TRISTAN'S POV
I stood outside Club Inferno. Cheers and shouts, fueled by who-knows-what, spilled out into the night. This was it. I took a deep breath, adjusted the black sleeveless hoodie I wore over simple black pants, and pushed towards the entrance. Two gorillas in black suits blocked my path. They were all muscle and suspicion. I reached into my pocket, pulling out the card Trevor had given me. The light glinted off Trevor’s number scrawled on the back. The guards exchanged a look, their eyes raking me from head to toe. It wasn’t a friendly gaze. I felt exposed. My palms started to sweat. I just needed to get through this. After what felt like an eternity, they finally stepped aside, the taller one giving a curt nod. I pushed through the heavy doors and stumbled into a sensory overload. The air was thick with sweat, cheap perfume, and something vaguely metallic. The music was deafening. Everywhere I looked, there was exposed flesh. Male strippers dominated the scene. Some writhed on stage under blinding lights, their bodies glistening. Others were giving lap dances, their movements bordering on aggressive. Still more were lounging at tables, laughing and drinking with clients, and then there were the body shots. I swallowed hard. This was the price of my dreams? A wave of discomfort washed over me. This was so far outside my comfort zone. The thought of actually doing this, of being touched, ogled...it made my stomach churn. But I clamped down on the feeling. I needed the money. Badly. This wasn't about desire; it was about survival. Cafe wages weren't cutting it. This offered a way out, a way to keep my head above water while I chased my actual dream. Scanning the room, I felt utterly lost. I didn't know who to talk to, where to go. Then, above the din, I heard a familiar voice. "Tristan! You actually came!" Trevor. Relief flooded me, quickly followed by a healthy dose of embarrassment. He was running towards me, a wide grin on his face, wearing nothing but a fitted pair of black boxer shorts and a ridiculously tiny bow tie. "Dude! I didn't think you'd actually do it!" He clapped me on the shoulder, his touch surprisingly warm and reassuring. "Yeah, well…" I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Desperate times, you know?" "Seriously, I didn't think you'd actually do it," Trevor said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "But hey, I'm glad you did! Come on, the manager's waiting." He grabbed my arm and steered me through the crowd towards the back of the club, the music pounding in my ears. We stopped in front of a massive red door that screamed 'off-limits'. Trevor nudged me forward. "Go on. She's not as scary as she looks." Taking another deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was smaller, quieter, and dominated by a large, imposing woman with a severe expression. The manager, a woman with a steely gaze and a perfectly lacquered red bob, sat behind a large desk littered with paperwork. She looked me up and down, her expression critical. "So, you're Trevor's recruit," she said, her voice sharp. Trevor had followed me in. "Yeah, Ms. Bianchi. This is Tristan. He's got potential, I swear." Ms. Bianchi rose from her chair, her heels clicking on the polished floor as she approached me. She gripped my chin, tilting my head from side to side, scrutinizing my face from every angle. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Strip," she commanded, her voice surprisingly low. My heart jumped into my throat. "Excuse me?" "You heard me. Take your clothes off." "But… I…" "You're auditioning to be a male dancer, Tristan. A stripper. If you can't handle a little nudity, you can walk right back out of that door." Trevor nudged me again, a silent plea in his eyes. "It's just part of the process, dude. Don't sweat it." Swallowing my pride, I slowly began to strip. My hands fumbled with the zipper of my pants, my face burning with shame. Soon, I was standing before her in just my underwear. Ms. Bianchi circled me, her eyes dissecting every inch of my body. I felt like a specimen under a microscope. She checked my biceps, my abs, my legs, my chest, cataloging everything with a clinical eye. Finally, she stepped back, her expression unreadable. "Face and body perfectly in shape. You're hired. Dance classes start tomorrow. And what name do you want to use?" "Name?" "Your stage name. You can't call yourself Tristan out there." I thought for a moment. I needed something powerful, something that would project an image I didn’t quite feel. “Titan,” I said, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. Trevor clapped me on the back, grinning. "Titan! I like it!" Later, back in the relative calm of the bar, Trevor clapped me on the back. "See? I told you you'd be great! Now watch, learn, and get ready to make some serious cash." Weeks flew by in a blur of music, sweat, and choreographed movements. I learned to gyrate, to tease, to play to the crowd. I pushed myself in dance classes, surprisingly enjoying the physicality of it. I learned the moves, the poses, the art of seduction. It was a performance, a role I played. And the money flowed. I kept telling myself it was just for six months. I would get eighty percent of my profits, enough to get me back on my feet. I wore a mask that covered my eyes, becoming a different person. I became Titan. Chains, masks, tight boxer briefs – that was my uniform. I did the stage dances, gave the lap dances, endured the touches, the bills tucked into my underwear. There were clients who wanted more, who offered to take me home. Promise me a huge sum of money and pleasure. I always declined. It wasn't part of the deal. Trevor understood. Trevor was surprisingly supportive, offering tips and tricks, never making me feel like competition. He was a genuine friend. My popularity soared. Titan became the hottest draw in the club. The money was good, really good. Six months flew by in a blur of sweat, music, and flashing lights. My last two nights. I could taste freedom. Then Ms. Bianchi dropped another bomb. A bachelorette party, a wealthy family. My least favorite gig. "This is your last dance, Titan," Ms. Bianchi said, patting my shoulder. "And it's a big one. Make it count." I think it will be my sixteenth bachelorette party for the past six months. Bachelorette parties are unpredictable... some are just the usual... stage dances, lap dances and body shots but some are more intimate... hands and mouths