CLAIMED BY THE MAFIA DON

The mirror in the dressing room had a crack running through it. A straight line that split Carmella Russo's reflection in two. One side was the girl who'd left Sicily to find a mother who didn't want her. The other was the woman who'd come back to watch her father die.

She twisted the lipstick tube. Blood red. The same shade as the dress in the photograph. The one her father threw in the fireplace when she was twelve. She remembered the flames. Her mother's face disappearing into ash.

"You're up next," Angela said.

Carmella blinked.

Angela stood in the doorway, still catching her breath from her own set. Sweat glistened on her collarbone. Her hands were shaking. They always shook after a performance.

Carmella didn't shake anymore. She'd stopped feeling that particular shame months ago.

"I'm almost done," she said. She adjusted the band of her panties. The rhinestone ones that sat low on her hips. The kind that made men forget their wives. "How do I look?"

Angela leaned against the doorframe and blew Carmella a kiss. "Like you're about to break a lot of hearts."

Carmella caught the kiss and tucked it behind her ear. She wiggled her hips and stuck out her tongue.

"Good," she said. "That's exactly what I was aiming for."

Angela laughed. It was the only sound in the room that didn't feel like it belonged to this place. THE TEMPTATION wasn't built for laughter. It was built for money and desperation. For men who had too much of the first and not enough of the second.

The dressing room smelled like cheap perfume and smoke. The lights flickered overhead. Makeup covered the counters. A pile of heels sat in the corner.

"Red!" Antonio yelled from the hallway. "Five minutes!"

Carmella rolled her eyes. "Always with the yelling."

"He wants you ready," Angela said. "You're his cash cow. You know that."

"I'm everyone's cash cow." Carmella stood and smoothed down her outfit. A bedazzled bra that barely covered anything. Panties with a band that rested near her stomach, showing off the curves she'd been born with. The kind of body that made men stupid. "That's the problem."

Angela's smile faded. "You could quit anytime. You know that, right? You don't owe anyone here anything."

Carmella met her friend's eyes in the mirror. Two girls who'd ended up in the same place but for completely different reasons. Angela owed the Donatellos. Carmella didn't know the exact number, but she knew it was big. Big enough to trap her here for a long time. All she knew was that her friend was paying with her body, and there was no end in sight.

Carmella could walk out anytime. That was the difference between them.

She stayed because the quiet was worse than the men. Worse than the groping hands and the whistles. When the music stopped, she heard it. That relentless beep-beep-beep from the hospital room. Her father's hand still and cold in her. The machine flatlining. So she kept dancing. Kept moving. Kept making noise until she couldn't hear anything but the bass.

"I know," Carmella said. "But where would I go?"

Angela opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, Dawn appeared in the doorway. Her blonde hair was flat with sweat. Her lipstick was smeared.

"Move it, Red," Dawn snapped. "Some of us actually need this job."

Carmella turned. A smile spread across her face.

"Need it?" she said. "Sweetheart, I'm the reason anyone comes here. You should be thanking me. I bring the crowd. You just warm the stage."

Dawn's face twisted. "You think you're special."

"I know I am." Carmella stepped closer. "I'm here because I'm damn well  good at it. And that scares you."

Dawn's hand twitched at her side. "Puta."

Carmella's smile didn't waver. "Takes one to know one."

Angela grabbed her arm. "Mellie. Stop."

"Red!" Antonio again. "Now!"

Carmella winked at Dawn and walked past, bumping her shoulder. "Try not to cry too loud. It ruins the music."

She heard Dawn curse behind her, but she didn't care. She was already walking toward the stage, toward the lights and the noise. The only place she didn't have to think.

Carmella stood behind the velvet curtains. She'd done this a hundred times. Every move was muscle memory. Every smile practiced.

She didn't dance for the money. She danced because when the music was loud and the lights were bright enough, she couldn't hear her father's voice or see his face. Couldn't remember the way his hand had gone cold in hers.

Antonio was on stage, his voice echoing through the speakers. "Gentlemen! The moment you've all been waiting for! The one and only... RED!"

