Chapitre Un

Damiano

୨ৎ ── ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆ ── ୨ৎ

I pushed open the heavy doors, the vape already between my lips. The air was thick with expensive bourbon, sweet grass, and bass that hit straight in the chest.

I walked around like I owned this fucking place, and I knew I did.

Relaxed shoulders. Chin raised. The kind of silent threat that made men move without being told.

Tonight, I needed the noise. I needed to burn away the smell of the two bodies I had left to cool down an hour earlier.

Nothing personal. Just some lingering business.

I took the private section without asking. I sank into the large leather armchair, exhaled a slow cloud of vanilla and tobacco, and let my gaze sweep the floor.

Only one woman occupied the main stage.

The others worked to the sides like background noise. She moved alone under the red lights in almost transparent black silk, her hips rolling slowly and with control, as if she knew exactly how much skin she was offering and how much she was still keeping.

I was looking around without any urgency. I hadn't come to pay attention to faces.

When they brought her into the private room, I didn't stand up. I just watched as she crossed the space.

Up close, the silk was finer. It clung to her when she breathed. I reached out towards her hip in the same way I reached for anything I wanted.

His hand closed tightly around my wrist.

"It's purely for entertainment," she said, her voice firm. "Watch. Don't touch. Dirty men."

My mouth curled. The smile never reached my eyes. Around the table, my men froze.

A street prostitute had just pushed my hand away and called me dirty.

I didn't withdraw. I simply watched her, the smoke swirling between us, and I waited.

She didn't flinch.

"I'm not that kind of girl," she added, raising her chin. "I'm only here for the money. Nothing more."

I leaned over, now intrigued. She had finally named a currency I could afford. She didn't know she had just sold herself.

My smile remained, but something cold and vicious settled behind my ribs. The girls at this place usually leaned closer as soon as they realized who was sitting in front of them. They smiled. They made offers. This one looked me straight in the eye and told me that the only thing that mattered was the cash.

No one can refuse me. Especially not some cheap whore. Watch how I'll shatter your pride and show you just how ruthless a Capone can be.

I crushed the vape in the crystal ashtray without looking away. Then I raised two fingers.

My men moved immediately. Not a word. One of them placed a thick, tightly strapped wad of cash on the coffee table. Ten thousand euros. Net. Clearly visible to everyone in the room.

I leaned forward just enough so that my voice would carry, low and almost polite.

"Ten thousand. Undress completely. Completely."

People in the club held their breath.

Someone let out a short laugh that quickly died away.

I kept my eyes on her. While waiting.

I saw the exact moment the fight left his eyes. The moment money won.

She reached for the straps of the thin silk dress as if she were burning. One shoulder, then the other. The fabric slid down her body, clinging to her breasts before finally giving way and piling up at her feet. She stepped out. Standing there, in nothing but a scrap of black lace that barely covered anything.

She stopped.

My eyes fell on her panties. Then returned to her face.

"Everything," I said, my voice flat. "I said completely."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. For a second, I thought she'd refuse again. Then she hooked her thumbs into the sides and slid the lace down her legs. She took it out. Left it on the floor with what remained of her pride.

Nothing more. Just bare skin under the lights. Hard nipples. The soft spot between her thighs that she was trying not to cover with her hands.

Someone took out a phone to film.

I didn't think about it.

The knife left my hand and sliced ​​through the man's wrist. Blood splattered the table. The phone slammed onto the floor.

I never took my eyes off her.

I let my gaze slide over every inch. Slowly. Possessively. I wanted her to feel it. I wanted every man in the room to see exactly what I'd paid for and what they'd never fuck touch.

She stared at the wall, her jaw clenched, her eyes glazed, still trying to appear unharmed.

I got up.

The room became deathly silent.

I circled her once. Close enough for her to feel the warmth emanating from me, but not close enough to offer her the mercy of a touch. I stopped behind her, my mouth near her ear.

"You take orders better than most of the men I've broken," I murmured, my voice almost amused. "Keep that backbone, little dancer. It's the only interesting thing about you."

Then I stepped back, took nothing, and walked straight out of the private room without another glance.

I left her standing there, completely naked under the lights, the ten thousand euros still on the table, each pair of eyes fixed on what I had just claimed and rejected in the same breath.

And the most diseased part?

I already knew that the sound of her breathing

The image of her trying not to tremble would stay in my head longer than it should.