Page 10 of Carnal

A few moments pass, making me feel like I might break out into a sweat. She finally answers.

Pina:I'll send you the address if I'm not too busy tonight.

Me:Seriously? Stop playing games. What's the address?

I wait for a response, but hours pass. When I get home, I pace my wing, cursing myself over and over for blowing my chance.

Nothing I do gets her off my mind. I throw myself into some work tasks then work out and shower. At eight, I pour myself a beer and check my text messages for the millionth time.

My gut drops. There's nothing from her.

Massimo walks into my suite. "We've got an issue at the club. Let's go."

I sigh. The sex club all the crime families belong to has become more of a pain in the ass than the fun it used to be. "Take someone else," I grumble, then finish my beer.

"I don't have time for this. Let's go," he barks.

I begrudgingly get up and follow him, but I barely hear what he says on the way to the club. All I can think of is how to find out where Pina's place is and scratch our itch.

2

Pina

"I need to go home,"I tell my friend Chanel.

"What? We've only been here an hour," she points out.

I empty the remainder of my champagne flute and glance over the rail at the high-end sex club. It's the same scene as always.

People range from fully clothed to wearing nothing. More women are naked than men, which isn't new, either. It's rare any man, unless they're a bartender or janitor, is in this club and not connected to some crime family. It's the one place in New York enemies coexist.

Loud music blares out of the highest quality surround sound. The dance floor ranges from scenes you'd see in any ordinary club to couples having sex. At least a dozen people engage in an orgy in the middle of the floor.

Beds, tables, and sitting areas fill the remainder of the first floor. Anything on the dance floor feels tame to some of the BDSM scenes taking place.

"Pina, I'm not ready to go yet. Don't leave me here on my own," Chanel begs, giving me her green-eyed puppy dog look.

Normally, I'd do what I want and have a good time. Years ago, Dante needed me to bring him a gem. Rubio had an emergency to take care of, and I was the only one Dante trusted. Everything about the club was a new experience for me. Once I stepped into it, all the drunk admissions Dante made to me while pining for Bridget made sense. Every gap in Dante's blubbering got filled in.

Seeing the club firsthand only made me want to understand more of it. That night, Dante told me to leave, but I didn't. I got mesmerized by the first-floor activities, and while I didn't do anything that night, I couldn't help but come back.

When Dante found out, he lectured me, telling me how dangerous it could be since all the families were there. He explained the agreements they had to coexist in the club and the rules they had to follow.

Yet, even though he forbade me to return, I couldn't get it out of my mind. So I went back several times. The third night, Dante caught me. But there was nothing he could do. I was in his world, and he put me there. Whenever he'd try to lecture me, I'd ask him if he wanted me to quit, knowing he'd have a hard time if I left him. I had one goal when he hired me, and that was to make myself irreplaceable.

I grew up in the Bronx. My father is a Mexican immigrant. My mother is a second-generation Filipino. Everything about their relationship was taboo, especially in my mother's culture.

When they married, they had no help from either family. To say I grew up on the struggle bus is an understatement. We were poor, constantly moving due to landlords evicting us, and sometimes went days without food. My parents did the best they could, yet there was hardly enough for my four siblings and me. When my oldest brother turned thirteen, my father's friend hired him to run errands. He gave my parents everything he earned, but it didn't make a difference.

My mother pushed us to study hard and get an education. I did well in school, but college was out of the question. We were trying to survive. Still, I vowed to get myself out of poverty. When I was eighteen, I met Dante. He was in his early twenties and interviewed me for his assistant position. No one had lasted more than a few months with him, making me want to succeed more.

I worked for him for over a decade before the night he needed me to deliver the gem to the club. By then, I was making well over six figures a year, getting large bonuses almost equal to it, and loving every second of my job.

So even though Dante kept forbidding me to return to the club, my threat to quit always hung in the air. One day, we got into a huge argument over it. I had gone to the club on and off for a few months, each time resulting in a more heated discussion. When Dante got in my face, I told him I was done and tossed my office keys at him.

He tried to tell me I was bluffing, but I wasn't. I had saved a substantial amount of cash, invested in rentals all over New York City, and didn't need Dante's employment. I was there because I enjoyed what I did. I loved every aspect of the danger I knew I surrounded myself in, even though I had an office job. Plus, I could have gone to any of the Marino brothers and worked for them. They had offered me numerous times to leave Dante, but loyalty is important to me. Yet so was my freedom to be an independent woman and do what I wanted.

When I didn't show up for work, Dante started calling. After two days, he came pounding on my condo door and caved. He gave me a list of suites and people I was to stay away from, and since then, I come and go as I please.

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