All Chapters of His V*rgin Stripper : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

MarcelloThe low hum of the monitor was the only sound left in the room once my voice finally trailed off. I had laid it all out for her—every single piece of the board, every wiretap, every financial bleed, every carefully calculated trap set to ensnare Dave Cortez and tear down his entire world. I had laid bare the full, unvarnished scope of what was coming for the man who had murdered my younger brother and tried to destroy the woman sitting in front of me.My chest was tight, my hands still holding hers, every muscle in my back coiled as I watched her face. I didn't know what I expected. Horrible realization? Hesitation? The lingering shadow of the reserved dance instructor she used to be before I dragged her into my dark world? I braced myself for any sign that the brutality of what I was setting up would scare her off, that seeing the unforgiving depths of my revenge would make her shrink away from me.Slowly, her head bobbed, then she started nodding, a smile on her face

SiennaThe heavy door groaned slightly on its hinges before clicking shut behind me, sealing off the rest of the Vitale estate and locking me into the room turned dance studio.I walked into the room and was hit with the familiar scent of disinfectant, chrome, and leather.It was a sharp, comforting aroma that hit me like a splash of cold water, instantly washing away the lingering hospital smell that had clung to my skin for weeks. For years, dance had been my sanctuary, my language, and my control—long before Dave had tried to strip it away from me, and long before I traded my bridal veil for six-inch heels at The Obsidian.Rox was already there, stretching.She was sitting in a full split across the center of the hardwood floor, her chest pressed flat against the polished timber, her red hair tied back in a messy ponytail that trailed down her back. "Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," Rox called out without lifting her torso from the floor. She

MarcelloWhen I came home, the house was empty. There was no sign of Sienna or her most recent shadow Roxy anywhere.The quiet house felt hollow, lacking the vibrant, electric energy that usually filled every room whenever she was around. An irrational flare of anxiety spiked in my gut—an instinct from the days I spent watching her fight for her life in that hospital room, terrified that another shadow from the Spanish syndicate would reach out and touch what was mine. I marched out onto the rear terrace, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached, signaling the chief of security over with a tilt of my chin.The guards had said, Sienna was craving ice cream so they went out to buy it.I stared at the guard like he had spoken to me in a foreign language. Ice cream? She had stepped out of the heavily guarded estate, just to satisfy a sudden sugar craving?She would've just called me and I would have bought ten, hell twenty tubs of the best ice cream I could find.I shook my head, gritting

SiennaMy heart was hammering a wild rhythm against my ribs, but for the first time in months, it wasn't out of terror or panic. It was pure adrenaline surging through my veins.I looked over at Roxy, who was standing near the edge of the backstage opening. She took a quiet step back toward me, adjusting her posture and running a critical eye over my body to make sure my outfit was perfectly positioned to support my waist."Remember, try not to use your abdomen. Use your legs and hips to suffice for the movements your abdomen would have done beautifully."Her red hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, her dark brows drawn together in an intense grimace that nearly made me smile despite the suffocating gravity of the room. She looked out through the tiny crack in the heavy velvet curtain, eyeing the bound man sitting strapped into the steel chair. The disgust on her face was practically tangible, a visceral reaction to seeing the predatory monster who had spent three long years mani

SiennaI watched the fragile remains of Dave Cortez’s mind shatter into dust. The harsh overhead spotlights glinted off the sweat dripping down his neck, highlighting the wild, bloodshot terror in his eyes. He thrashed against the leather restraints binding his wrists and ankles to the chair, his breathing ragged and shallow like a cornered animal realizing the exit had been sealed in concrete.“What the fuck are you doing here, Sienna? And what are you doing with him?”The delusional audacity of his voice echoing off the walls made my blood boil. Even now—bound, helpless, stripped of his expensive designer suits, and at the mercy of the most dangerous mafia Don in the city—his toxic, entitled possessiveness flared to life. He looked at me not with remorse, not with guilt for the years he spent manipulating me, gaslighting my reality, and stealing my safety, but with the sick rage of a man who believed I was still his to demand answers from. He looked between Marcello and I, his j