Chapter 0002

•ISABELLA•

A FEW DAYS AGO...

“What happened to that boyfriend of yours? I never see him come around anymore,” Sarah asked while we worked our shift at the club.

My father had only found this job for me five months ago so I could help around the house, and ever since then, Tom Creed, my boyfriend, had slowly disappeared from my life.

“He’s a douchebag who got cold feet when he saw me cleaning the floors the other night,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He came in with his friends and acted like he didn’t even know me.”

“So he stopped coming because you’re not working behind the counter anymore?” she exclaimed.

“Can you believe it? I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

“His father owns a bakery downtown. If he was so embarrassed, he could have gotten you a job there," Sarah protested.

“He’d rather I stayed home doing nothing than actually help me,” I huffed.

“That’s selfish and controlling. Gross.”

“I know.” My heart cracked a little as I said it.

I had been in love with him, and everything between us had been perfect until I started working at the club.

After that, he treated me like I was contagious. My calls went unanswered, my texts unread, and he never bothered to explain himself.

So much for sticking around through anything.

By the time I finished cleaning the floors, Sarah was done wiping the tables. It was already 8 in the evening, and customers were beginning to pour in.

Club Nightingale only opened from 7 at night until 5 in the morning.

Once we finished prepping for opening, our manager usually assigned us to serve drinks or clean the boss’s office until the end of our shift.

“Hey, Isa, can you handle the VIP tonight?” Bruise, the manager, asked.

“Of course,” I replied, nodding as I headed for the changing room.

Whenever Sarah and I were assigned to serve drinks, we had to dress like the other waitresses and blend in. I hated that part of the job.

Dressing up to encourage men’s wandering eyes made my skin crawl, but bills didn't pay themselves, and my father didn’t care how I earned the money as long as I brought something home.

I let my hair down and pulled on tight, short jeans with a see-through crop top.

Staring at my reflection, I forced myself to breathe, patted my cheeks, and reminded myself to get through the night like an adult.

Once dressed, I locked my belongings away, slipped into my heels, and returned to the club.

I grabbed the most expensive bottle from the bar along with four glasses and made my way to the VIP section. I already knew what they would order.

When I arrived, four men sat in their usual seats with women draped around them, except for one.

“What do you have for us tonight, Bubbles?” one of them asked.

“Romanée-Conti 1945,” I said as I placed the bottle on the table, carefully avoiding his gaze.

“Mind pouring it for us?”

I looked up, and our eyes met.

Antonio Rodriguez smirked.

Rumors about him circulated endlessly, but the one that always sent chills down my spine was the story about him killing a man and holding his beating heart until it stopped.

“Of course,” I said, smiling as I picked up the bottle and carefully worked the corkscrew.

I could feel Antonio’s stare burning into me, but I refused to show how flushed I felt. When the cork finally popped, the girls squealed excitedly.

I poured the wine into each glass, set the bottle down, and straightened up.

"Thank you, Bubbles," Antonio said, lifting his glass as he watched me.

I took my tray and left without another word.

“That must have been nerve-wracking,” Sarah whispered when we crossed paths downstairs.

“What are you talking about?”

“Antonio is the boss.”

“So?”

She stared at me as we set our trays on the counter. “Everyone avoids him. I don’t know how you stood so close to him.”

“He just likes staring at people’s asses,” I said dismissively, already scanning the VIP section as more customers arrived. “I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll be waiting for more details,” she whispered.

To my shock, Tom was among the group that had just entered the VIP section.

My steps faltered for half a second, but I forced myself forward. A smirk spread across his face the moment he saw me as if he had come here just for this.

When I reached the table, one of the girls stood and slid onto his lap. My chest tightened, the air suddenly feeling too thin to breathe.

“Welcome to Club Nightingale,” I said, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat. “What can I get you?”

Tom looked me up and down, his gaze dragging over my clothes with open disgust.

“So this is what you do now?” he asked loudly. “Stripping?”

His friends laughed as they looked at me.

“Are you ordering or not?” I snapped, gripping my tray tighter.

He stood up slowly, towering over me. “First you’re scrubbing floors, now you’re parading around like this. Don’t you ever get tired of embarrassing yourself, Isabella?”

“The name is Bubbles in here, asshole,” I hissed.

He scoffed. “Of course you are. Dressing like a whore, calling yourself cute names. I always knew you needed attention from men.”

My throat tightened. “I’m working, Tom. Don’t do this.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice, but somehow making it worse. “Look at you. What do you think people say when they see you like this and remember you’re my girl?”

Something snapped inside me. “Your girl?” I let out a hollow laugh.

His jaw clenched. "Don’t play games with me. We’re leaving. Now." He reached for my arm.

I jerked back. “Don’t touch me. You disappeared for months and now you think you can control me? Leave me alone.”

I swallowed when I noticed that people were now watching, and some taking pictures.

“Don’t push me, Isa—”

“Don't you dare touch her," a crisp voice snapped, and my stomach sank when I saw him.

Tom turned, scoffing. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?” He shoved Antonio’s shoulder.

For a moment, nothing happened. Antonio’s friends moved, but he lifted a hand, stopping them without looking back.

Tom sneered. “She’s my girl. I’ll talk to her however I want.” He reached for me again.

Antonio shook his head before he punched him in the face. Tom barely had time to register it before he crashed backward onto the table.

People gasped and his friends scrambled away.

Antonio turned to me. “I’ll take you home,” he said, already taking my hand.

I didn’t pull away.

***

As I sat in the back of Antonio’s car, staring at his reflection in the mirror, my heart wouldn’t stop racing.

I didn’t know what scared me more: the fact that he had saved me, or the sinking feeling that nothing in his world was ever free.