Chapter 1 Chapter 1

My ideal lover would be a guy who is not in a hurry to get laid, loves literature and books, and is polite. My sister says that such men are extinct in the 21st century. She accused me of always daydreaming about nerd stuff, which is why I still haven’t cashed in my v-card. I mean, why should I? I've never been in love before. I’m just waiting for something more intimate. But I'm living in a fairy tale now that Daniel has shown up. We've been dating for a few months now after falling in love at first sight at a bookstore. He's thoughtful and attentive and a good listener, which is often the role I play - after all, my specialty is counseling. He doesn’t try to push me to go too far too fast, which sets him apart from other guys and suits my own pace perfectly. Today, in the bookstore where we first met, I take a sip of my cappuccino as I look over my boyfriend’s tall, lanky form, his curly chestnut hair falling into his green eyes. Daniel always dresses so nicely, today in perfectly-pressed grey pants, a shining silver watch at his wrist. Wait, I think, narrowing my eyes and looking closer. Are those diamonds below the glass face? I bite my lip, wondering why my boyfriend has a diamond watch. I mean, I’m just a broke grad student – is he rich? There’s movement over Daniel’s shoulder, and as I look, my eyes go wide. “Daniel, there’s…a guy over there. And he’s staring right at us .” Daniel turns to look directly at the brawny guy, well over six feet and chorded with muscle. His professional suit does nothing to disguise the roughness of his hands, the cruel scar that runs diagonally over his face, almost splitting his nose in two. “Oh, um,” Daniel says, shrugging. “Don’t worry about him.”“Don’t worry about him!?” I whisper, a little scared. “Daniel, he’s looking right at – “ “No, I mean, he’s with me.” Daniel gives me an apologetic smile as my mouth falls open in shock. “That’s Parker, he’s…well. He’s kind of my body guard.”“Oh,” I say, pulling my mouth shut into an awkward O. I stare at Daniel. He needs a bodyguard? How rich is he? “Yeah, just ignore him,” Daniel says, giving me a cool smile. “My dad gets overprotective,” he rolls his eyes at this. “Honestly, he’s so stressed out about safety that he could use a shrink like you to give him some counseling.” Daniel laughs at this, lightening the mood. “Anytime,” I mutter, nervously playing with my long red hair, worrying about the mismatch between Daniel’s wealth and my church-mouse status. I’ve never met anyone before who has a bodyguard. “Can I get you anything else?” Both Daniel and I look up at the baristo who smiles down at us, a really handsome blonde-haired guy who has an apron tied around his waist. “No thanks, Colin,” I say, giving him a big grin. “Actually, can we both get refills?” Daniel says, giving Colin a slow smile. “Oh, actually…“ I say, looking up at the clock and pushing my hair back behind my ears. If I don’t leave now, I’m definitely going to be late for my job doing psych evaluations at the state prison. “She’ll take hers to go then,” Daniel says, rising from our sofa. “Here, I’ll help you.” He follows Colin back to the coffee counter. I start to pack up my bag, intent on catching the next trolly, when I notice Daniel’s phone vibrating on the table, a call coming in. When the number disappears, Daniel’s home screen shows a family photo. The tall man in the back is certainly his dad, the other maybe an older brother? As I try to puzzle it out, the phone rings again – the same number. On impulse, I grab Daniel’s phone and sling my packed bag over my shoulder, heading towards the coffee counter. “Daniel,” I say, slipping behind the counter, “you’re getting a phone call –“ But there’s no one back here. I look around, confused – I definitely just saw Colin and Daniel head this way… I hear a noise from the storage room, a strange and muffled thump and a moan. I take two steps forward and peek around the door, maybe they both – Oh my god. Not two feet from me, my boyfriend presses Colin up against the wall of the storage room, one fist wrapped in the fabric of his shirt – kissing him passionately - Colin’s eyes are closed, his hands fumbling at the button of Daniel’s pants, his belt already undone, whispering his name – my boyfriend’s name – “Are you kidding me!?” I yell, not even thinking as I hurl the phone at Daniel and his lover. Both boys jump, leaping apart. “Fay – I – “ Daniel’s face is full of shock. Tears in my eyes, I run from the room and from the coffee shop. “Fay!” Daniel spills out onto the street behind me. “You don’t understand!” He grabs my arm, pulling me back to him. “I really like you,” he says, his eyes filled with apology. “You’re amazing - it’s just that my family wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t approve –“ “So what,” I asked, surprised. “You just want me to be your pretend girlfriend !? Sorry,” I rip my arm from his hand. “Not interested.”