“So,” Agostini continues, “we have another repayment method in mind that would solve a problem for both of us.”
The room feels suddenly cold, as though a ghost just walked through it.
“We need someone to work one of our clubs; your family needs to pay off a debt. It’s an arrangement that suits us all.”
Arrangement?I gulp. He’s talking like this has already been decided.
I pan to Callum. “Guess you better polish up on your bartending skills,” I say to him.
But Agostini tuts. “No. Boss doesn’t want him. Boss wants you.”
My voice shakes as I extend a weak arm in the direction of the living room. “I quit my job so I could care for my father.”
“Your father sleeps at night, yes?”
I fold my arms firmly. “Of course he does.”
“Well then, he won’t even know you’re gone.”
I gasp in shock. “This is crazy. I can’t work in a club. I’m a nurse! And why should I have to pay off this imbecile’s debt? Can’t you findhima job?”
The man turns to Callum, who is watching the whole exchange through stretched eye sockets, and smirks. “Oh yeah. We could find him a job alright…”
Callum swallows loudly.
“…but like I said, the boss wants you.”
His expression flattens. It’s not a question. It’s not a request.It’s not an offer. It’s a notification—a command. These men are Di Santo’s. No one refuses the Di Santo’s.
“What club?” I ask, defeated.
“Velvet. Downtown. Be there at eight p.m. and ask for Dante.”
“Velvet? I’ve never heard of it.”
His gaze strokes me up and down slowly and he offers me a pitying smile. “You’re not the target clientele.”
I gulp for the millionth time in twenty minutes.
“You want me to work in a strip club.”
Agostini darts me a sharp, warning look. “Don’t let anyone else hear you call it that. Understood?”
His tone is so cutting, my mouth snaps shut and I nod.
He stands, unfolding himself limb by limb to his full height and pulls out a blade. My breath sticks in my throat as I watch him feed it between Callum’s wrists and slice through a rope.
The cretin wastes no time in rubbing the circulation back into his hands and knuckles while eyeing me warily.
“Be there tonight. Eight o’clock sharp,” Agostini says.
I crane my neck to peer up at him. “Wh—what will I be doing?”
Please don’t say ‘dancing.’ I have two left feet, no rhythm and a pathological fear of standing on stages.
His lowered gaze softens for a millisecond. “I’m not privy to that kind of information, Miss.”
I stare after the two men open-mouthed as they leave, then I turn back to Callum. My father is still sitting in the living room so I need to keep my voice down.
