Chapter 2 Down to My Last Ten Dollars

Milena Lima

I’m completely screwed.

That’s my first thought the moment I open my wallet and see only ten dollars inside.

It’s not the first time I’ve had more month than money, but my God, it’s only the fifth. And getting fired from my only steady job was definitely not in my plans.

I need to find another job.

I just have no idea how, since getting that babysitting job for three kids—basically as a slave—had already been a miracle. The pay was ridiculous, but it covered the rent and the household bills. It wasn’t much, but at least it was guaranteed at the end of the month. Now, I don’t even have that.

To make things worse, the immigration officer only gave me three months to stay in the country when I entered the United States, and my visa expired yesterday, which officially makes me an illegal immigrant.

And, as if that weren’t bad enough, my former employer used my situation against me. He fired me without paying my last paycheck or any benefits, threatening to report me to the police if I complained.

Just great.

I take a deep breath and slip my wallet back into my purse, grabbing my keys to go inside.

The moment I turn the doorknob, a scream gets stuck in my throat when I find María sucking off her boyfriend on the couch.

Yes, we ended up becoming friends and decided to rent a studio apartment together. I got the babysitting job, and María wasn’t as lucky finding something more formal, so she ended up working as a dancer at a nightclub, where she met her current boyfriend, Robert, one of the bartenders there.

Despite all our efforts, money was still tight, and the only thing we could afford was a simple one-bedroom studio apartment.

That wasn’t a problem for me. Even though I had recently discovered that I was the daughter of a millionaire mafioso, I had always lived a simple life and learned from an early age how to share.

Since the bedroom in the apartment was tiny and only fit a twin bed, we agreed to take turns between the bed and the couch. One month, I’d take the room; the next, it would be her turn.

But ever since my friend started dating, I’ve been seriously considering giving up my month in the bed. And not because I’m altruistic or kind, but to avoid catching them making out again. Once was more than enough.

I shut the door immediately.

Then I close my eyes.

I wish I could shut off my memory too, but I know I’m going to remember that scene for weeks.

"Hey, Mi! You came back early!" María leaves the apartment and comes after me as soon as I start walking away.

I stop and sigh.

I should have warned her first.

After all, María and Robert work nights and have their time off during the day, which means anything they want to do, they’ll do while I’m at work. He’s American and lives with some brothers, but my friend has made it very clear that her boyfriend is insanely jealous about taking her over there.

"I got fired," I say, turning to face the shocked expression on my friend’s face.

"Oh my God, Mi! What happened?"

"I refused to sleep with the kids’ father while his wife works herself to death."

"What a son of a bitch!"

I nod.

"I’m sorry for interrupting you guys," I sigh, shaking my head. "I just… couldn’t think of anything. I just wanted to come home."

María gives me a sympathetic smile, and it squeezes my heart.

She has every reason to be worried right now, after all, my income is gone and our bills depend on it. But instead, she chooses to support me.

If I’m being honest with myself, maybe it’s time to find somewhere else to stay. Her relationship with Robert is getting more and more serious, and I know the only reason she hasn’t moved in with him is me.

She doesn’t want to leave me alone. And I hate being a burden to people.

"I’ll figure something out," I start to say, but she cuts me off with a hug.

"We’ll figure something out," she corrects, squeezing me tighter. "You’re not alone, Mi."

Mi.

It took a while to get used to my new name—and on top of that, a nickname—but after a few weeks of being called that, I kind of got used to it.

And I liked it.

"Want to go out and eat?" she asks, sweet as always. "I’ll ditch Robert and we can go grab something good. There’s nothing a burger and a milkshake can’t fix."

Even with how messed up my financial situation is and all the embarrassment I just went through, María manages to pull a genuine smile out of me.

"I just interrupted your intimate moment. If you ditch your boyfriend to go out with me, he’s going to hate me," I joke, and she shakes her head.

"He’ll have to deal with it. I’ve known you longer, and friends take care of each other," she insists.

"I don’t have any money."

"I’ll pay. You had a shitty day, and I have an emergency stash for situations like this."

No, she doesn’t.

María is just as broke as I am, but she has a heart of gold and would spend everything she has just to see a friend smile.

"Thanks, amiga, but right now I need a job more than I need a burger."

"And the milkshake?"

"María!" I laugh, and she laughs with me, but then she steps back, looking at me like she wants to say something.

"Why don’t you ask at the club?" she suggests, considering all the times she’s seen me dance while cleaning the apartment. "You’re gorgeous, and you shake your ass really well. You could start on weekends and make some money. Only high-society men go to the Belinni clubs, and I’m sure you could squeeze a lot of money out of the clients. Besides, the owners don’t care that we’re illegal immigrants. Our crime is nothing compared to the things they do."

The instant she mentions the Belinni name, my body reacts.

They’re ruthless, powerful mafiosos, and even though I’ve never crossed paths with any of them personally, the reputation and fear their name carries reached me from my very first days in Chicago.

