Page 21 of The Kingpin’s Bride

“Three weeks,” he said, voice tight. “But if the number doesn’t justify it…”

“It will.”

He swallowed. Nodded once. The movement was jerky, already calculating how much he could still squeeze before he handed her over.

“Three weeks,” I said. “She stays untouched until then. No private arrangements. No new bruises. No changes of mind. If I hear otherwise, the conversation we just had will look like a courtesy.”

He did not answer. He simply turned and walked away toward the staff hallway, shoulders tight, the back of his neck flushed with the particular humiliation of a man who had just been told what he would do and found he lacked the spine to refuse.

Chapter Five

Morena

Ispent the final hours of the afternoon cleaning and getting ready for work. The lace, the heels, the cheap shampoo. My hands moved on autopilot, while my thoughts drifted to my sister.

Every time I looked at the empty corner where Camilla’s mattress wast, my stomach turned. I didn’t cry. I just kept folding the same black lace over and over until the fabric was warm from my palms.

If I chose Dario, I would see my little sister. I would get daylight hours. I would be allowed to exist in the same space as the only person left in the world who meant something. The cost was my body and whatever remained of my will. I had spent three weeks learning how little those things protected me. I could spend the rest of my life learning the same lesson under my stepfather’s roof if it meant she did not disappear into whatever dark place he had threatened.

I arrived at After Dark early and went through the motions of getting ready without looking at my own face in the mirror longer than necessary. The heels that made my ankles ache before the first set even started went on, locked in place.

When I stepped onto the secondary stage the dark presence was there, heavy in the usual place near the back column. I did not look for him. I did not have the space left inside me to wonder what the tall man with the tattoos wanted. Tonight only one man mattered.

Dario appeared near the staff door at the end of my second set, right on schedule. I walked to him on legs that felt disconnected from the rest of me and stopped an arm’s length away. None of it felt real.

“I accept,” I said. My voice came out flat and small. “I’ll come with you. I’ll do what you want. Just let me see her. Be with her. Please.”

Dario stared at me for a long second. Then he laughed, short, ugly, and delighted.

“There it is. I knew you’d break.” He stepped closer, eyes bright. “One mention of the kid and you’re ready to crawl. Needy little piece of meat.”

I forced the words out. “I just want Camilla. I’ll do anything. You don’t have to sell me.”

His smile faded. Something colder settled in its place. He glanced toward the main floor, then back at me, voice dropping. “I was going to keep you. I was. The idea of breaking that virgin cunt in myself had its appeal. But the man who’s been watching you from the shadows made it clear what happens if I don’t put you on the block. You’re worth too much money to walk away from… and I’m not interested in finding out how he finishes conversations. So you’re going to the auction. Clean sale. I get paid once. He gets what he wants. And I get to keep breathing.”

The floor seemed to tilt. I reached for the wall without meaning to and missed. “No. You said…”

“I said you had a choice. I didn’t say I was required to honor the one you picked.” He shrugged, the movement almost casual, but there was a tight reluctance under it that only made it worse. “Besides, I don’t have to deal with your crying every time I want to use you. So you’re going on the block.”

“Please.” The word tore out of me raw. Tears spilled over before I could stop them. “Dario, please. I’ll be good. I’ll call you Daddy. I’ll let you do all of it. The cutting. The tattoo. Whatever you want. Just don’t take Camilla away from me. She’s all I have left. Please.”

Dario watched me fall apart with open satisfaction. Then he reached out and took my chin in his hand, fingers digging into my jaw hard enough to bruise, and turned my face so the nearest cluster of men on the main floor could see me if they bothered to look.

“Listen to you,” he said, loud enough to carry. “Begging in the hallway like a cheap whore who just realized the customer is done with her. You should see yourself. Makeup running. Ready to sell every hole you’ve got if it’ll get you five minutes with a kid who barely remembers your name.”

He gave my face a little shake. “This is what you are. This is all you are. A wet, desperate piece of meat that only has value when it’s scared and available. And in three weeks, a room full of men are going to bid on exactly that.”

I sobbed once, the sound ugly and broken. He let go of my chin and wiped his hand on his pants like I had dirtied it.

“Go finish your sets,” he said. “Smile. Look pretty. The higher the interest before auction night, the higher the opening bids. And Morena.”

He waited until I forced my eyes back to his. “If you try to run, or talk to anyone, or do anything that makes this harder than it needs to be, Camilla becomes a ghost. There won’t even be a body for you to cry over. Do you understand me?”

I nodded. I could not form words anymore.

Dario smiled, small and satisfied, and walked away toward the main floor. I stood in the staff hallway with tears dripping off my chin and the taste of salt and panic in my mouth until one of the floor managers told me I was due back on stage. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, fixed the lace where it had shifted, and walked out under the lights with my vision blurred.

The dark presence was there in the shadows.