Chapter 54

Frankie bursts into a grin. “Iris,” he murmurs, shaking his head, “we didn’t save you from one prostitution ring just to sink you into another. Besides, you know Christian would never allow that.”

I scowl, angry to have been led astray by his story, but Frankie just laughs some more and continues.

“What I’m trying to say, Bambina, is that this place has a history of beautiful, alluring girls. When people come in they expect boozy drinks, small plates of food, and absolutely stunning women they can’t even think about touching.”

“What?” I say, screwing up my face and looking at him in disbelief. “Frankie, there were no pretty girls here yesterday –“

“Yeah, because you were working the lunch shift,” Frankie says, rolling his eyes. “Dinner? You’ll see it’s different. And, I mean, it’s not Hooters, not every member of staff is a beautiful girl. No, it’s all extremely competent men and absolutely untouchable women. That’s what Romano wants you to be, what he expects you to be. He doesn’t give a shit if you can mix a drink, Bambs, not really – but he does want you serving them to men who would sell their children for a night in bed with you.”

My eyes go a little wide, because…I mean, that’s a little bit of a tall ask, isn’t it?

Frankie just smirks at me, shaking his head. “You still don’t now what you’ve got, do you?”

“What?”

“Listen,” he says, reaching across the table and wrapping his hand around mine, making me go a little still. “I’ve seen you dance, Bambi – I know how you can make a guy’s eyes fall out of his head. All of that power available to you on the stage is available to you here as well, and Romano expects you to use it. He wants you to be charming, impeccable, and untouchable. Is that clear?”

He squeezes my hand and pulls back, watching me.

“So,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’m supposed to flirt, but not take any guy’s numbers.”

“No,” he snaps, immediate. “You’re supposed to be so aloof that they don’t even think to give you their numbers. Because you’re Romano’s girl. They should be so worried that if they even look at you for too long they’re going to get shot. But…they’ll consider whether or not it’s worth it.”

“I’m not Romano’s girl, though,” I say with a sigh, shaking my head, not really getting it.

“But you’re Christian’s,” Frankie replies, soft.

I’m brought back, instantly, to yesterday in the hall when Christian grabbed my arm and told me that he owned me, and how that made a heat rise in me that I hadn’t expected. How very, very much I wanted it to be true.

But if he owns me, and all he wants to do is keep me locked up in a gilded cage? God, that’s not what I want. Not at all.

“Bambi,” Frankie says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Where’d you go, kid?”

I blink and then smirk at him. “Sorry,” I say, giving a little shrug. “Got distracted.”

“Damn,” Frankie says, leaning back in his chair and studying my face. “What I’d give to have you go all dreamy-eyed like that when you think about me instead of him.”

“What, Frank,” I say, pitching my voice low as I lean towards him over the table, just a little bit. “Do you wish you owned me instead of Christian? Are you getting ready to sell your first child for the privilege?”

He just stares at me, a little smile tugging at his lips. “Well, there she is,” Frankie murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. “That’s the girl Romano was looking for. The one who walked out of that club with two fists full of cash.”

I smirk, shaking my head and breaking the spell when I drop my eyes to the table, a little disturbed by the butterflies that started in my stomach just now. What had caused those? “I’ll have you remember that Nico carried me out of that club,” I say, flicking my eyes back up at him.

“Yeah, but you held onto that money, didn’t you?” Frankie says with a wide grin. “It was probably the greatest thing I’ve ever seen – your ass in the air over his shoulder, two hands full of cash. I knew in that instant that I’d finally found my wife.”

I can’t help it, not for an instant - I burst out laughing.

Once we get the silverware folded into the napkins my shift begins, and Frankie takes what I come to understand as his habitual seat at the corner of the bar, flicking through his phone or at least pretending to. I move to Andre’s side and do everything he tells me to. Frankie was right though – things are different today. Andre has me doing far less bar chores and instead delivering drinks to patrons, both at the bar and at tables.

Every time I come back to Andre’s side, he has critiques for me. Move slower, say less. Say more. Smile more. Let them watch you walk away. On and on, until I apparently hit the sweet spot, learning to walk slowly to deliver a drink, to say the bare minimum, to laugh at their jokes, to linger just a little too long, to move away just before they start to try to chat me up. I smile as the day passes into night, as the evening shift starts. Because, honestly, it’s way more like the strip club than I ever thought it would be – and I get to wear way more clothes.

The dinner shift does indeed prove itself to be different than the lunch, with more staff and very different clientele. One more girl comes in to work behind the bar – a dark-haired beauty with soulful brown eyes who doesn’t say a word to me, just gets to work. The room fills with laughing people covered in casual wealth – diamonds, gold, brand name bags that they sling over their shoulders like they wouldn’t notice if they lost them.

I mean, I’ve never been someone who notices that sort of thing. But in here, where wealth is everywhere on the display? God, not even I can miss it.

“See her?” Frankie says, nodding to the evening hostess who came in about an hour ago and is standing at a podium by the door – another gorgeous young woman, all smiles and friendly greetings to each guest. She knows everyone by name the moment they walk in the door. “That’s Lucy, Christian’s youngest brother’s girlfriend.”

“Really?” I ask, my eyes going wide as I look over at her. “Well, then what the hell is she doing here? I didn’t think mob girls worked.”

“She’s a lot like you, actually,” Frankie says, throwing me a smirking glance. “I think you two would get along. But she said she wasn’t going to waste away her days getting manicures – that she wanted to work and make her own money. Probably the best paid hostess in the city, right there.”

“She’s good, though,” I say, raising my eyebrows as she goes around her little podium to give an older woman a kiss on the cheek, taking her coat like an old friend.

“Lucy knows everyone,” Frankie says, his voice impressed. “Which is precisely why Romano has her on reservations. She knows precisely who to seat, and when, and where. Who to let in, who to turn away. She probably makes 150k a year here, and earns every damn penny.”

“Holy crap,” I say, my eyes going wide as I look at her again with wide eyes. Then I turn to him with a frown. “Wait, how much do I make?”

He bursts out laughing. “Less than that, Bambi. Now get going!” He points behind me to where Andre is frowning, gesturing towards a set of drinks waiting to be served. I grimace and scurry away, getting back to my job. But my eyes keep turning back towards Lucy.

Because if Christian’s little brother lets her work here, it must be safe, right?

I smile to myself as I deliver the drinks to their table, because I’m glad for something that makes me feel secure. Because I really, really think I’m going to like it here.

As I walk back to my place behind the bar, ready to take my next order from Andre, I don’t miss the fact that Frankie watches me and pretends that he doesn’t. And I smile, because I’m glad he’s here to protect me.

But I’m also glad because…

Well. I guess, because I like to know that he’s keeping an eye on me. And that he likes what he sees.

I just wish that Christian could see me like that too.