“Please, Fay!” Daniel calls after me as I run away. “Please – I can make this right! How much do you want? One million? Three million? I can-" I see him pull the checkbook out of his pocket. "I don't want your money!" I say, my voice mocking. Daniel blinks and I turn away. "I’ll keep your secret, you don’t need to pay me off. I just don't want to see you again." And just like that, my fairy tale with Prince Charming was over. I hurry down the street, my eyes filling with angry tears. Two hours later, I’m seated at a plastic table in a cinder-block cell, my eyes dried up and my hair tied back in what I hope is a professional look. My leg jitters with nerves and, I think, a little bit of aftershock. I still can’t believe what Daniel did to me. But I straighten up in my seat, taking a deep breath. I have to concentrate on my job now, and I’m incredibly nervous about my next assignment. I’ve only been assigned basic white-collar criminals thus far, but today I have to make an assessment of Kent Lippert , the man known as our city’s Mafia King. His unmatched cruelty and the unbelievable lengths he takes to protect his power are infamous in this town. I hear the hallway door clang open and stand up from my chair, pressing my hands against my blazer to straighten it. This is the most nervous I’ve been since I started this gig. The guards bring Lippert around the corner and I’m surprised – I expected Lippert to be a fat, old, balding man – the kind of greasy lowlife who belongs in our city’s underworld. But this man is trim and tall, moving with a kind of dangerous grace. My eyes follow the way his shoulders shift beneath the fabric of his uniform, the way that the guards quail, a little, as they unlock the cuffs on his hands. I gasp as my eyes finally fall on Lippert’s face, my mouth going dry. His dark hair falling over his forehead, his square jaw, the deep frown lines etched over green eyes – oh my god. I’ve seen this man before. I saw him today, in a picture on my boyfriend’s phone – And again, younger, etched in the features of my boyfriend’s own face. Daniel isn’t just some rich kid. He’s the son of the Mafia King.

Chapter 2 Chapter 2

Kent leans his shoulder against the bars of his cell, his well-muscled arms crossed against his chest. What was he doing in this local prison, created to catch the overflow of the city’s rampant gangs? He was their king, after all. And to think, Kent was here by choice. His lip raises in derision as he shakes his head, wondering if he made the right decision, intentionally getting caught so he could get in here, just for the chance to talk to the warden. Two blue-uniformed guards walk down the row towards him. “Lippert?” They ask. “Warden wants to see you.” They cuff him and take him to the warden’s office. Kent sits down on a chair in front of him, wordless, waiting for the guards to leave. “So,” Sven says, closing his file. “I’m surprised you had the balls to come to my turn for a negotiation, Lippert. It’s brave.” The public didn’t know it, but Warden Sven not only runs this prison, but leverages his control over it to take a significant stake in the workings of the city’s underworld. He is as dirty as the rest of them, and if other bosses go against him? He locks them up. Quite a trump card in this world where one of the only things that stops a gangster is a stay in prison. “I’ll be out soon enough,” Kent responds, leaning back in his chair. “We have to talk about Ivan.”