By the time the sun’s gone down, we reach an old warehouse outside the strip district. There are no lights on inside, pitch-coated windows and graffiti-stained cinder blocks. Dante pulls the car into a shadowed spot in the alley and gets out without a word.

My stomach drops and I can’t seem to look away from the warehouse. The sharp points of my nails dig into the leather seat as if that’ll keep him from yanking me out of the car. He’s going to kill me... he brought me here to kill me…

Dante walks around the car and opens my door. “Get out.”

My body doesn’t listen to my brain’s commands. I simply can’t move. “Dante…”

His hand shoots into the car and wraps around my bicep, yanking me from my seat. I screech as my heels give out under me. Dante jerks me back to keep me from hitting the ground. “Don’t talk, don’t look at anyone until I tell you to. Understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Great,” he clips before dragging me toward the warehouse from hell.

We reach a side door, concealed from the street by a stack of old wooden crates. The door is stereotypical, metal with a sliding peephole.

Dante knocks in a rhythmic succession and the panel slides open. He leans forward and whispers something to the man; I can’t make out what he says. The next thing I know, the door swings open and I’m ushered inside.

They always say never judge a book by its cover, and in this instance that rings true. The decrepit outside was deceiving. The hallway stretches on forever with dark cherrywood floors and red ornate walls. At the very end, another door, this one black with gold a filigree frame.

Dante’s hand pauses on the doorknob, the low rumble of voices came from the other side accompanied by crooning music. He looks at me from the corner of his eye. "Comportati bene.”

“Trust me, Dante. L’ultima cosa che voglio è crearti dei problemi,” I sneer back in Italian. He doesn’t reply, then a second later the door is open, and I’m swept into the commotion.

As soon as we enter, sweat and smoke cling to my skin, the air dense with sin and loose morals.

A crowd of people dance in the center pit of the room. Their bodies press hotly together, enough to make me blush. On raised platforms around the dance floor are linen covered tables, candles lighting a dreamy glow over each one. The band is at the very back of the room, a stage pulled directly from the 1920s… In fact, the whole room reminds me of a speakeasy, cast in warm light from the large art nouveau chandelier hanging above.

“What is this place?” I yell over the music as Dante stops at the coat check.

“The Cameo,” he huffs, handing his long black coat over to the girl behind the counter.

He stares at me expectantly and just to piss him off, I unbutton my leather jacket at a snail’s pace. Once it’s slipped off my shoulders, Dante’s eyes flash as he takes in my dress.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts angrily, practically chucking my coat at the girl. “That’s not a dress. That’s lingerie. I can see your nipples.”

“You said get tarted up.”

Dante’s eyes darken until only a glint of amber can be seen. His top lip curls up in a displeased sneer. “This isn’t what I meant. I told you not to cause trouble and this! This is going to cause trouble.”

“It’s not my problem if people can’t handle seeing a bit of tit and a bit of ass,” I joke half-heartedly, sticking my chin in the air with a false sense of pride.

“I need to be focused tonight and now I’m going to have to make sure no one tries to cop a feel!” He looks around the room anxiously, taking inventory of every sleaze in proximity.

“If I’m such a hassle, then maybe you should take me home,” I suggest, planting my hands firmly against my hips. “Otherwise, you’ll just have to deal with it because it’s not my fucking problem. If my outfit offends thee, then pluck out thine fucking eye!”

Dante’s anger washes away; he schools himself back into that mask of indifference and flicks his tongue against his canine. “You know, you’ve really got a mouth on you now. The girl I used to know would’ve been blushing like a bride saying a quip like that.”

My jaw clenches, the tips of my fingers involuntarily dig into the flesh at my hips. “That girl sounds like she needed to grow up.”

“And look at the woman she’s turned out to be. How impressive.”

Before I volley back another ugly retort, Dante grabs my upper arm and leads me further into the club. “Come on. We’ve got more important shit to do.”

“Where are these clients of yours?” I ask, switching gears as I scan the room for any mafia types. Only to realize there isn’t a son of a bitch in here who doesn’t look like he’ll bust your kneecaps.

“Not so fast,” Dante says, leading me down a short set of stairs to the dance floor. “They know we’re here; they can see us and they’re watching. I’m going to show you off for a few songs, get their blood flowing, then you’re gonna get on stage and sing.”

