tip of the iceberg. I learned a lot from my father, we may not have had the best relationship, but he taught me the important lessons in life. “Never reveal your cards, Christian. It’s the first way that your success will come tumbling down. You hold your hand close to your heart, and you don’t make rash decisions. You think, and you calculate. You make everyone believe what you want them to, and that my boy, is how you stay above everyone else.” I can hear my father’s words, a lesson he gave me when I couldn’t have been older than eight years old. To this day, I will always remember that lesson, as powerful as it has been – I still follow his advice.
I walk further into the club, squinting as my eyes adjust to the numerous flashing neon lights. There’s a new girl on stage, blonde with big tits. All of the men around her are tossing dollars in every direction. She smiles seductively down at each one of them, blowing kisses. I smirk, admiring the manipulation that the girls throw around here. They’re like me in a sense, calculating, knowing exactly what to do to get more money thrown their way. I admire each and every one of them for that.
I turn my attention to the right where I was seated with Varca and Jordan, and, scoping the room I don’t see him, nor my Cinderella.
A short, red headed woman walks by. I reach out and touch her arm lightly. “Where are the lap dances held?”
“If you wanted a dance big boy all you had to do was ask,” she purrs, giving me a wink for good measure.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m looking for Star.” I almost laugh at the way the little red’s face scrunches up as if I’ve just insulted her. I knew nothing about strippers besides the obvious. They take off their clothes, they get paid. It did strike me as odd, however, that when my Cinderella had her time on stage she was getting nasty looks from her peers. I’ll have to talk to her about that later after she begins to warm up to me the way she needs to.
A muffled cry tears my attention from the red head before me to the back of the club. I don’t think as I move past the tables, pushing my way through patrons and employees. I direct my eyes to my surroundings, noticing that some of the girls look to the back. Whatever that was, they heard it too.
Before I know it, I’m back in a room with small cubby-like dividers, each one with black walls to each side and a long purple curtain hanging down in the front. Quickly, I glance through them, until I come closer and closer to the broken-down sobs. I see her on the floor, leaning against the wall, her back to me. Those long raven locks are a tangled mess. It doesn’t take me more than a nanosecond to realize that’s Cinderella. My Cinderella, on the floor, making sounds that would have been coming out from a wounded animal.
I glance around quickly, looking for anyone nearby. I don’t see a damn thing, it’s just her and I in this part of the club.
My blood boils as I want to know exactly why she’s sobbing uncontrollably like this, it’s then when I glance over her body slowly that I notice her panties are gone. I take a moment, sucking in a long deep breath and exhaling slowly before I approach her, knowing that I could easily frighten her right now. I won’t know exactly what happened until she verbally tells me, but it doesn’t take a genius, you just have to simply put two and two together.
I slip off my suit jacket slowly and kneel down in the entryway to the small cubby like room. It can’t be bigger than eight feet by eight feet. “Cinderella,” I whisper softly, keeping my voice as soft and unwavering as humanly possible. The last thing I want to do is frighten her.
“D-don’t call me t-that,” she hisses out, her voice hiccupping through the sobs.
“Fine, then tell me your real name, not that bullshit stage name that you go by.” I don’t mean to sound irritated, honestly, I’m trying to keep my calm. I won’t lie, it’s hard to do that when the girl you’ve been searching months for is crying uncontrollably in front of you, and you’re pretty damn sure it’s because she’s been raped in her place of work. Something that should have never happened, ever. Fuck. If I had just stayed in the damn club when Jordan left… Fuck me!
“Selena,” she whispers to me.
“Selena,” I repeat back, a beautiful name.
I slide the jacket on her back. “Put the jacket on, baby,” I urge her, watching as she slowly slips into it. Her back is still facing me, she starts shaking violently as the jacket slips further over her small body. It’s oversized, fit to my measure, and her small frame barely fills it.
“You don’t just g-get to come in h-here and white k-knight me,” she snaps, fire laced through every word she just said. She turns her face around and immediately I see every tear spilling from her eyes. After everything that’s just happened, I don’t know how to filter my reaction. I don’t know how to be the better man when I’m not even a good man, to begin with.
“Watch me,” I hiss back at her. Something dark is creeping out of me at this very moment. It’s as if something has changed. “No one fucks with my Cinderella, you got that? And I’m Prince Fucking Charming, baby.”
Before she can fire anything back, I’m standing up and pulling her into my arms. A mewed groan slips past her lips, and the second it does, her and my eyes are meeting, burning holes through each other. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, but I will promise one thing; I will make it better. “W-why are you h-helping me?”
It doesn’t take me long to think about my answer, as cocky and arrogant as it may be, it’s the truth. “Because, Selena, the second our eyes locked in that art exhibition, you were mine. You may have run away and evaded me for this long, but none of that matters. I’m a Steele, and Steeles always get what we want. We’re relentless as fuck, baby.” I give her a devilish smirk as I lean my lips down softly to her forehead and press a soft kiss to her flesh.
“I d-didn’t run,” she argues, my lips curve against her skin. I may not know much about my Selena, but I can tell she is a woman who isn’t easily broken. I secure her in my grip, instruct her to turn her head towards my chest and walk quickly through the club. We pass by the other customers, and the other strippers, all have suddenly peaked interest in me and the girl I have in my arms. The woman named Frankie comes running up in my direction, but with one glare, I’ve shut her down. She stops dead in her tracks. I plow through the doors of Russo’s and walk up to my car, unlock it, and slide Selena in on the passenger side. I shut the door quickly and get in on the opposite side, locking the doors. Now, for the tough part.
I look at her, mascara running down her face, lipstick smeared. I take in every aspect of the woman in my suit jacket and sigh, knowing this will not be easy. After all, nothing has been with her this far.
“I want to know the name of the man who touched what is mine.”