Semua Bab Entangled with the Mafia Don: Bab 21 - Bab 30

Davina's POV:The cold dread from Ezra’s office clung to me like a shroud, suffocating. His words, delivered with such chilling detachment, echoed in my mind: “Even if...” The implication was a physical blow, a violation that made my skin crawl. The VIP room. The client. The unspoken demand. I couldn't. I simply couldn't. Every fiber of my being recoiled from the thought, from the degradation, from the utter loss of myself.I sat on the edge of my bed, the cheap fabric of the club costume still clinging to me, a cruel reminder of my captivity. My hands trembled as I clutched my phone, the screen a beacon in the oppressive darkness of my room. My gaze drifted to Nathan’s name in my contacts. He was the only one. The only one who had shown me genuine concern, the only one who seemed to see me, Davina, not just a pawn in a dangerous game. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging me forward. I had to get out. Now.Taking a deep, shaky breath that did little to calm my

Davina's POV:The small restaurant was tucked away on a less-trafficked side street in the old town, a haven of faded blue and white paint, its windows clouded with the steam of simmering stews. I’d deliberately chosen a table in the back corner, shrouded in shadow, hoping the dinnertime rush of locals and the general bustle would swallow me whole. The baseball cap, a cheap, navy blue thing Nathan had grabbed, was pulled low, casting my face in shadow, and I kept my gaze resolutely fixed on the worn, laminated menu, pretending to decipher the handwritten specials. But beneath the carefully constructed facade of a quiet, unassuming tourist, my nerves were a tangled mess of frayed wires, each twitching with the constant, gnawing fear.Ezra’s text. The words, so casually cruel, so chillingly certain, replayed in my mind like a broken record needle skipping on the same groove. “Thought you could run, little ghost? I see you. Don't make me come find you.” The sheer audacity of it, the impli

Ezra's POV:The sheer, unadulterated audacity of it stole my breath for a fraction of a second. The defiance, so raw and unexpected, after the stark display of her brother’s… unfortunate predicament. When I issued the command – strip – I anticipated the usual repertoire: the downcast gaze, the trembling fingers fumbling with buttons, the silent, defeated compliance. But not this.Her refusal, that single, whispered "No," hanging in the stale motel air like a fragile act of rebellion, was a spark in the darkness of her despair. A flicker of the volatile fire I’d sensed simmering beneath her surface, the same defiant glint that had briefly illuminated her eyes in the alleyway. Annoying, undeniably so, a direct challenge to my authority. Yet, beneath the irritation, a disquieting tendril of… intrigue began to unfurl within me. Most of them broke so easily, their spirits crushed under the weight of their circumstances. She… she possessed a stubborn resilience, a refusal to yield, that was

Davina's POV:The air backstage at the Devil's Club was thick with the usual chaotic blend of hairspray, perfume, and nervous energy. The other dancers, their bodies already adorned in various stages of glittering undress, moved with a practiced ease, adjusting straps and applying last-minute touches of makeup. I moved amongst them like a ghost, my new costume – a skimpy, sequined number in a garish shade of purple that was lying on a velvet stool. My reflection in the mirror was a stranger: haunted eyes, pale skin, a stark contrast to the carefully applied glamour around me.Devlin, her usual slicked-back hair even more severe tonight, paced back and forth, her phone pressed to her ear, her voice a low, urgent murmur. She ended the call abruptly, her gaze sweeping over th

Davina's POV: A few days later.  The early morning shift at "The Daily Grind" was a stark contrast to the late-night world of the Devil's Club. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries, the clientele a mix of sleepy locals grabbing their caffeine fix and students hunched over laptops. I moved behind the counter, the unfamiliar weight of the apron around my waist, the clatter of ceramic mugs a welcome change from the clinking of champagne flutes and the heavy bass vibrations. It was a means to an end, this second job. Every dollar I earned here was another step, however small, towards the impossible mountain of Ezra’s debt. The tips were meager compared to the Devil’s Club, but the exhaustion