My eyes bug out of my head as he turns my body to face his. “Sing? It sounded like you wanted me to sing. No way, Dante. I think you’ve forgotten I don’t work for you anymore; I don’t sing when you snap your fingers—Hell if these guys even know my music!”

He grabs my hands and wraps them behind his neck, his own then glide down my arms, raising my flesh into pebbles. His fingers skate on the outside of my breasts before settling on my waist.

“You do work for me, Rose. So, until I stop snapping my fingers I better not hear any lip. All I want to hear is yes, Dante. Got that? I’ve taken care of everything, so you only need to play your part. They’ll relax with a girl like you around.”

We begin to move, our hips aligning as we step and push to the slow beat.

“A girl like what?” Full of indignation, I grab a fistful of his hair and yank back sharply.

Dante hisses in pain, cuffing my wrists. He spins me around, my ass colliding with his groin. With his chest flush with my back, he pins my arms against my spine.

Leaning down to whisper into my ear with a hot breath, “A girl they think they can have.”

“You said I wasn’t screwing anyone,” I snap, my anger stoking the ashes of my lust, forcing air into the embers.

His hands slip off my wrists, sliding down my hips until he reaches the exposed skin of my thighs. Dante lets his blunt nails rake up the outside of my legs, pushing the back of my dress over my ass. I can feel the fly of his suit pants against my bare skin.

The cold metal seers, distracting me as he says, “You know how to play with a man’s feelings, Rose. Or do you fuck after the tease now? Do you let your clients at the Rhino fuck you?”

How dare he. This wasn’t anything like the club. This was out in the world; I wasn’t protected by a stage or a spotlight. This wasn’t a business exchange where all parties understood what they’d be getting. This was a dangerous situation where the second party didn’t know they wouldn’t be getting pussy at the end of the striptease.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, you God damn bastard. Bet you want some material to think of while you stroke your thimble dick.”

He chuckles darkly against my neck, “I didn’t know you could offend a stripper.”

“Just because I take my clothes off for a living doesn’t mean I’m not a person with feelings, asshole.”

“Could have fooled me.”

The song transitions into a slightly faster, more seductive beat. I’m tired of him being in control. If he wants to show off his pretty pony, then that’s exactly what he’ll get.

I turn on the balls of my feet, startling him as my hair whips across his face. With one hand, I grip a handful of his shirt, the other dips low until my fingers trace underneath the line of his belt. My hips move in a figure eight and I use my grip on his belt to pull him closer. Dante’s eyes begin to burn, jealously and desire waring across his face. Desire wins out as two strong hands slide down my back and take rough handfuls of my ass.

He’s hard, I can feel it with every grind against my stomach. Desperate and inflexible between us. Dante’s breathing becomes more ragged as his fingers knead my flesh.

I slowly untuck the back of his shirt underneath his suit jacket, slipping my hands against his bare skin. His hips flex forward shamelessly as I scratch my nails across his muscles.

“What are you doing?” he groans, lips teasing the top of my head.

“Working, isn’t this what you kidnapped me to do?” I smirk.

I look up at Dante’s face; he doesn’t look entirely there anymore. As if to him, we’re the only people left in the room. He’s right that I know how to play with a man’s feelings, and I know every spot on this man’s body to make him crumble.

“Stellina,” he rasps, pushing his forehead against mine.

What did he call me?

No. No! You’ve got to be fucking joking! Dante Filoli doesn’t get to burst back into my life, call me a whore, put me in danger, and then call me his Little Star. I’ve reached my peak! He used to call me Stellina every day. When he would kiss me, after we made love, to let me know he loved me... But it feels so incredibly wrong to hear him say it now, like there’s a layer of grease suffocating every pore on my body.

I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing. If he’s playing with me and trying to get me to behave like a good girl, that’s not the way to do it. In fact, he’s awoken the beast. You wanna play with real emotions, Dante? Great, I hope you’re prepared to lose.

Tilting my head back, my hands snap up and I grab his face. Our lips collide in a forceful kiss. It’s not a kiss of passion, but one of mockery. When I pull away, he follows, wanting to kiss me again. Just like that, he’s a fish on my hook.

Dante isn’t going to hurt me. Whether he likes it or not, he’s still attracted to me. My hand snakes up and grips his jaw.

