I cringe, shivering as I look up at the sound of Lorenzo’s voice. The greasy, scruffy, portly Italian man in the ill-fitting suit with a cigar hanging out of his lips, eyes me in a way that makes my skin crawl. It’s that look that makes me want to wrap a shapeless blanket around myself or take a shower.
“Is it break time already?”
I swallow thickly, my hands twisting in my lap as I look at him.
“I—I just—”
He smiles wickedly. “You just… what, decided to renege on our deal? You want to pay up the other way we discussed?”
I want to throw up, and he sees the disgust on my face and starts to laugh.
“No? You sure?”
“Sorry, I was just—”
“You were fucking off is what you were doing!” he snaps, the grin vaporizing as he glares at me. He’s got two of his goons with him, lurking over his shoulder, and the two of them eye with me with about as much subtlety as Lorenzo.
Lorenzo as in Lorenzo Tonelli. As in, top of the food chain in the Tonelli crime family. As in, the mob.
As in, my dad stole money from the fucking mob. And now that he’s hiding out God knows where, and now that my mother is off in Greece, and now that all of our accounts are frozen?
…Well guess who’s come to me to collect on what my family owes him.
So, that’s where I’m at. I’m broke, my father and stepmother have completely abandoned me, I’ve got the mob breathing down my neck, literally, and I just gave my first ever lap dance in a fucking strip club to my fucking high school Principal.
Shoot me, please.
“Listen sweetheart,” Lorenzo hisses, glaring at me. “We had a deal.”
“Lorenzo—”
“Mr. Tonelli!” One of the goons barks, making me tremble.
“Mr. Tonelli,” I say quietly. “I don’t know where my dad is, but I know when he comes back, he’ll—”
“When he comes back, it’ll be in fucking leg irons,” Lorenzo sneers. “And you know who they’re going to make him pay back first? It’ll be the IRS, then the other rich country club assholes. Then the lawyers. You see who’s missing from that list?”
I swallow. “You?”
“Smart girl!” he chirps, glaring at me. “So, like I said before, there are two ways here. You work that debt off shaking that nice little jailbait ass up on that stage and in those private rooms. Or?”
He grins lecherously, and my stomach turns. He’s already made it abundantly clear how else I can pay off the debt.
“This might be your first fucking night, but you damn well better know by now that walking out on a private show is a no-no,” he snaps.
“He paid for two songs, and they were ov—”
“Uh-uh,” he mutters. “Almost over isn’t ‘over.’ You stopping at ‘almost over’ means complaints, and guys getting pissed about cheap whores like you stealing their money.”
My jaw tightens, fire sparking behind my eyes, and Lorenzo spots it. He grins widely, wagging a finger at me.
“Oh, there it is! There’s that fire! You mad, sweetheart? Not used to being talked to like that, huh? Rich girls don’t get called cheap whores, do they?”
He moves closer to me, and I stand, shivering as he steps right up to me. The sour smell of body odor and cheap cigars wafts over me, and my stomach tightens as he grins lecherously.
“You know, maybe dancing just ain’t for you. Maybe you don’t want to perform for all those guys out there. And hey, sweetheart,” he smiles a sickly smile. “I get it, really. So how about we go with our other deal, huh? No more dancing for all those other guys. No endless private rooms. Instead?”
He winks, and I almost throw up.