“Ivan?” Sven looks at him closely. “He’s chicken shit.” Kent shakes his head slowly. “He’s just a kid, but he’s getting a foot in the heroin game. But because he’s green he doesn’t have the grit or the resources to handle it.” He pauses a moment, taking Sven in. “He’s getting backed into a corner,” Kent continues, “and it’s making him ruthless. He’s not coming to meetings of the families, he’s killing at will – made men, as well as wise guys. He has to be stopped, Sven. Or he’s going to wreck it for all of us.” Sven leans back into his chair, considering. Kent steels himself, staring Sven down. Antony, his cousin and second-in-command, had told him it was foolish to lock himself up for months just for the chance to talk to Sven. But Kent had a gut feeling this was the right call. An alliance with Sven against Ivan was going to pay off. Big time. “I see your point,” Sven says, breathing out through his nose. “Ivan’s too big for his britches, eh? It’s a delicate ecosystem,” he says, holding his hands out like a set of scales to demonstrate the balance. “We’ve all got to play our parts. If he pushes too far, he destroys it for all of us.” Sven nods, considering his next words before continuing. “I have to admit, Lippert, I’m impressed with your persistence in this matter. I’ve done good work isolating myself, protecting myself, but you found a way in. Not everyone would come to my turf, and stay so long, just for a meeting with me. I respect that. You’re a real capo, a good guy. I’m glad that I know this.” Kent nods, silently confirming this read of him. That’s exactly how he wanted Sven to feel. “Ivan’s a mad dog,” Kent says. “We’ve got to put him down. I’ll provide the muscle; all I ask is that you let us. Don’t interfere. As for the spoils…we split fifty-fifty.” Sven eyes him, considering. “I want eighty-twenty, for my agreement to let you handle it.” Kent doesn’t let his frustration show. He doesn’t care if Sven takes it all, honestly – Sven has power, but he’s notoriously low on cash, a problem Kent doesn’t have. But he can’t let himself be bowled over. “Sixty-forty,” he says, stern. Sven shrugs, not agreeing yet, but not pushing the matter further. “What about the other bosses?” he asks. “Are you anticipating pushback from Alden?” Kent shakes his head quickly. “Alden’s distracted. His guys are running the game, but he’s got some new clue about his lost kid.” He waves a hand, dismissing it. “He’s not going to take a side.” Sven nods, giving him a small smile, and Kent realizes that Sven already knew this. Sven might not have cash, but he does trade in secrets. Likely, Alden got the clue from him to begin with. Kent narrows his eyes, realizing that question was a test. He doesn’t like being tested. “Do we have a deal?” Sven shrugs, again noncommittal. He turns in his chair to stare at a calendar on his wall, the picture of a beautiful vineyard somewhere in Europe. “You know, I had a lovely glass of wine the other day. From Napa. But I gotta tell you, Lippert,” he turns here, looking Kent directly in the eye. “It left me a little parched, a little…too dry.” Sven’s lips start to lift in a cold smirk. “You wouldn’t happen to know…anywhere else. Where a man could get a finer glass of wine. A really good drink. Would you?” Kent flicks his eyes to the calendar again, realizing suddenly that the picture on the wall is a picture of his vineyard, the calendar likely produced as a promotional gift for tourists. Sven knew exactly what Kent would ask even before he set foot in the room, and he knew exactly the price of his cooperation. “France,” Kent says slowly, narrowing his eyes and staring at Sven. Perhaps not such a clean alliance after all. “The best wine in the world comes from France.”“You know, I’d like to try that wine,” Sven says, turning back to the picture, all innocence. “I’d like to get a foot in the industry too. Maybe get some property there, some day.”“Done.” Kent said. It’s worth the price. A good meeting. Kent leaves satisfied. As they walk down the hall, one of the guards turns to him. “We’ve been ordered to take you along to your psychological assessment before returning you to your cell,” he informs him. Kent glares at him, but says nothing. The guard shrugs. “Standard procedure, Lippert. All prisoners gotta do it.” Kent stays silent, following. Sven is pushing it, making him undergo psychological testing, when he’d be out of here tomorrow. He’s just trying to collect more secrets. Kent follows the guards to a cinder-block cell at the end of the hallway, noting that his lawyer is standing outside the door. The lawyer rolls his eyes to Kent and points at