The crowd erupted.

Carmella walked out.

The spotlight found her immediately. She let the first beat move through her. Then she rolled her hips. The men in the front row leaned forward. Men in expensive suits. Men who looked like they'd never been told no in their lives.

She knew them. All of them.

The tech guys who thought money could buy anything. The old money families who treated Sicily like their personal playground. And in the back, always in the back, the mafia. The men who had real power. The ones she knew to stay away from.

She'd learned that lesson early. When she was new.

She'd been stupid.

She knew better now. She didn't look at the back tables. She never did. They weren't her targets. They were dangerous. Business men and daddy's boys were safer. Easier to manipulate. They'd throw money at her and go home, and she'd take their cash and forget them by morning.

She spotted one in the front row. Young. Probably late twenties. Handsome, in that way that said he'd never known hardship. His Rolex cost more than her rent for a year. His suit was tailored. His hair was perfectly styled.

Perfect. Another daddy's boy who thinks he's special.

She locked eyes with him.

The music swelled.

Carmella moved. Her body found the rhythm. She gripped the pole. Spun once. Twice. Dropped into a split that made the crowd roar, she smiled. The smile that said look, don't touch.

Her hand slid up her thigh. Her hips swayed. She rolled her shoulders back, arching until her spine curved like a bow. The muscles in her stomach flexed.

The young man in the front row was transfixed. His eyes stayed on her. His hands gripped the edge of his table like he was holding himself back.

Carmella smirked. Pathetic. They were all the same.

She wrapped her leg around the pole and spun, slow and deliberate, her hair whipped around her face. She let herself fall backward, catching herself with her hands, her body suspended as she curled and uncurled like a snake. The music built to a crescendo.

She crawled toward the edge of the stage. The crowd went silent.

Her fingers trailed across his table. Her nails grazed his glass. Her eyes dragged down his body.

His pupils were  wide. She could see the bulge in his pants from here, see the way his hands gripped the table like he was holding himself back.

She pulled back, flipped over, and landed on her feet. She turned her back to the crowd and bent over, spanking herself once, twice. The men screamed. Whistles cut through the air.

Carmella smiled and left the stage. Behind her, cash covered the stage. Hundreds of bills.

"Ugh, I'm tired. I can’t feel my legs."

Carmella collapsed on the couch. Angela was already there, holding water, looking like she'd pass out.

"That crowd was wild," Angela said. "They threw more money at you than all of us combined."

"I know right?" Carmella unscrewed the cap of the bottle and drank. "It's exhausting being this talented."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Modesty is not your strong suit."

"Modesty doesn't pay the bills."

Before Angela could respond, the door slammed open. Antonio walked in, his greasy hair plastered to his forehead. He was a short man with a temper that made him look taller.

"Ladies," he announced, clapping his hands together. "Another successful night. Well, successful for some of you."

His eyes landed on Carmella. His expression softened as much as it could soften, anyway.

"Red," he said. "You were magnificent tonight. The crowd loved you."

"I aim to please."

Antonio pulled out a stack of cash. Counted it. Handed her her cut. She didn't count. She knew he took more from her. But she also knew she could walk out anytime she wanted.

"Girls," Antonio said, turning. "You need to step up. One of you has been here for three years, and you're still making less than her. She's been here for six months. What does that tell you?"

Dawn's face twisted. She was standing in the corner with her two friends, Lena and Tessa. They were the Mean Girls of The Temptation. The ones who'd been there the longest and thought that meant they owned the place.

"Maybe she's just good at spreading her legs," Dawn muttered. The room went quiet. Carmella's head snapped up. "What did you say?"

Dawn stepped forward. "You heard me. You think we don't know what you're doing? All that time you spend with the rich ones. You think we're stupid?"

"Aww, baby." Carmella stood. The exhaustion was gone. "Is that jealousy I hear? That's sad, really. You should be taking notes. Maybe then you'd actually make some money."

Dawn's face went red. "You're nothing but a whore, Red. Does your father know how much of a whore you've become?"

Something inside her snapped.