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A member of staff approaches the whiteboard, climbs onto the stool beneath it, and begins updating the rankings. He erases the three beside Logan's name and replaces it with a one.

Alexander lets out an excited whoop, looking from the board to the stage. “Thanks, you guys!”

Enzo leans back in his seat, looking like he couldn't care less about the outcome, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gives him away.

Onstage, Aiden stops dancing. He gives the audience a final acknowledgement then leaves the stage, making Logan the last dancer standing and the winner of the marathon.

The crowd erupts into applause, with several people rising from their seats as Logan bows beneath the stage lights. He straightens with a grin, looking delighted with himself as the host announces his victory.

Since he's won both the marathon and the bidding competition, he'll be taking home thirty percent of the total bid money. If he'd won the marathon without getting the highest bid, he would have received only the ten percent participation fee.

Alexander jumps to his feet, flashes me another enormous smile, and hurries away from the booth.

Enzo sets his glass down and rises as well. “I'll be back,” he says.

He leaves without offering any explanation, and Marco looks after him with a puzzled frown. “What's his deal?”

“I have no idea, but he caught Logan during the last hunt.”

Raffaele releases a disbelieving breath. “And he remembered what he looked like after the hunt?”

“He remembered five days later.”

My cousins stare at me, their expressions ranging from surprise to outright disbelief, and I can't blame them. Enzo has always been a one-and-done sort of man, rarely remembering the faces of the people he takes home, let alone showing any interest in seeing them again.

Marco opens his mouth to speak, but Vincent stops by our table, interrupting our conversation. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he greets, inclining his head toward my cousins before turning to me. “Sir, Alexander tripped and⁠—”

I'm on my feet before he can finish. “Where is he?”

“I put him in one of the private rooms. I'll take you there.”

I step out of the booth and gesture for him to lead the way, leaving my cousins behind as I follow him through the crowded club and into the corridor that leads to the club's private rooms. The music from the main floor grows fainter as we pass the closed doors, but I can still hear the muffled bass of the performances taking place behind them.

Vincent stops outside the last room and gestures toward the door. “Alexander is inside, sir.”

I turn the handle and step in.

The room has dark velvet walls, a low leather couch positioned in front of a raised stage, and a polished brass pole extending from the platform to the ceiling. I check the stage, then the rest of the room, but Alexander is nowhere in sight.

I'm about to turn around and find out what the fuck Vincent is playing at when the overhead lights fade, a spotlight falls across the stage, and a song begins playing through the speakers.

Alexander steps into the light.

He's standing beside the pole in the same outfit he wore to his audition on the first night I laid my eyes on him. The white shirt ends just above his navel, exposing a narrow stretch of pale skin, while his black shorts leave half of his ass uncovered. A little bow tie sits at his throat, and his glasses are perched on his nose.

He's so fucking beautiful.

Alexander gives me a nervous smile before pointing at the couch in front of the stage. I take the hint and sit down without a word, leaning back against the leather while keeping my eyes fixed on him.

He begins with the same shy movements I remember from that night in March, his fingers brushing the brass as he circles it, occasionally glancing at me through his glasses.

My little stripper is reenacting his audition.

His cheeks are already pink, but there's a confidence beneath his nervousness now. When he pops the first button of his shirt, the fabric parts to reveal a strip of pale skin. I swallow like I’ve never seen him naked. Alexander lets the music guide him as he runs his hand along the pole, hooks one leg around it, and pushes himself into a smooth spin.

He's been learning.

The moves he displays next are nothing short of erotic. I sit forward, resting my forearms on my thighs as he circles the pole again. He grips the pole, and lifts himself off the floor, climbing with surprising ease, his legs moving confidently into position before he holds himself there for a moment. He descends slowly, controlling every movement until his feet touch the floor, then lowers himself into a split.