his watch, indicating that he’ll have him out of here in no time. Kent nods, and then focuses his attention on the door. He’s surprised, when it opens, to see a girl inside. Not a girl, perhaps, a young woman – twenty-three, at the most. She stands up, clearly anxious, biting her lip and playing with the long red ponytail that drifts over her shoulder. Her mouth falls open, just slightly, as she takes him in. God damnit , Kent thinks, his whole body going tense at the sight of her – those long legs, knocked at the knees with anxiety, her short white skirt, that ridiculous blazer that she wears so people like him will take her seriously. He can tell from a single glance that she’s pure as the driven snow – ambitious but poor, eager to prove herself. His eyes rove over her, considering what she’d look like if he ripped that blazer off of her. He focuses, again, on those red lips, slightly parted. His breath hisses from his mouth at the sight of those lips, at the thought of what he could do with them. “Um,” she says, hesitant. He snaps his attention back to her jewel-blue eyes. “My name is Fay Thompson? I’m here to do your preliminary interview for state psychological assessment?” Kent grits his teeth, denying his urge to smile slowly at the fact that her statements are presented as questions. God, she’s perfect, this little angel. The feral, leashed part of him wants to know what she’d look like with a little bit of the underworld’s grime smeared all over her. “Hello, Fay,” he says, his voice low and hungry as he moves forward and settles into his chair. “Where do we begin?”

Chapter 3 Chapter 3

I hesitate, settling down in my chair across from this man, sensing that I’m the doe to his wolf. It feels almost as if he could leap across this table at any moment and gobble me up. Daniel’s father is Kent Lippert, the Mafia King of our city. That’s why he has a bodyguard, that’s why he has so much money – I quirk my head to the side, still staring at Lippert, realizing that this is also why Daniel is hiding his sexuality – the mafia of our city are notoriously conservative, and family is everything. A gay son would never be accepted, especially an only son – God, he really did want me to be his beard – Poor Daniel, he’s got to hide everything he loves – Suddenly, I realize that the man in front of me is smiling, just slightly, his eyes moving over me as I stare at him like a deer in the headlights. I clench my jaw, reminding myself that he is the villain. “So,” I say, turning back to my papers, nervous. You’ve done this a thousand times, Fay! I remind myself. You could do this in your sleep! “Can you please state your name for me, and place of birth?”“I believe,” Lippert says slowly, “That you’re already aware of my history.” He leans back, studying me. I lift my eyes to glare at his impudence – he’s so rude. But, unfortunately, he’s right. Everyone in this city knows this information. I quickly fill out the form. I glance up at him, struck again by his similarity to Daniel. The profile, especially, is almost exactly the same – but whereas Daniel is gentle, refined, Kent has a grim, lethal quality to his face. I drag my gaze away from him, feeling a shiver pass through me, tapping its fingers down my spine. Somehow, I imagine that they’re Kent’s fingers… I quickly dismiss the thought and focus. “The rest of the questions that I ask you today will be of a personal and psychological nature,” I say, giving the canned speech I’m required to say to all inmates. “The state does require that you answer all questions fully and honestly as part of the assessment. Do you understand?” He is silent in response and I look up at him, a knee-jerk reaction to an unresponsive patient. He’s smirking at me, unblinking. “Little girl,” he says, slowly leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “what gives you the right to ask me anything about my history and my mind?” I sit straight in my chair, unnerved by such a question. “The state has hired me to administer these examinations –“ “Do you have a degree?” he cuts in. “Some kind of…certificate?” The final word is heavy with derision. I frown at him and reach down to rifle through my bag, producing the certified paperwork from the state which qualifies me for this position. “Here,” I say, returning his glare. “If you’re so curious.” I reach across