My thumb presses harshly into his cheek. “You call me Stellina again and I’ll happily tell your associates what you’re up to.”

His nostrils flare and he throws his head to the side to jerk out of my grip. Millions of fractured emotions swirl in his eyes as Dante becomes lost for words. His hand grips the back of my neck, making me yelp as he guides me through the crowd toward the stage.

“It’s time to sing.”

“Let go of me!” I hiss through my teeth, and he does exactly that.

I stumble as he pushes me forward, my hands hitting the stage stairs with a biting smack. Pain radiates through my palms as I sneer at Dante over my shoulder. Without a care in the world, he turns his back on me and makes his way off the dance floor. Standing, I brush off my hands and carefully take the stairs in my platforms.

My mind is a mess. A mixture of feeling too light, a buzzing anxiety, and far too heavy. Every step I take across the stage feels like I’m wading through water, teetering on the edge about to fall under and drown.

The bandmates look at me with apprehension, no doubt taking in my appearance and thinking I’m some drunk hooker about to make a scene.

“I’m Pearl, Mr. Filoli said I was to perform,” I explain, standing up straighter as the men in their matching tiger-striped jackets look me over. Eyes linger on my nipples on clear display under the stage lights. I snap my fingers impatiently and the lead singer shakes his head as if coming back to earth.

“Sorry! Yes, we were informed earlier.” He takes a step toward me and motions to the jazz band. “He said you know the classics, but didn’t specify what song… So…”

I take a deep breath and roll my lips into my mouth, biting down till the tangy taste of iron coats my tongue. What song? I look out at the crowd, scanning the horizon over the bright lights. Finally, I find Dante sitting at a table on the second level. Two older men sit with him, both of them with serious expressions, but none as severe as Dante’s own. They’re all staring back at me, but I don’t give his clients the time of day. I only look at those amber eyes, like a lighthouse on dark shores.

My chest constricts… I can’t remember the last time I performed for him, but I do remember that when I did, I did it to show him how I loved him. Now, this feels like a perversion.

I click my tongue and look back at the band still patiently waiting for my response. “You know any Julie London?”

A few minutes later, the band ends their last song, and the crowd applauds. “I hope you don’t think we’re done with you yet!” The lead singer laughs into the mic. “We’ve got a real sweet treat for you tonight; it’s her first time performing at our little club here and I hope you give her a warm welcome. The world’s her oyster, give it up for Pearl, everybody!”

I prowl toward the mic with the same sensuality I would if it were a pole at the Rhino, looking out into the crowd with the same mischievous cat-like smile. “Thanks for the warm welcome, baby.” I wink at the lead singer then blow a kiss toward the audience. “And if you’re gonna give it up to me, then make sure you give it to me nice and hard!”

Cheers and wolf whistles ring out. “I hope yins won’t get too jealous now, but I’d like to dedicate this song to somebody special out there.” I look up at Dante’s table, his jaw so tense I’m surprised he hasn’t cracked a tooth.

“My Love,” I purr. “This one’s for you.”

On cue, the opening guitar chords to Cry Me a River fill the club with a slow sensuous atmosphere. I stand center stage and turn my back to the crowd as I sway my hips in a hypnotic motion like a snake putting its prey in an obedient daze.

I slowly lift my hand with the microphone, making a meal out of the anticipation. Turning my head to the side, my lips part as I vocalize to match the band. An homage to Ella Fitzgerald, adding the final velvety layer in the ensemble as the symbols and piano join me.

Then the lyrics begin to pour from my lips like sweet full-bodied wine. Wine tainted with arsenic. “Now, you say you’re lonely…”

Rotating my hips in a perfect circle, I languidly turn on my toes to face the crowd. My skin shimmers under the lights as I move to dazzle, simply letting the music take me away. The embodiment of lust and revenge.

Through the haze of my performance, my gaze flicks to the three men it’s all for. Dante sits so frozen even Michelangelo would mistake him for a statue, a cigar drooping from his bottom lip and a lighter flickering forgotten in the cradle of his palm. He’s fixated on me.

He can’t help himself, men rarely can when I make love to a microphone.

And like the snake I am, I can’t help myself either as I raise a hand and point a chipped nail at his table. Telling him to cry me a river. “…I cried a river over you.”