involved. She paused, her expression softening slightly. "I'm sad to let you go. I'm going to miss you, you know. I was hesitant about you at first, but you worked hard. You earned my respect." Her words surprised me. Maybe I wasn’t just a body... a talent to her. Maybe I had actually earned something here, besides a paycheck. I walked away, feeling a strange mix of relief and… something else. Something I couldn’t quite define. But one thing was for sure: Titan’s story was about to end. And Tristan was ready to start his new chapter.TRISTAN'S POVThe rhythmic thwack of my bullets finding their mark was a comforting melody. Three shots, each a perfect bullseye, nested deep within the dummy’s paper heart and brain. The faint smell of gunpowder hung in the air of the private shooting range, a scent I’d grown to associate with a strange kind of peace."Not bad," Vlad’s voice rumbled from beside me, a low, appreciative murmur that always managed to send a shiver down my spine, whether from annoyance or something else, I was never quite sure.I lowered the pistol, spinning it once on my finger before placing it back on the rack. I raised an eyebrow at him, a half smile twitching at my lips. "That's it? That's the highest compliment you can give? After I skillfully disemboweled that poor unsuspecting paper man?"Vlad chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated through the concrete walls. "Don't get it all in your head, Tristan. It would be your weakness if you let arrogance control you." His tone was lecturing, but his eyes he
GIOVANNI'S POVThe expensive silk of my all-black suit felt like a second skin, a testament to the power I was about to claim. In the mirror, my reflection stared back, a man on the precipice of everything he had ever strived for. The color was a deliberate choice for my wedding to Juliana, not just a preference, but a statement. Black symbolized control, an unspoken assertion of my dominance in this world, in this family, in this new union. My jaw was set. My gaze, sharp and unwavering. This day was a culmination, a victory.A rap on the door, then it swung open without waiting for my permission. Anastasia, my sister, stood framed in the doorway, her eyes like chips of ice. She wore a dress the color of twilight, a stark contrast to the celebratory white of the occasion, and her presence dimmed the already filtered light in the room."Brother, go down when you're ready," she said, her voice devoid of warmth, cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade. "Let's get
TRISTAN'S POVThe sound was rhythmic, deafening, and satisfying.Bang... bang... bang...I felt the recoil thrum through my forearm, steadying my aim for the next shot. Targets after targets flew backward, splintered into wood and metal dust when the high velocity rounds ripped through them. Cans flew everywhere, metallic bodies twisting in the air before clattering onto the concrete floor. This physical sharpness was the only thing that felt real to me anymore.I removed the heavy ear defenders, letting the sudden, dull quiet settle around me. I pulled the goggles off my face, blinking against the harsh fluorescent light of the indoor range. I was done for today’s session.Suddenly, I heard a few dramatic, short claps echoing across the empty space. I turned, wiping the sweat from my eyes with the back of my hand, and saw Vlad walking towards me, his expensive leather shoes silent on the smooth concrete.“Wow, just wow,” Vlad said, his voice laced with genuine admiration. He stopped
GIOVANNI'S POVThe scream was trapped in my throat, useless against the vast, indifferent expanse of the Atlantic. I did not scream. I yelled. I channeled every ounce of terror and denial into a furious, guttural sound aimed straight at the one man who insisted on injecting logic into my nightmare.“He is not dead, Dmitri! How dare you assume that?” I roared at my right hand, slamming my fist onto the metal table in the viewing deck. The gigantic cruise ship felt small, rocking violently, mocking my inability to control the situation.Dmitri stood his ground, his face a mask of grim loyalty. “Boss, I am stating facts. Logical possibilities,” he said, his voice measured but heavy. He was trying to calm me, and that infuriated me further.“No! He isn’t dead yet! Not until I see his corpse, I won’t believe it,” I yelled. The words were a shield against the crushing certainty that Tristan was gone. I wouldn't accept it until I had physical, undeniable proof.Dmitri s
TRISTAN'S POVMy body felt impossibly heavy, I tried to move my limbs, to twitch a finger, to even shift my weight, but it was useless. My muscles refused to obey, bound by an invisible force or perhaps a profound exhaustion I could not comprehend.I attempted to pry open my eyelids, to pierce through the encroaching darkness, but they were stubbornly glued shut, feeling as though small stones had been placed upon them. Despite this profound paralysis, my other senses seemed to amplify. My hearing sharpened, pulling in the muffled sounds of a distant, murmuring discussion."Did you stabilize him already?" a manly voice cut through the haze.The words were a low rumble, yet they vibrated through me. There was something familiar about that voice, a resonant quality that tugged at some distant corner of my mind, a place I could not quite reach.A cold wave of panic washed over me, though I remained physically inert. Why was I here? What happened? My mind was a blank slate, devoid of any
GIOVANNI'S POVThe sharp, stinging impact across my left cheek was less painful than it was humiliating. It wasn't the force that mattered; it was the sheer temerity, the violation of expectation.Anastasia, my quiet, delicate younger sister, had just slapped me... and the sound of the blow seemed to absorb all other noise in the sprawling, overly opulent hall.Juliana, who only moments earlier had been arguing fiercely with me about the consequences of my treatment of Tristan, seemed to have swallowed her own caustic tongue. She was frozen, eyes wide, looking not at me, but at Anastasia as if seeing a ghost.My blood ran cold for a second before the ferocious heat of indignation took over. I raised a trembling hand to my cheek. My skin was already throbbing, radiating heat."You... you slapped me? Anastasia what the heck?" I demanded, the words grating out through gritted teeth.I could still taste the metallic tang of shock. I analyzed her face, searching for the sister I knew, the