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“No.I want more privacy,” Enrico growled.

She hesitated, then said brightly, “I’m sure Jimmy would let you use his office.”

Enrico gave a short nod.“Good.Move.”

She led the way through the maze of sticky tables and sagging leather booths.They pushed into Jimmy’s office and found the strip club manager bent over a ledger, reeking of nervous sweat and last night’s whiskey.The small, grimy room stank of mildew, grease, and the faint ammonia tang of piss from the shared bathroom next door.

The moment Jimmy saw Enrico, he scrambled to his feet, sweeping receipts and piles of cash into a stack.

“We need your office,” Enrico snapped.

“Of course, of course,” Jimmy stammered, his voice cracking.He reached for the papers and money, but Enrico’s glare froze him mid-motion.

“Leave it,” Enrico growled, his voice thick with menace.

Jimmy swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jerking up and down.He looked from the money to Enrico’s face, then back again.For a second, he looked like he might argue.But in the end, he knew better.He left the stacks of bills and half-finished receipts exactly where they were, scuttling out like a rat.

Enrico slammed the door shut behind him, sealing himself and the stripper into the dank little room.The air was hotter here, close and suffocating, as if the walls themselves held the stink of desperation.

He turned, his eyes like knives.

“So?”

Diane swallowed hard, fighting the bile that rose in her throat.Every time she had to be near Enrico Bianchi, her skin crawled, like roaches were scuttling under it.She had to remind herself—over and over—that there were three little mouths at home, three pairs of innocent eyes waiting for her to come back with enough money to keep them clothed and fed.Their father, that useless prick, had disappeared two years ago with every last cent from their bank account.

This job was filthy, degrading, but it paid.And if she could get through the nights, her babies would have a home.That was the only thing that mattered.

So instead of telling the bastard in front of her to choke on his own arrogance, Diane plastered on the kind of smile that always made her want to scrub her face raw afterward and recited the progress she’d made.

“I got three job interviews next week, boss,” she said, pulling her phone from the side of her sequined uniform.Her fingers clutched it like a lifeline as she listed the strip clubs she’d driven to, how two had asked her to come back for auditions.She forced a hopeful tone into her voice, though her stomach twisted just saying the words.

“But you still don’t know if Romano frequents the club?”Enrico asked, his lip curling as though her existence offended him.

Diane’s throat tightened.“Well, no.But you told me to start at the clubs in Chicago.If he shows up, I’m supposed to…you know…entice him, get close enough to earn his trust.”The words tasted like ash.

“Exactly.If you don’t know which clubs he frequents, you’re not gonna entice him.See my point?”

She saw his point all right—he thought of her as bait.A disposable piece of meat.And the worst part was that she’d already told him this wouldn’t work six weeks ago when he’d shoved the plan on her.She’d said she couldn’t just guess which club Romano might walk into.But Enrico didn’t want reality—he wanted obedience.

So she kept her mouth shut.

Her life was already hell: a tiny apartment with peeling linoleum floors, three kids she barely saw awake, and a landlord who always lingered too long on the stairs, eyes crawling over her like slime.

But even those humiliations didn’t compare to the moment Enrico leaned back against Jimmy’s desk and started unbuckling his belt.

Diane’s stomach dropped, the air freezing in her lungs.She’d thought she’d have at least another hour before the club opened, another hour before this part of her night began.But no.Not tonight.

Her fingers went cold, her mind screaming at her to run, to fight, to spit in his face.But she didn’t move.She couldn’t.

“Get on your knees,” Enrico ordered, his tone casual, like he was asking her to fetch him a drink.

Her body reacted before her brain could catch up.She dropped fast, too fast, the impact of her knees against the sticky, stiff carpet jolting up her spine.Bruises bloomed instantly, she knew.Tomorrow, she’d cover them with makeup, like she always did.

She pressed her palms against the filth of the floor, the smell of stale beer and sweat rising from it, and forced her face to go blank.She couldn’t let him see the hatred inside her.The hatred was all she had left.

And then she went to work.

Chapter 17