As the song rolls to a close, my chest rises and drops raggedly. Dante deliberately pulls the cigar out of his mouth, coming back to earth to give me a look that tells me I’ve dug myself into a hole six feet deep. The two other men at the table gape at me; at least they’ve been caught in my web.

The final notes hit and to put the finishing touches on my performance, I turn back around and strike a pose. Blowing another kiss in Dante’s direction to piss him off a little more, because if I’m good as dead, I might as well have some fun.

Applause ricochets through the club as Dante mouths for me to get off the stage and get my ass to the table.

Oh no, it looks like I won’t be performing anymore tonight. How shall I live? It’s like I planned it.

Once I reach the table, Dante blows smoke from the corner of his mouth. The thick milky cloud dissipates with the anger in his eyes as he regains composer. He patiently sticks his hand out toward me and once I take it, he introduces me to the other men.

“Darling, this is Gianni... and this is Vio. Gentlemen, this is Pearl.”

I turn to give my patented sickly-sweet smile to the two old Italian men. Gianni, the shorter round one, kisses my knuckles as I stretch my hand in greeting. Vio, who looks closer to a rat than a man, does the same.

“It’s always wonderful to meet friends of Dante’s.” I beam while taking a seat on the aforementioned man’s lap.

Dante brushes my hair away from my neck and rests his chin on my shoulder. Every breath he takes grazes over the pulsating vein in my throat, creating a shiver down my spine. His right arm bands across my waist to keep me secure as his other arm rests idly over the back of his chair, cigar slowly burning out between his fingers.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pearl. Truly.” Gianni flashes a broken grin of yellowed aged teeth.

Vio takes my moment of stunned repulsion to lean over and wiggle his spindly fingers between me and the table. He squeezes my thigh and instantly my blood curdles, the bare skin he touches itching in protest. Dante stiffens under me, his muscles going taut in the way only an animals would when their territory is being invaded. One quick glance at his face however shows nothing; you’d never know he was prepared to pounce.

Vio regains my attention as he says, “You sing like a canary, Doll!”

“Thank you, you’re far too kind,” I respond diplomatically.

Vio looks to Dante, winking at him suggestively, “You got a real thing for singers, don’t you?”

My nerves are rattled, a sour pool of saliva filling my mouth until it’s hard to breathe. Signals that my fight or flight response is kicking in, shoot up like a red penalty flag. Dante’s arm tightens around my waist as if he can sense this too.

“I like their breath control,” he jokes dryly, managing to distract them. Dante stubs out his cigar, leaving it discarded in the crystal ashtray before slipping his hand into mine and squeezing it reassuringly.

“It certainly comes in handy,” I play along lewdly.

I regard him from the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t spare me a glance. Dante’s solely focused on the men, and that’s when I notice his palms are growing damp. He’s nervous too, I don’t like that one bit.

“So, Dante,” Gianni starts. “About this proposition you’ve asked of us. I... I don’t see how we could benefit, you know what I’m saying? Our families have been neutral for years, you’re good people. As Konta’s, we appreciate and give respect to you.” Gianni continues, waving down the waitress for another glass of whatever malt liquor he’s guzzling. “But it’s not worth the risk.”

“Come on, Gianni! You and I both know this is a fair deal. Michelle owes me for what he did, he owes all of us for the disrespect he spat on the Italians. What’s to stop him from doing the same thing to you guys?” Dante works them smoothly; I’d be impressed if I wasn’t confused about what the hell they’re talking about.

Gianni accepts his new glass from the waitress and runs a hand down his face. “For what Michelle did, we offer our greatest apologies. We had no idea what Dupont was planning, and if we did, we wouldn’t have sheltered him after he got out of prison…” Sweat beads on his brow. He’s hiding something.

Vio shakes his head and shoots down the rest of his drink. “Eesh, men, let’s not talk business in front of such a fine young woman.”

Gianni smacks Vio’s chest, making him choke on an olive. “Vio is right— Ah shit you choking? Spit it out!”

As the two men bicker over the state of the olive, I turn my head and begin to kiss Dante’s neck. Something metallic rubs against my chin and I glimpse a gold chain nestled in his chest hair. That’s new… I quickly dismiss the discovery and continue my ploy as I lick up his jaw. His skin tastes slightly salty, the stubble of his facial hair rough on my tongue.

