Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
It’s a suitable name for a stripper. Along with Candy, it’s the top-ranked name in this industry. I just wish it didn’t carry a strange sense of sentiment.
Happy with her choice, she continues through the door. “If you’re not backstage in five, Angel, I’ll give your spot to someone else.”
Even with my per-dance rate above decent, I still rush to the mirror to add some volume to my hair. It’s always floppy and lifeless when I wrangle it out of a wig.
The only good thing about preparing to take the stage without a disguise is the bright-pink hue on my cheeks. It gives me an innocent look.
Santo’s commentary assures me that the men in front of the stage will welcome that.
I throw down my ancient curler when the four-minute timer in my head goes off.
As I rush into the wings of the stage, an unfamiliar quietness engulfs me. The music I walk onto the stage with, like a fighter entering the octagon, hasn’t started yet, but the previous dancer has finished her set. I can see the empty stage floor from here. I try not to panic. Some strip clubs have intermissions so the clientele has plenty of time to purchase another drink.
I won’t mention what else they try to order during a brief break. My palms are already sweaty. I don’t want more messes added to the looming disaster.
I scrub my hands down my thighs, shaking off the nerves crawling up my spine. I don’t get stage fright. How could I after everything I’ve been through? Removing my clothes for money is nothing compared to what I’ve done to survive.
I’m not generally a nervous person. The only times I’ve experienced these nerves were when I was sixteen and stupidly in love with the housekeeper’s son. I thought he liked me for me. I had no idea he was trying to get intel on my father’s business for his competitors.
The second time…
I shut down the thought before it can form.
Edoardo doesn’t deserve an ounce of my time. He was a snake in tall grass, and I stepped right on him. I more than bled when he sank his teeth in. I paid the ultimate price. I’m still paying for it now. But I also got Gabriele out of the mess, and for that, I’d walk through the same flames.
With the opening music of my performance trickling in my ears, I exhale my unease, then prance onto the stage with practiced grace. The stage’s spotlight homes in on me instantly. It’s hot and blinding and swallows everything beyond the first row of tables.
I blink through the glare as muscle memory takes over.
Step.
Turn.
Extend.
Breathe.
You’ve got this, Lucia.
My silent assurance would be more convincing if I could hear a single sound.
The room is silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
There’s nothing except a commotion near the bar. Squinting past the lights, I see a large man—security, maybe—has someone by the arm on the bartender’s side of the bar. Although the blond man stands a foot shorter than the brute marching him out, he holds his ground for several long seconds.
When he reaches for the tips jar I helped fill, his furious yet still-handsome face is exposed.
Santo.
“I’m going,” he shouts over the music.
He sidesteps the stranger, but not without first barging into him. As the giant guides him to the exit, Santo’s eyes wildly dart around the club, searching for someone. I know who he’s looking for, just like I know who I’m about to see, as indicated by his narrowed glare.
My heart drops to my stomach when I move to an area where the stage lights aren’t blinding. It lowers even further when the inky-black eyes I’m expecting meet my gaze.
Dante occupies the center of the room, his aura announcing he owns the club, the air, and the silence. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes fix on me with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
He is the storm I keep pretending I want to outrun but know I never will.
Chapter 10
Lucia
For the first time, my heart listens to the sirens wailing in my head. “You can’t keep doing this, Dante.”
His name slips out in a moan, and he groans a deep, rough rumble, hearing it the same way. It’s hot and needy—nothing as planned.
My pulse hammers in my throat when I strive to get this wreck back on track. “You can’t keep showing up and—”
“And what?” He cocks a brow, loving that I’m void of an excuse. “Watch? Isn’t that the purpose of strip clubs? You come, watch, and then leave.” His eyes narrow, and his anger makes a mess of my panties. “Or in some cases, you watch, come, then leave.”
My stomach gurgles. I hate the thought of him leaving to the same degree I loathe the thought of not speaking to my son.
Needing space to get my head screwed back on, I leave the stage. As I head toward the dressing room, my legs shake. It isn’t from nerves. It’s because of the way Dante looks at me like he’s solving a puzzle only he understands.