They don’t belong to the same mafia as my father, but that doesn’t mean I want to get in their way.

"I don’t know if they’ll want me," I admit, because despite my fear of getting involved with these people, I don’t have many options right now. "I’m not going to prostitute myself."

"You won’t be forced into anything. When sex happens, it’s all consensual and only when the dancers want it."

Despite her words, I know that in practice things are different. The money is way too tempting, and the “tip” for sleeping with a client is bigger than an entire month’s salary.

María has already confessed that she slept with a few clients, but she stopped doing that when she met Robert. That’s also why her paycheck isn’t one of the highest.

I take a deep breath and nod, knowing that work is work, and dancing at a nightclub won’t make me any less worthy than anyone else. It wasn’t my first option, but what choice do I have now?

"Okay," I say with a sigh. She gives me a warm look and takes my hand, leading me back into the apartment.

Robert leaves, and I spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready with María.

Even with the awkward circumstances, we still manage to have fun.

We put on Latin music, shake our hips, and laugh as we transform ourselves into sensual women. She lends me one of her tight, low-cut dresses, and I do bold makeup—the same kind that used to be such a hit at my mother’s beauty salon.

Thinking about her makes my heart ache, but I swallow the feeling and force myself to leave the past behind.

It’s better this way.

If she finds out I’m alive and covers for me, she could pay for it with her own blood. But if she hands me over to my father again, the disappointment will shatter whatever is left of my heart.

I finish getting ready and take one last look in the mirror, noticing just how done up I am.

I just need to make a good impression and get the job.

Nothing more.

"You start tonight. If the clients like you, you stay," says David, the heavily tattooed man in charge of hiring at the club. A sigh of relief almost escapes my lips, but I manage to hold it back.

While María was introducing me, I felt his gaze roaming over me from head to toe. I forced myself to keep my posture straight and my chin lifted, without showing any insecurity.

"Thank you. I’m just not sleeping with anyone," I warn him, and the moment the words leave my mouth, he tilts his head to the side.

"You’re not required to. If any man puts his hands on you without your consent, the Belinnis themselves will deal with him," he says, making it clear that in the mafia, the rules work differently. "But maybe when a client makes you an offer, you’ll change your mind."

"I don’t think that’s going to happen."

The corner of his mouth lifts a few millimeters. Is that his version of a smile?

"Your friend is bold," he murmurs to María. "She’s not even hired yet and she’s already showing her claws."

"She’ll keep her mouth shut," the Mexican girl answers for me, and I force myself to swallow any urge to snap back.

"She’d better. We don’t tolerate insolence, and we’re not patient men."

Asshole.

But an asshole who can give me a job right now.

A slight nod is my only response, and he understands that I got the message.

I leave with María, and she helps me change clothes, because there are specific outfits for the dancers, and they are infinitely more sensual than the ridiculously provocative dress I’m wearing.

As I walk toward the stage, I fight to push the nerves away, but with every step, I feel my heart pounding harder, ignoring all my efforts.

"Hey! It’s going to be fine," María whispers, trying to calm me down. "You don’t have to do anything crazy. Trust your body, feel the music, and if you have to, imagine you’re cleaning our apartment," she jokes, making me smile. "When you dance, any man will fall at your feet."

I thank my friend and walk to the center of the stage, fully aware that this is exactly what I need to get the job: prove that I can seduce the clients.

The lights go out, and the club falls silent for a few seconds, until “The Machine” — Reed Wonder & Aurora Olivas starts playing.

Then I close my eyes and dance.

I run my hand over my body, touching my stomach, my breasts, and then reaching my neck. As I do, I sway my hips and ass, letting the music take over my body. For a moment, I forget everything around me, as if the sensual beats could carry all my problems away.

I grab the pole in the center of the stage and move around it, pressing and grinding my body against it… going up, coming down… rolling my hips slowly and sensually.

Never in my life have I danced on a pole, and it’s not like I know how to do it, but I use it as support and move the way Brazilian women are famous for moving.

There’s something in our blood that makes it feel natural.

I give it everything I have, fully aware that every eye is fixed on my body and that my survival depends on my performance right now.

When the song ends and applause fills the room, I open my eyes and find David. He nods in approval, but when I look at the crowd around me, I see several clients standing with their glasses raised in my direction.

A strange feeling washes over me, but I force myself to stay rational. If I want to survive in an environment ruled by men, I’ll have to use my body instead of words to manipulate them, because the truth is, none of them are willing to listen to what a woman has to say.

I’m not going to cross my own limits, but my mother always said that men have a universal weakness, and it hangs right between their legs. So if I need to use that to my advantage to support myself, I’ll do it without hesitation.

"Am I hired?" I mouth silently to David, moving only my lips, my heart still racing.

"Welcome," he mouths back, and it feels like I can finally breathe.

Because at least now I have a job.

I’m going to be okay.