I nodded, shame heating my cheeks. “It’s not what you think. I don’t even strip. I just perform. Like…aerial routines. That’s all.”
“And you think that matters?”
He was pacing now, muttering under his breath in Italian.
“I was going to quit,” I said, desperation clawing its way up my throat. It killed me to disappoint him. “After tonight, I swear, I’ll tell them—”
“You don’t just quit a place like that,” he said sharply, turning to me. “You don’t tell men like that guy ‘no.’ Don’t you get that?”
“I—I needed the money. And I—”
“You need to leave the city,” he hissed. “Now. Today. I’ll buy you a bus ticket myself if that’s what it takes. You’re not safe.”
“No,” I whispered. “I can’t. I have a theater role I just landed, and—”
“Lyla!” His voice cracked like a whip. “You don’t understand what you’re caught up in.”
“I do,” I lied.
He stared at me for a long second, then shook his head and looked away.
I untied my apron with trembling fingers, hung it on the hook beside the door, and grabbed my hoodie and backpack.
“I have to go.”
“Lyla—”
But I was already rushing out, pushing past the counter, out the door and into the street, where the cold drizzle felt like punishment.
I walked fast, pulling on my hoodie and trying to ignore the brisk wind buffeting me as I headed home.
The look on Carmine’s face wouldn’t leave my mind.
He was a great boss, and he’d even treated me a bit like a daughter, which was why I’d felt like a little kid being chastised when his face had twisted in disappointment, when he’d said I couldn’t just walk away from The Sacrifice.
My life had flipped upside down so fast.
But this wasn’t as bad as the wreck—the one that had taken everything from me—so I knew I could handle it. Nothing would ever shatter my heart like losing my parents and sister had. Nothing was going to destroy me; I’d already suffered the worst life could throw at me, and I’d come through it stronger.
That didn’t stop me from being frustrated beyond belief though. What a shitty situation to be in! My life had been looking up. I’d landed a part in an actual Off-Broadway show. I should’ve been glowing. Happy. Instead, I felt like I was choking on glass.
I turned the corner onto my block and slowed just enough to glance behind me.
Nothing.
Still, a prickling sensation crawled up the back of my neck.
I adjusted one of the straps of my backpack, ducked my head down, and crossed the street—then changed my mind and crossed back again, keeping my movements unpredictable like Nat had taught me, just in case.
I ducked into the corner bodega, pretending to browse, then quickly stepped out the side entrance.
That was when I saw him.
Same stocky build. Same dark coat. Same scar-covered face.
Not my Russian stalker—the man from the cafe.
He was following me.
