Page 9 of The Cost of Corruption

“Then why does it taste burn like vodka?”

“Because no one drinks plain soda water.” I moved past her and sat on the edge of the couch.

“Of course they do,” she protested.

“Here at La Sera, they don’t.”

“Well, half the people working here don’t wear pants either,” she countered.

“It’s a lot more than half,” I assured her, even as I forced back the smile threatening to lift the corners of my lips.

As not just the owner of this club but also the consigliere of the D’Angelofamily business, my days were usually filled with life-or-death discussions and high-stakes negotiations. It had been a long time since I’d been as amused by a conversation as I was with this one.

Unfortunately, based on the darkening scowl on Chastity’s face, she didn’t share the sentiment.

“My point is this place is far from normal,” she scolded. “Or moral.”

There was no arguing that.

“Sit,” I said, gesturing to the empty cushion beside me.

She shook her head like I’d offered her a seat in the center of a viper pit. “I’m fine where I am.”

The hell she was.

After that last swallow of vodka soda, she was even more wobbly on her feet than before. I figured there had to be some reason other than saintly pride keeping her from relaxing.

I studied her face as I took a sip of my own drink. Her lips were pressed into a tight, flat line. Every muscle was tense from her temples to her toes. So much so that her knuckles were ringed with white where she gripped her glass.

“Sister Chastity,” I said, cocking my head to the side as realization took root. “Are you scared of me?”

“What?” Her eyes widened. Her answer came out rushed. Breathy, even. “No. Absolutely not.”

Right.

“Then why are you refusing my hospitality?” I questioned. “Why won’t you sit down and relax?”

“It’s not that I’m afraid,” she insisted…but the little nun was a terrible liar. Her gaze flickered around the room even more nervously than before. “It’s just that I don’t trust you. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” I asked, pulling her attention back to me—and away from the small, green light on the keypad on the wall that had just lit up, indicating the fight was over and the doors unlocked. “Fascinating. Why don’t you sit down and explain the distinction?”

She let out a sharp breath, her guard still sky high. “Nice try.”

“I thought so,” I admitted before taking another sip of my drink. “All right, then answer this. If you disapprove of this club, then why did you agree to come here with your cousins?”

Apparently, that was an easier question for her to answer. The tension in her shoulders relaxed a touch. “I didn’t know where they were taking me.”

“Straight into the heart of Sodom and Gomorrah.” This time, there was no holding back the flash of amusement that curled my lips.

She shot me another disapproving glance…though this time, she couldn’t seem to muster the same level of censure as before.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. D’Angelo,” she said quickly. “This place might be sinful, but it’s nothing unique—just a gilded version of every other strip club in the city.”

“Is that right?” I asked, slowly twirling the tumbler between my fingers.

She nodded. “It is.”

“Maybe, but it was still enough to send you running, Chastity.”

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