Page 2 of Mafia Baby

Now I’m ready to go out and have a bit of fun.

My group of friends pick me up five minutes later, although I make them park two houses down from my door. My parents are already in bed, and my brother, William, isn’t home, so I make it out of the door without being questioned. They can track my phone, anyway, so if they really want to find me, they will.

The drive to the club is filled with my friends questioning me about London, and catching me up on what has – and hasn’t – happened while I was away. As I approach the club with the girls, I can feel the bass reverberating through my chest, setting my heart racing with anticipation.

I need a drink and a few hours on the dance floor to help me feel more like myself again.

The neon lights flashing outside cast an electrifying glow on the pavement, beckoning me closer with each step. The line of people waiting to get inside stretches around the block.

The mix of eager faces and excited chatter swirls around me. We are all waiting for our turn to step into the pulsating heart of the night.

Finally, it's our turn at the entrance. The bouncer gives me a nod, and I pass over the threshold, feeling myself instantly enveloped in a wave of sound and energy.

The music washes over me, filling the air with its infectious beat and I can't help but feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Inside, the club is a kaleidoscope of colors and movement. I notice some girls dancing on a stage, and I watch them for a moment, mesmerized by the way they move their bodies. I wonder for a moment what it would be like to be able to work as an exotic dancer.

What would it be like to be admired like that, to make money in tips each night that you could choose to spend on whatever you wanted to buy?

I’ve never lacked for anything in my life. My parents own a successful property investment company, and my brother and I have always lived in the lap of luxury. However, my parents treat me like a porcelain doll or some kind of knick-knack that should sit on a shelf and make the room more beautiful.

They always want to know when I’m going to settle down and start helping with country club events, fundraising, and good causes. They always ask when I’m going to find a nice man to marry.

As I watch the sinuous movements of the beautiful women grinding on the stage and swinging around the poles, I feel jealousy spark in my chest. I lean against the bar, my narrow chin cupped in my hand.

I watch the two women on the stage kiss and hear a loud cheer go up from the dancefloor. A shower of money lands on the stage and the women scoop it up and tuck it into their skimpy clothing.

“Drink?” one of the bartenders yells at me over the music.

“Rum and coke,” I shout back. I push a twenty across the bar and the woman vanishes to get me my drink and my change. The dancers finish their set and drift off the stage and I turn away to watch the bartender making my drink and talking to a small group of attractive young guys clustered at the corner of the bar.

One of them sees me staring and winks at me. I smile back coyly, and then turn away. I don’t want any male attention tonight. I just want to feel the groove and get a buzz on.

“Here you go,” the bartender tells me as she brings back my change and my drink.

“Thanks,” I say back, shoving the change into my clutch and moving out to the dance floor with my drink.

The dance floor is a sea of bodies, each one moving to the rhythm in its own unique way. Around me, people mingle and chat, their voices blending into the symphony of sound that fills the space. The girls I was with dispersed as soon as we arrived to find dancing partners. I rejoin a couple of my friends and cheer as we start dancing on one another.

There’s something about letting go of control on the floor, my body moving almost on its own as I feel the music.

There’s no one watching me here, no one expecting anything from me. I feel alive and free as the alcohol courses through my body and my worries slip away.

I’ve only been dancing for half of the song when I feel a man’s arm slip around my waist. I swing myself around, ready to push off the intruder, but freeze when I come face to face with my ex-boyfriend, Guy.

Shit.

I must have forgotten to switch off his Find My Friends access, but I never thought that the psycho would follow me all the way to the US. I broke up with him two weeks before I left London, after he broke every plate in his cupboard because I forgot to tell him about a guy I was friends with in one of my classes.

He’s not the cute kind of possessive; he’s the dangerous kind. I should have been warned when I found out that he was a Scorpio, but I completely ignored those red flags that came with disastrous results.

I slip out of his hold and walk toward the door, clutching my bag tightly and ready to wave down the first cab I see. But Guy is right behind me, calling my name and trying to grab me. Once I’m outside, the fresh night air hits my face and fuels my bravery. I turn around to see Guy following me, a look of rage on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I yell. A few people turn to look at me, but no one stops to see if I’m okay.

“I missed you.” He’s slurring his words, drunk already. How did he get to Chicago so quickly? “You promised you’d never leave me, Gi-Gi.” That’s not even my nickname. It’s just what Guy calls me every time he drinks. I can tell he hasn’t reached his limit yet because he’s in his sweet-drunk phase.

Three more drinks and he’ll be the angry menace that I ran from at two in the morning down the streets of London.

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