the table to hand it to him. A second before he grabs my wrist, I realize my mistake. He snatches my hand, fully capturing it in his, pulling me forward against the table. It doesn’t quite hurt, but, surprised, I drop the paperwork as I gasp, looking up at him, terrified as he brings my hand close to his face, and then – Oh my god – Slowly, indulgently, he runs his nose across the ivory skin of my wrist. “Camomile, lavender,” he murmurs, closing his eyes, indulging in my scent. “So fresh and clean,” he says. Then he opens his eyes and stares into my bewildered face, wanting to see my reaction as he says, “you must be a virgin.” My lip trembles in shock, in awe. His eyes eat me up, savoring the tremble of my lips, my wide, terrified eyes. A guard flies through the door “Hands off!” he yells, but Kent has already released my wrist, raising his hands over his head, perfectly calm. “Sorry,” he says, smirking, his eyes on me. “Won’t happen again.” I blink at him, sitting back in my chair. I straighten my shoulders, unable to take my eyes off him. “Are you all right, miss?” the guard says, leaning forward to look me over. “I’m fine,” I say, rubbing my wrist with my other hand. I’m not hurt – just…shocked. I clear my throat and look back down at my papers. “We will…we will proceed.” I work to steel myself, determined to regain control, to finish this interview. I give Lippert a steady glare, raising my chin. I’m tougher than he thinks I am. At least, I hope I am. I pick up my pen again, grateful that my hands aren’t shaking. “Please,” I say, focusing again on the paper. “Can you tell me about the crime for which you were imprisoned? I see,”“Your little skirt,” he says, grinning at the fact that he’s riled me so easily, “is also very precious. You have beautiful legs, and it’s the perfect length to –“ “ Please , sir,” I repeat, surprised to hear it come out in a shaky little growl. “I demand your respect in this process. Please be aware that what I report today will affect the rest of your time in prison, as well as your chances for early release. So I suggest that you take this process seriously.” He enrages me further by laughing at me – actually laughing at me – “Darling,” he says, leaning forward. “I couldn’t take you seriously if I tried. “ My mouth falls open and I blink at him, shocked, but it quickly turns to rage. I slam my hand on the table, but he only laughs harder. “Sir!” I say. “This is an important process!” I hit the table again for emphasis, my hand stinging. He just watches my every movement. “I understand, Doc,” he says. “I’m here, aren’t I? Go ahead. Assess me.” He waves a hand at his body, his powerful muscles, his unyielding gaze. I stare into his eyes and feel overwhelmed, almost hypnotized by his glare. I dart my eyes away, staring down at the floor – anywhere but at him. “You looked away first,” he murmurs, studying me. “On the battlefield, this means you’d have died by my hand. Weak.” Riled, I raise my eyes again to him, determined. “Good,” he laughs. “I like my girls with a little fight in them.” My face goes pale and red at once, enraged, mortified to have fallen for his trick, but also – god damnit – I feel my nipples go hard under my blazer. His eyes move to my chest, as if he knows it, the hum in his chest deepening. I grab my pen again, scrawling words across the paper as fast as I can. Constantly defiant, ruthlessly sociopathic, no remorse. Recommend continued imprisonment, without parole. “This is finished.” I say, decided, gathering my papers as fast as I can and shoving them, crinkled, into my bag. I can hear him laughing softly at me as I hurry. I take a breath, straighten my shoulders, and then give him what I hope is a withering glare as I move towards the door. I pound twice on the metal and the guard lets me out. I don’t look at Lippert again as I start to leave. “Oh, Doctor,” I hear his voice echo behind me. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I turn to hear his parting words. “I’ll see you on the outside,” he says, giving me a dark smirk. “You can count on it.”“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I murmur, my voice trembling as the guard opens the door and I storm out. My paperwork recommends his eternal imprisonment. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll never see him again, and good riddance.

