Page 42 of The Wages of Sin

“That’s because I didn’t want to be seen.”

Helena gave a genuine smile. “I’m guessing you aren’t here tonight to blow off some steam.”

It was hardly a difficult guess. Though I’d visited the club with my brothers before, it was clear I didn’t share Matteo’s interest in the kind of companionship that required a cash transfer.

Not that I judged Helena for her choice of profession. We all had to make a living in this world, and her job was as valid as any other.

“Unfortunately not,” I told her. “Like you, I’m working tonight.”

Her smile slipped a little. “Who’s the sorry bastard who ended up on your shit list?”

Straight to the point. No bullshit. I could see why Matteo liked her so much.

“Carlo Costa,” I answered.

“Well, my night just got better.” She gave a dark laugh. “I was just on my way to that slimy little prick right now, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. He’s been a menace to the girls here all week. He got so rough with Courtney last night that she had to call off today’s shift to recover.”

It was turning out to be my lucky night.

“In that case, I propose a trade,” I said. “You tell me which room he’s waiting in, and I’ll give you the ten thousand dollars burning a hole in my pocket. There’s another ten grand to forget this conversation ever happened.”

“I’m almost tempted to give up that bastard for free.”

Almost, but not quite.

Helena was nothing if not a shrewd businesswoman. She put out her hand.

I pulled the two thick stacks of cash out of my inner jacket pocket and placed them in her palm.

“He’s in lucky number seven,” she said, her smile instantly back.

“You might want to take your break now,” I told her. “I’d make it a nice long one if I were you.”

I didn’t wait to watch her leave. I was already on my way to find Carlo.

I strode down the hall without worrying about prying eyes or security cameras.

The main draw of La Sera to its high-class criminal clientele was that no one was watching. No cameras meant no video to be handed over to the police. No record of who came and went.

Policies like that didn’t just make my job a hell of a lot easier; they also tricked bastards like Carlo into a false sense of security.

Which was probably why he didn’t even bother turning around when I opened the door to his private room.

“Finally,” he grumbled as the door clicked closed behind me. “It took you long enough. I’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes.”

I threw the deadbolt, locking us in, then turned my back to the door. I clasped my hands in front of me and stared at the back of his greasy head, patiently waiting for him to realize I wasn’t Helena.

Every private room in the club was the same—stone tiled floors, dark wood-paneled walls, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. And in the dead center was a black leather couch that faced a one-way mirror wall. On the other side, dancers and performers acted out all kinds of erotic scenarios, unable to see the clients inside.

Right now, Carlo’s attention was glued to the sight of two naked women, their bodies entwined and writhing on top of black silk sheets.

“You’re lucky I didn’t call the manager and complain,” he continued, still staring at the show. “What are you waiting for? Get over here and start sucking my dick.”

“Hard pass.”

At the sound of my voice, Carlo jumped up from the sofa and swiveled around. His eyes widened in recognition, and in less than a second, the anger on his face turned to panic. Fear filled his beady eyes.

“D-Dorian Marchetti,” he sputtered. “You shouldn’t be here. There must be some mistake. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

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