Nipping his earlobe, I lower my voice. “He’s hiding something… I’ll distract the rat, and you work the fat one.”

Dante turns so our faces are close together, lips brushing. If anyone were to look, it would simply appear like two people lusting after each other.

He kisses the corner of my mouth then nuzzles my ear as he replies, “Glad to see you’re finally being a team player.”

A dark chuckle escapes my lips as I cup his cheek. “More like speeding this along to get away from you.”

His eyes narrow. “Stop acting like three days is a life sentence.”

“If anyone knows how to make someone a prisoner. It’s you.”

I reposition myself on his lap to lean over the table, planting my ass directly over his groin. Teasingly, I push my hips down side to side. Dante grabs the sides of my thighs harshly in warning to behave.

Reaching out, I run a hand down the rat’s arm, soothing him as he coughs. “If you’re done choking, how about you take me for a spin?”

Vio cocks a confident brow. “I’d love to dance with you, Bella.” He looks to Dante. “As long as Don Filoli won’t miss you warming his lap?”

Dante releases my thighs, allowing me to stand. “She’s all yours.”

“Much appreciated.” The rat grins, offering me his arm.

Before I can take it, a harsh slap stings across my ass. My head whips around and I glower down at Dante. He rubs the offending hand against the burning skin under my lace dress.

He’s really pushing my buttons. That little shit knows that if we were alone, I’d never let him get away with that.

But I’m forced to play along, and I pull away from the rat to bend over Dante’s chair and kiss his cheek. “You slap my ass again and I swear I’ll break your hand.”

He slaps my ass again and dismisses me. “Be a good girl for Mr. Konta.”

“You’re gonna regret that.” I stand and wrap my arms around Vio’s, pushing his scrawny bicep between my breasts. “Let’s dance.”

The rat lets me lead him down to the dance floor. His hands planted firmly on my hips, my hands on his shoulders. We look like a couple of kids at their first school dance, and I severely overestimated my ability to pretend to want to fuck somebody like him.

His hands slip over my hips to the top of my ass as he pulls me closer. I turn my face away to keep my mouth as far away from his as possible. “Come on, you weren’t this stiff with Dante.”

I laugh nervously, trying to think of a damn thing to say. I’ve never had to get information out of someone before! Contrary to what Dante believes, I’m not some femme fatale.

Holding my breath, I push my chest into the rat’s and talk into his ear so I won’t have to look at his face. “Sorry, Baby, this song is just too slow.”

“You don’t like it slow?” He laughs to himself, rubbing his palms over my body.

Acid singes my throat, but I don’t stop him. “Didn’t you hear my opening? I’m a fast and hard type of girl.”

We spin around with the music, and I catch a glimpse of Dante leaning over the table, talking heatedly with Gianni. “Have you guys known Dante long?”

“Our families have known each other a few generations…” He says casually, “What about you, Doll? I’m surprised he’s gotten himself a girl.”

I pull back. “Why’s that?”

Vio shrugs. “Anyone who knows the Filoli’s knows that Dante doesn’t fool around.”

Is that right? I slip my fingers up his neck and into his hair, massaging his scalp. “Then I must be very good at what I do.”

He agrees with a grunt in his chest, swaying me back and forth. “Do you like to fool around, Mr. Konta?”

“Vio, please.” He grabbed my ass and I fought to keep my eye from twitching. “And I’ve been known to get around in my day.”

“Oh, I still think it’s your day,” I flirt. God, his lips are so chapped. “I’m disappointed you and I haven’t run into each other before.”

The rat looks pleased as punch, thinking he has some special charms that are working on me. “Me too… I thought I knew all the working girls in this city.”

I frown at him. “Working girl?”

He falters. “Are you not?”

My nostrils flare, but I can’t deny his claim. My outfit alone would call to the contrary. “A girl never kisses and tells.”

He plays along for now. “So, he didn’t bring you from Chicago then?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m from Pittsburgh like you… Chicago’s too cold for me, and too far away. Seems like quite the distance to have personal business with someone.”

Vio’s gaze shifts behind me. “Tell that to the people in Chicago.”

Am I wrong, or did he sound bitter?

I run my nails up and down his back. “You seemed stressed, let me loosen you up… You know… I’ve always heard you couldn’t trust people from the windy city.”

