Page 2 of Unhinged Little Angel

“Come on, you’re not going to give me shit for thatoneguy tonight. I didn’t even spit on anyone. I was practically a saint.”

He glares at me for a second, his broad shoulders and towering height reminding all of us of his years spent as a bouncer before he somehow got himself promoted to manager. Considering it was right around the time Lorenzo Moretti ‘acquired’ Wild from the previous owner, I’m guessing Cyrus licked the right boots and made all the right promises to the Mafia boss. But whatever. None of my business. He never tries to cop a feel and he’s fair about scheduling, so it could be worse.

Instead of a lecture, he plucks a stack of mail out of his back pocket and shoves it at me.

“I told you to put your change of address through. I’m tired of collecting your mail for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I lie, exhaling a laugh through my nose and plucking the envelopes out of his hand.

He nods sternly. “And stop encouraging the other guys to break bones. One of you is already more than I need.”

I use the stack of mail to salute him without making any actual verbal promises to stop advocating for violence, and he walks away. I don’t know why he bothers to gather up all of my junk mail anyway. I keep telling him I pay my bills online like any normal person and that he can just toss anything that comes to the club with my name on it right into the trash.

I flip through them in a hurry, tossing each one into the garbage as I go, until I reach the last one. The return address stamped in the upper left corner has my throat tightening and my vision swimming.

MacFord Correctional Facility.

No.

No, no, no.

I shake my head and my knees quake.

“You alright, Dante?” Sin stops in the middle of pulling on his G-string to ask.

“Fuck off,” I snap, sucking in another unsteady breath.

It’s fine, it’s just a letter. A letter can’t hurt me.

I tear into the seal and fumble to pull the single sheet of lined paper out with quaking fingers. If I was expecting a long, heartfelt apology I would be disappointed. Luckily, I’ve never been that naive. In neat handwriting there’s simply a date, just over a month from now, and then a single sentence.

I think we’re overdue for a family reunion.

I’m sure all the other dancers are staring at me as I struggle to get my breathing under control. I’m not going to give him my fear and I’m sure as hell not going to give him the satisfaction of sending me into a panic attack. It’s a threat, there’s no doubt about that, but I’m not going to run and hide. He thinks he knows who he’s fucking with, but he has no clue.

I crumple the paper and toss it into the trash with all the rest of my mail before reaching over and plucking the cigarette from between Vex’s lips.

“Hey,” he grunts.

I don’t bother with an apology or even an acknowledgment before I toss the lit cigarette into the garbage can. It only takes a second for the paper inside to catch, flames jumping up and crackling cheerfully. I grin at the beautiful, simple destruction of it while someone shouts about needing a fire extinguisher. If only getting rid of the man himself were that easy.

SALVATORE

“That should be all of it.” The man sitting across from me leans in anxiously, bouncing his knee under the table.

I pin him with a look that stills him momentarily, then return to counting the wad of cash he just handed over. It does all seem to be there, but since he seems so nervous about it, I count itagain, nice and slow, taking a little bit of pleasure in how hard he tries to keep himself from squirming.

“It’s all there,” I agree in a low voice that barely carries over the music and the cheers coming from the men crowding around the stage. I slip the cash into my briefcase and bring up the spreadsheet on my tablet to mark down the payment. “Only a dozen more installments to go, Gino. I’ll see you next week.”

He nods sharply then shoots out of his chair and vanishes into the dim light of the crowded club. I double check my list. Gino was it for tonight. I let out a little sigh and roll my neck slowly from side to side to work out the kinks brought on by sitting so still for hours.

I know Dante’s set ended ages ago, but that doesn’t stop the plummeting feeling of disappointment in my gut when I swing my attention to the stage to find one of the other dancers up there instead, writhing under the colorful lights with none of the grace and temptation that is written in every move my Angioletto makes.

“Would you like another drink, sir?” a pretty little twink wearing nothing but a pair of fishnet stockings and high heels asks sweetly.

“Is Dante gone for the night?” I ask instead of answering his question.

He blinks, fluttering his long eyelashes, and digs his teeth into his lush, shimmering bottom lip like he’s fighting a pout.

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