Page 6 of Tormented Oath

I do it automatically now—service entrance through the kitchens, the emergency exit behind the bar, a staff-only door near the stage. Old habits die hard, especially the ones beaten into you since childhood.

A hostess appears, all legs and perfect smiles. "This way, please."

I follow her through the main floor, registering details for my report. The layout is smart—raised VIP sections with privacy screens, strategic blind spots for discrete conversations.

The main stage is a work of art, all gleaming poles and subtle lighting. This place isn't just legitimate on the surface—it'selegant.

Which makes no sense if it's being used to launder money or move product.

The backstage area is just as impressive. Clean, well-lit dressing rooms with good security and actual functioning locks on the doors. Fresh flowers on the makeup stations. A proper dance studio for rehearsals.

"You can change in here," the hostess says, gesturing to an empty dressing room. "The other girls auditioning are in the green room down the hall when you're ready."

I wait until she's gone before letting out a slow breath. Everything about this place feels off. It’s too professional, too well-run. The Fiori family was convinced the Rega family was using it as a front, but my instincts are screaming otherwise.

Thinking of the Rega Family brings back memories of … I quickly shake them away. It’s never wise to think of him for too long.

Focus, I tell myself.Get in, get proof either way, get out. Then…Montana.

But as I unzip my bag, I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something obvious, something important.

I just hope I figure out what it is before it's too late.

* * *

The green room is exactly what you'd expect from a place like The Silk Rose, with plush velvet couches and vintage theatre posters. Five other girls are scattered around, some stretching, others checking their makeup for the hundredth time.

The nervous energy is thick enough to choke on.

"If you stand in the doorway any longer, you're gonna grow roots."

I turn toward the voice. It’s coming from a blonde perched on one of the couches, leg wrapped around her head like it's the most natural position in the world.

Her smile is genuine, which is rare enough in this business to make me curious.

"Kira," she says, unwinding herself with casual grace, "and you're either a professional dancer or an undercover cop.” She motions at my legs. “You actually have proper pole shoes."

I can't help but laugh, even though the word “cop” makes my heart race for a moment. "That obvious?"

"Honey, half these girls showed up in plastic stripper heels from Amazon. Please tell me you're auditioning. I need someone else here who knows what they're doing."

I drop my bag and start my warmup stretches, letting my body fall into the familiar routine. "That bad?"

"Last girl nearly concussed herself." Kira demonstrates a dramatically awful spin that makes me wince. "I swear she'd never even seen a pole before today."

As I move through my stretches, I study her in the mirror. She's good—really good—based on her muscle control alone. But there's something else about her, something that doesn't quite fit the usual dancer profile. Her eyes are too sharp, too aware.

"So, what's your story?" she asks, helping me with a back stretch. "You don't seem like the typical 'trying to pay for college' type."

If only you knew."Just looking for a fresh start." Close enough to the truth to sound genuine. "You?"

"Oh, you know. Small town girl, big city dreams, all that cliché bullshit." She grins, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "The money here is insane. Like, 'maybe I can actually retire before I'm seventy' insane. Plus, the boss is fine as fuck!”

A guy in a sleek suit appears in the doorway. "Ladies. Five minutes till the first audition."

The nervous energy in the room ratchets up about ten notches. Two girls immediately dash to the bathroom. Another looks like she might throw up.

"Deep breaths," Kira says, squeezing my shoulder. "You've got this. Just..." She hesitates. "I hear that the owner likes to watch the auditions sometimes. Don't let it throw you if he shows up.”

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