He barks out a laugh. “That’s why my loyalties stay in the burgh.”

Well, that’s good to know.

The song thankfully ends, and I break away from Vio, pulling his hands off my ass before planting a soft kiss on both. “Come on, I need to cool off after that.”

He follows me like a dog back to the table, the conversation between Gianni and Dante fizzling out.

“You two looked like you were having fun,” Dante comments as he pushes back his chair for me to reclaim my seat.

I let go of Vio’s hand and wink at him as if we shared a little secret. “He knows how to move a lady.”

The rat winks back and takes his own seat. Gianni immediately tugs on his brother’s jacket, and they begin to discuss something under their breath.

Dante brushes hair off of my face. “You smell like aftershave.”

My lip curls in disgust. “Great and it wasn’t even worth it. I barely got anything out of him. You do any better?”

He nods, flicking his gaze back to the brothers before leaning in and nuzzling my ear. “Turns out Michelle’s been back in the city longer than I knew… We’re going to have to be more cautious.”

“What does that mean?”

“How about this,” Gianni interrupts, causing Dante and I to pull away from each other. “We take a drive to that bar in the West End, you know the one where that kid works... What’s his name again?”

“Kevin,” Vio interjects, scratching his throat.

“Kevin, right!” Gianni leans forward, “We go to this bar and if you can get Kevin for us then ah... then we can talk more. How does that sound?”

Dante shifts me to the other side of his lap, something hard pressed into my back, and I immediately know this fucker has my gun tucked in his waistband. Either that or little Filoli is more than happy I’m sitting on him.

“Is this Kevin affiliated?” Dante asks dryly.

The brothers eye each other and then shrug. “This is more of personal matter. Little shit has been sniffing around where he shouldn’t.”

“And why can’t you guys handle some kid?”

Vio lifts a shoulder. “Let’s just say we’ve been instructed not to touch him.”

“So, we got a deal?” Gianni asks with a slimy smile.

“Consider him yours.”

The deal is set as the men shake hands. We stand from the table and Dante throws down a pile of cash for the waitress.

On the way out, I allow Vio to help me with my coat and it doesn’t take more than a second for his hands to wander.

“You got a tight body, anyone ever tell you that?” he rasps into my ear, his tone meant to be sexy, but he sounds like he needs a respirator.

Swallowing the visceral disgust his comment raises, I give the rat a another wink. “You should see me without the dress.”

Together we leave the speakeasy and walk out into the brisk fall night. The sudden change in air quality is dizzying having grown accustomed to the humidity of the club. I greedily fill my lungs, thankful to breathe in something that isn’t dense with smoke and sweat.

Dante tells the men we’ll follow behind them as they pile into a black nondescript car with a driver holding open a door for them.

We watch them leave in silence, and after the taillights disappear around the corner, Dante lets out a sigh.

He leans back on his red vintage sports car, too low for the position to be comfortable, but he seems unbothered. His thoughts in a different place.

I step between his widespread legs. “What’s going to happen to that Kevin guy they were talking about?”

Dante drops his hands from his face. “Don’t ask questions, Rose.”

I move closer to him. “I’m serious, Dante... I’ve got a nice little life for myself here. I’m not about to be an accomplice to murder.”

He looks at me deadpanned.

“A nice little life?” He laughs. “Right... right... You call working at a strip club and dating a garbage man a nice little life? What’s his name again? Ron? Sam?”

“His name is…Joe and he’s a trucker. Why keep tabs on me, Dante? Do you have nothing better to do?” I ask, crossing my arms.

He stands up and in a swift move spins me around, pinning me against the car with his hips. My lungs constrict as I forget how to breathe. Dante’s face turns grievous as he runs his fingers against both sides of my scalp, pushing back my hair. “I keep tabs on you, Stellina, because I don’t trust you... and moreover I—” His jaw cracks as he clenches it. “Never mind.”

“Moreover what? Tell me, don’t be a cowardly bitch, Dante. You’ve already kidnapped me, don’t chicken out now.”

“Moreover, Stellina, I wanted to make sure you’d be okay!” he yells, his cheeks flush with frustration.

Don’t… Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.

