“You want to pretend you’re family?” I take a shaky step toward him, my fists clenched at my sides. “Thenyoutake care of him.”
He blinks, a frown ghosting over his idiotic features. “What?”
“When I’m ‘working,’” I say, “youwill need to check onhim.Youwill need to make meals for him.Youwill need to make sure he takes his medication.”
He half-laughs. “Wait—you’re asking me to?—”
“I’mtellingyou,” I cut in. “If I have to pay off your debt by working in anightclub, caring for Dad is the least you can do.”
He watches me carefully but doesn’t object.
“And I don’t want you here when I come home,” I finish.
A minute of silence hovers between us, then he nods, slowly.
“All right.”
It doesn’t sound like agreement. It sounds like calculation—like he’s buying time to think about how else he can make my life a living hell. But, for now, it has to be enough.
“Good,” I say, straightening. “Now please, for the love of God, leave.”
CHAPTER TWO
Pfeiffer
The sight of two fierce,dead-behind-the-eyes men bracketing the doorway sends a cold shiver across my skin.
Hugging a coat around myself, I approach with the air of someone walking to their death.
I’ve had approximately four hours to mentally prepare for this turn of events and I’m drowning. The guilt of leaving my father only hours after I’ve returned is eating me up. Hatred for my uncle for putting me in this position is burning through my chest. And apprehension about what I’m stepping into is setting my pulse on course for a conniption.
Three of those four hours were spent frantically Googling ‘Velvet,’ only to find one elusive website bearing very little information.
I have no idea what this place is, or what’s expected of me. I’m not confident I’ll be able to do a good job because I’ve never done hospitality work, and what will happen if I do it badly?
Do I fail? Does the debt remain unpaid? Will we have to pay some other way?
By the time I reach the men, my lungs feel as though they’ve been put in a flower press.
“I, um… I’m…”
The taller of the two men dips his chin so he can take me in. At five foot three, I’ma lotshorter than him.
“We know who you are.”
I blink at his tone. It’s… surprisingly kind and at complete odds with his menacing form. And, how do I respond to that?
“Oh right. Okay.”
“I’m Dante,” he says, wrapping his hand round a metal door knob. “Come this way.”
Dante guides me through the metal door but just before it closes I catch sight of some bullet-shaped dents in the steel.
A shudder rolls down my spine as the reality thickens. This is amafia-owned club. And though they keep a low-ish profile in the city, they exist, and they’re dangerous.
“You’ll warm up quick,” he says, assuming my shudder was caused by a chill.
A wall of heat hits me when he pulls back a long, heavy, velvet curtain. As I acclimate to the new temperature, I see why.
