Every morning at eight, he'd open my door and tell me I had thirty minutes to shower and get ready. Then he'd take me downstairs to the club's kitchen where the day chef would feed me breakfast while Elio stood by the wall and watched. After that, we'd go back upstairs and Elio would disappear into his office while I sat in my room reading books that were starting to blur together.
Then, on day five, everything changed.
Elio knocked on my door at ten instead of eight. When I opened it, he said, "I'm going to show you the security setup. You need to understand how things work here if you're going to stay."
"I thought I wasn't allowed to leave this hallway."
"You're not. But you need to see what you're part of now. What we're protecting. What's at stake." He gestured for me to follow. "Come on."
I followed him down the hall to his office. The surveillance monitors covered the entire back wall—dozens of screens showing every angle of Inferno from multiple cameras. Mainfloor. VIP sections. Entrances. Exits. Hallways. Even the alley behind the building.
"Cameras everywhere," Elio said without preamble. He pointed to different screens. "Motion sensors in every restricted area. Armed guards at every entrance during operating hours. Panic buttons in every office. Silent alarms connected directly to our security team and local police—though we rarely use those."
I stepped closer to the monitors. Watched the feeds cycle through different views. The coverage was comprehensive. Overlapping. No blind spots that I could see.
"This is impressive," I said.
"It's necessary."
"Is it? This seems like more security than a nightclub would need."
Elio looked at me. Really looked at me. Like he was deciding how much truth I could handle.
"We've got federal agents watching us constantly. The RICO trial might be over but the investigation isn't. They're looking for any excuse to bring charges. One wrong move and we're all going to prison." His voice was matter-of-fact. Clinical. "Every person who walks through those doors is a potential threat. Every conversation is potentially recorded. Every transaction is potentially evidence. We can't afford mistakes."
I studied the monitors again. Saw the layers of protection differently now. This wasn't paranoia. This was survival.
"Is that why you're so careful with me?" I asked. "Because I could be evidence?"
"Partially."
"What's the other part?"
Elio was quiet for a moment. Then he turned to face me fully.
"You're dangerous in ways you probably don't realize. Smart people who understand how our world works are always threats. You've got education, training in forensic accounting,journalism background. You could destroy us if you wanted to. We need to make sure you don't want to."
I should've been offended. Should've protested that I'd come here for sanctuary, not to cause harm. Should've reminded him I'd given up everything to escape my family.
Instead I was flattered.
Nobody had ever called me dangerous before. My family had always treated me like I was fragile. Something to be protected and controlled and kept safe from the harsh realities of their world. They'd never seen me as capable of real damage.
Elio treated me like I was a threat. Like I had power. Like I mattered beyond being someone's property.
"Thank you," I said.
Elio's eyebrow raised slightly. "For what?"
"For seeing me as dangerous instead of fragile. My family never did that."
Something shifted in his expression. Softened almost imperceptibly before the control slammed back into place.
"Come here." He gestured to the main monitor. "I want to show you something."
I moved closer. Stood next to him in front of the screens. Close enough that I could smell cedar and ink. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body even though we weren't touching.
Elio pulled up different camera feeds from the night before. Showed me the patterns of movement throughout the club. Explained how they tracked potential threats. How they identified law enforcement. How they spotted people who didn't belong.
