Chapter 4 Mr. Russo
The silence stretched for far too long.
Eleanor broke it.
“What other way?”
“VIP room. Private. One client. He asked for someone new tonight. He usually pays triple. 6,000 euros for two hours. You sit. You talk. You pour drinks. You don’t have to touch him if you don’t want to. Just keep him happy.”
Eleanor laughed, wet and bitter. “Right. And he won’t want to touch me?”
“Mr. Russo is… different,” Maya said. “Rich. Cold. He doesn’t do the club scene. He just drinks and stares. The girls say he looks like a predator who lost his prey. Starving. Restless. Furious and all. But won't hunt for any other.”
Mr. Russo. The name felt heavy.
The way Maya described him felt heavier.
“And if he does try something?” Eleanor asked.
“Then you walk out. But Lea, 6,000 euros. That’s much compared to what you threw at those loan sharks today.”
Eleanor closed her eyes. She saw the hospital. The beeping. Her mother’s voice: ‘Don’t bother saving me.’
“Where is he?” she whispered.
Maya exhaled. “Third floor. Private elevator. Room 8.” She squeezed Eleanor’s hand. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do,” Eleanor said.
They took the elevator up. It was mirrored. Eleanor couldn’t look at herself. The dress. The makeup Maya had forced on her in the taxi. The fear in her eyes.
The third floor was quieter. Carpet instead of sticky floors. A guard stood outside Room numbered ‘8’. He looked at Maya’s card, then at Eleanor, then opened the door.
The room was luxurious and dimly lit. Black furniture. A bar in the corner. A desk. Floor-to-ceiling windows showing Madrid at night.
A man stood by the desk with his back to them. Tall. Broad shoulders. Black suit. He hadn’t turned when they entered.
“This is her,” Maya said quickly. “Eleanor. New. She’ll take good care of you, sir.”
The man didn’t move.
Maya squeezed Eleanor’s arm once, then left, closing the door softly behind her.
Now it was just Eleanor and him.
She stood by the door. Her heels felt too loud on the red carpet.
He turned around.
He was older than she expected. Maybe early thirties. Sharp jaw. Dark hair. Eyes that looked like they hadn’t slept in years. And cold. So cold it made the room feel colder.
He looked her up and down. Once. Then went back to the drink on the table.
The door hardly had any light near it. He probably didn’t see her face clearly.
“Sit,” he said. His voice was low and uncensored.
Eleanor didn’t move.
“Sit,” he said again, louder.
“I don’t—”
“What?” He finally looked at her fully. “You’re going to stand there all night?”
Something in her broke. All the fear, all the debt, all the hatred for rich men like him.
“You people,” she said. Her voice shook. “You think you can buy anyone. You think because you have money you can order people around and touch them and—”
“Are you done?” he asked, bored.
“No!” The word came out louder than she meant. “My mother is dying because people like you don’t care! Because my father left and got rich and forgot we exist! I’m not a whore, okay? I’m not—”
She was crying now. Angry tears. She stepped into the light without thinking, fists clenched.
The man froze.
His eyes went to her face. Then to her eyes. Then back to her face.
All the cold left him.
For a second, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked quietly.
“Eleanor,” she said, wiping her face angrily. “And I don’t care who you are. I’m leaving.” “Fuck all this.”
She turned and dashed out of the room before he could answer.
Her heart was pounding as she ran down the hall, past the guard, past Maya who was waiting with wide eyes.
“I can’t do it,” she said breathlessly. “I can’t.”
Maya looked past her, toward the closed door of Room 8.
From inside, they heard a chair scrape back. Footsteps.
Eleanor didn’t see what happened next. She was already running toward the elevator.
Little did she know, her outburst had done exactly what 6,000 euros couldn’t.
It had made a billionaire remember a vanished woman’s face.
And it was going to solve her problems.
And ruin her life in a good way.
Eleanor marched out the building.
The cold hit her instantly. The leather dress was tight against her body. Her legs wobbled in the heels.
“Lea!”
Maya dashed out the doors behind her, heels clicking on the pavement.
“Wait. Talk to me.”
Eleanor didn’t stop. She crossed the street without looking. A car honked. She didn’t care.
She walked all the way home.
When she got into the apartment she locked the door. Twice. Then leaned against it like someone might follow her.
Car zooms and horns echoed from far below. Madrid didn’t sleep.
She flung off the heels. They clattered across the floor. She made her way to the small bathroom and flicked on the light.
She undid the high ponytail. Hair fell down her back, damp with sweat. She took off the cheap jewelry Maya had lent her and dropped it on the sink with a clink. She reached behind her and zipped down the dress.
The leather peeled off her skin. Her breasts pushed forward and breathed for the first time all night. She sighed, long and shaky.
She slid the g-string down her legs slowly, like if she moved too fast she’d remember where it had been.
She tossed everything into the corner. Dress. Underwear. All of it.
She turned the shower on. The water was cold. It ran down her hair, her neck, her back, her butt. She stood there and let it wash the perfume and the club off her.
Just then the water sputtered.
“Shit.”
It stopped completely.
She hadn’t paid the water bill yet. Hers was cut off.
She wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out of the bathroom, teeth chattering.
A sudden blackout hit the apartment.
“Ah!”
She tripped over one of the heels and hit the floor.
“Fuck!”
She also hadn’t paid the electricity bill.
In the dark, sitting on the cold tile with a towel around her, Eleanor laughed. One broken, quiet laugh.
Because of course. Of course the lights would go out tonight.