For some strange reason my vision becomes watery. I have to look away, the dirt on the ground suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “I’m not your Stellina anymore, Dante… After these three days are up, I won’t even spare you a thought, just as I haven’t these last three years. I left, so that means I’m not your business anymore. It shouldn’t matter to you whether or not I’m dead in a ditch or engaged to be married.”

Dante grabs my left hand and holds it up, staring at my bare fingers. “Are you planning on marrying that hog?”

“He’s asked me... A few times, but I’ve never given him an answer. And I think maybe it’s time I do.” My eyes gloss over and I’m no longer here, rather somewhere far away and safe. A place to guard myself from reality and its consequences. If I’m not here, then I can’t be hurt.

“No, you’re not,” he scoffs.

I jerk back my head, ripped from my intrusive thoughts. “Excuse me?”

He shakes his head. “You’re not going to marry him, Rose.”

“You don’t know that!” I protest.

“No, you won’t.” He mocks, “Do you even love him?”

“I...” My mind goes blank, unprepared for the question. “He... He says he loves me, Dante, and that’s all that matters.”

“Well.” He takes a few steps back, a joyless smile stretching his features. “If love were enough for you, Rose, we wouldn’t be standing here.”

He pushes me aside and opens the car door. “Get in, we’re going to the bar.”

His words are like a lightning bolt to my system. A single moment in time plays on repeat inside my head like a demonic theater specially designed to torture me. All I can see—all I can hear is a man’s voice, hands clutching my face. What did I do? What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?

My skin goes clammy. My vision tunnels.

What did I do? What did I do? What did I do? What did I do? What did I do

“Rose!” Dante barks, smacking his hand on the top of the car. “Get in, now!”

“No…” I whisper, still trying to recollect myself.

“I’m not doing this with you, get in the car.”

“No! You need to leave, Dante!” I snap. “Go back to fucking Chicago!”

Dante cracks his neck while scoping out the area to make sure we’re alone. “Damnit, Rose. We don’t have time for this.”

“And I told you I’m not going to be an accessory to murder!”

“Jesus Christ! Lower your voice and get into the car already before I come over there and haul your ass in myself!”

And I know he will, so, reluctantly, I give up and get into the passenger seat.

He pulls the car out of the alley way and turns onto a side street, heading for the main road toward the Fort Duquesne Bridge.

My nails rap irritably against the middle console, unable to let my curiosity go. What does Dante want with Michelle? I can’t imagine it’s dire enough to drag my ass into it. And frankly, I think I’m entitled to know what the hell is going on! I’m the one putting their pussy on the line here! If someone dies tonight, that’s gonna be on my conscience forever and I already have enough shit going on up there!

“Will you stop tapping your fingers?” Dante demands.

“What do you want with Michelle Dupont?”

The leather on the steering wheel creaks under his grip. “I warned you, Rose.”

“For fuck’s sake, just tell me!”

“If I tell you, will you stop fucking shouting?”

“Yes.” I smile calmly, pleased I got my way.

Dante adjusts himself in his seat uncomfortably. “He used to work for the family; you’ve met him once or twice… A few years back, he went to jail for drug smuggling but escaped and he’s been hiding since. He got it in his head that I was responsible for him getting caught, so he retaliated. Then he dropped off the face of the planet, and I haven’t been able to find him till now.”

“What did he do that warrants you coming after him now?” I ask skeptically.

Dante’s silent for a few moments… and what he says next is that last thing I ever wanted to hear. “He tried to kill me and Nonno took the bullet.”

My mouth went dry, vision blurring. “What? W-when?

“Two years ago.” His tone is resentful as if to say, and you weren’t there.

“Oh…”

“Yeah. Oh.”

I sit on my hands to stop them from shaking. “Dante… If I’d known—”

“If you’d know what?” he snaps. “You said yourself you haven’t spared me a thought these last three years; I’m surprised you even care.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Well, life isn’t fair, now, is it?” His voice is shredded with despair. “Because if it was, then a sick old man wouldn’t have been killed in cold blood!”

“Dante—”

“We’re here.” He pulls the car into the busy lot of the bar, slamming the door upon exit.

I watch from behind the windshield as he walks away to greet the Konta brothers at the entrance. No trace of our devastating conversation to be found as he pats them on the shoulders… It takes me longer to recompose myself than him, but eventually I do what I do best. Repress my feelings, put on a smile, and get on with the show.

Next Chapter: Chapter Six: Present