Chapter 3 Sara

The club looked different at night. Louder. Brighter. Sharper around the edges. The neon sign buzzed overhead as I walked toward the back entrance, clutching my bag like it was armor. My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to breathe. I needed this job. I needed the tips. I needed to keep the lights on and the medicine cabinet full.

The manager, Rick, met me just inside the door. He was tall, balding, and had the kind of smile that tried too hard.

“Sara, right?” he asked, offering a hand.

I shook it. “Yes, sir.”

“None of that ‘sir’ stuff,” he said with a laugh. “We’re all family here.”

I smiled politely, even though something about him made my skin crawl. Too friendly. Too eager. Too… something. But I didn’t have the luxury of being picky.

He led me through the back hallway, past the dressing rooms and the security office, until we reached the bar.

“This is your station,” he said. “You’ll be with Marco tonight. He’ll show you the ropes.”

Marco turned around at the sound of his name, and relief washed through me instantly.

He was tall, lean, with perfectly styled hair and eyeliner sharper than my will to live. He grinned when he saw me.

“Oh thank God,” he said dramatically. “A new girl who doesn’t look like she wants to stab me.”

I blinked. “Um… thanks?”

He looped an arm through mine. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you set up before Rick starts hovering. He’s harmless, but he’s also annoying.”

Rick chuckled like he didn’t hear the insult. “I’ll check on you two later.”

Marco waited until he was out of earshot before whispering, “He’s harmless. Mostly. But he’s also a creep, so stick with me.”

“Noted.”

He showed me everything. where the bottles were, how the register worked, which dancers liked their drinks strong and which ones wanted them pretty. He moved fast, talked faster, and somehow made me feel like I wasn’t drowning.

Halfway through the night, he leaned close and said, “So, the owner? Hot. Like… stupid hot.”

I laughed. “Oh?”

“Tall, dark, broody. The kind of man who looks like he could ruin your life and you’d thank him.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sounds like trouble.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Marco said. “But he’s been MIA for days. Probably off brooding somewhere expensive.”

I shrugged. I didn’t care who owned the place. I just needed the paycheck. The night blurred into a rhythm, orders, tips, music, lights. My feet ached, my back hurt, and my head throbbed, but the money was good. Better than good.

When we finally closed, Marco counted his tips and whistled. “Not bad for your first Tuesday.”

I stared at the wad of cash in my hand. “Over five hundred dollars.”

“That’s normal,” he said. “Wait until Friday and Saturday. You can pull a thousand each night if you hustle.” A thousand dollars. In one night. I could breathe again. Just a little.

Marco hugged me before I left. “You survived. I’m proud of you. Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling for real this time. “See you then.”

By the time I got home, the house was dark. Cami had left a note on the counter. Gabe was asleep in my bed, curled up on my pillow like he’d been waiting for me. I slipped in beside him, wrapping an arm around his small body. He sighed in his sleep and snuggled closer. This...this right here, was why I worked myself to the bone. Why I kept going, why I never stopped fighting. I kissed the top of his head and closed my eyes. Just one night. One shift. One step closer to keeping us afloat.

It's been almost a week since I started, it's Saturday night. The club was packed, louder than ever, lights flashing, music pounding. I was wiping down the bar when the back door opened.

I didn’t look up at first. Not until Marco froze beside me. Not until the air shifted. Not until the room seemed to hold its breath.

I lifted my head and saw him walk in. The owner. The man Marco had described. The man I hadn’t seen in eight years. The man I didn’t know I was working for.

Salvatore Ricci.