Chapter 4 Chapter 4

“I’m just saying,” Janeen says, shrugging as she slides an omelet out onto a plate. “It’s a red flag when a guy doesn’t want to meet her friends and family. I mean, who even is this Daniel guy, anyway?” I stop dead on the stairs hearing these words, just three steps away from the kitchen. I stay still, hoping to hear what Janeen and dad really think. “ I’m just saying,” dad says, shrugging in his chair at the table. “I think you should trust Fay a little more. She’s a clever girl.” He turns and looks directly at me. “Aren’t you, kid?” I scowl, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping. I take the final steps down into the kitchen and give dad a kiss on the cheek, sitting down in the chair next to him. “I’m smart, but I’m not a kid anymore. Time to update the nickname.”“Never,” he says, smiling at me. “You’re my kiddo forever.” Janeen brings me a plate of eggs, patting me on the head. Even though we’re not related by blood, she treats me just as any condescending big sister would. I came to live with David and Janeen when David married my mom. Even after mom died in her car accident only two years after the wedding, David never gave me any reason to think of him as anything besides my dad. I love him just as much as any blood relation. I have no memories of my biological dad and no idea where he is. “So, what is it about this guy,” Janeen says, settling in her chair across from me. She’s always excited to talk about boys. “There must be something about him, especially because you’ve never called anyone your boyfriend before.” I blush. She’s right but…well, they don’t know yet that my first relationship has already ended in disaster. I’ll make something up in a week or two. “Well, he’s really sweet to me,” I say, picking up my fork and digging into my eggs. “He’s not like the other boys I met. They’re always so loud and annoying. Daniel is…different. A gentleman,” I say with a small smile. And as gay as the day is long , I can’t help but adding internally. The smile falls from my face. But really, they don’t need to know that yet. I eat my eggs quickly, eager to get away from the conversation. “He’s…gentle?” Janeen asks, raising an eyebrow, her voice skeptical. I look up at her, confused, and nod. She laughs. “Oh, poor Fay!” I put my fork down and sit up straight. “What? What’s wrong with that?”“What, he only touches you very delicately? Squires you around town?” Her voice is sarcastic here, saying it as if these are bad things. “Talks to you about books ?”“Yes?” I say, drawing my brows together, getting a little angry. “What’s wrong with that!?”“Fay!” she says, leaning forward and laughing. “Come on, don’t you want a guy who gets your blood running a little bit? Not someone who gives you a little peck on the cheek, but who throws you down, makes you want to climb all over him like –“ “Oooookay,” dad says slowly, interrupting her and holding out his hands between us. There’s a smile on his face, though, good natured. “That’s a little more than a dad needs to hear.” Janeen laughs at this, popping another bite of eggs into her mouth. “Okay, touché, dad, but still. Fay, baby,” she looks at me imploringly. “Are you sure this guy isn’t gay?” My face floods red at this, a deep blush as I look down at my plate. How the hell did she know?! “Oh my god,” she says, leaning forward, all eagerness. “Is he!?”“No!” I protest, stabbing at my eggs with my fork. “He’s –“ But whatever I was going to say is drowned out by Janeen’s roar of laughter. “Come on, Janeen,” dad says, sternly, after a few moments of this. “I’m sure this Daniel is a great guy.” He looks at me, then, a little pity in his eyes. “Like she says, he’s just a gentleman.”“Okay, okay,” Janeen says, wiping away tears of mirth. “I just want more for our Fay baby! You deserve passion in your relationship, as well as respect and…book talk, or whatever you do.” She shrugs. “I’m very happy,” I murmur, finishing my eggs as quick as I can. “Come down to the club with me,” Janeen says, reaching out and taking my hand. I can tell that she’s trying to make amends. “I’m not working tonight, and we can go have some fun! We’ll get free drinks and you can meet the girls!” I look up at her, hesitating. I love Janeen, but we live in totally different worlds. While I’ve spent my life at school and coffee shops, Janeen has been a night owl, working at various clubs as a stripper. Not cheap sleezy places, either, but really high-end ones where they respect her work as a kind of art. She’s very talented, and she makes a ton of money. “Come onnnn” she whines. “We’ll get you more in touch with your body, get your blood flowing.” She dances in her chair, showing us some of her moves, ending with a sexy flick of her long purple hair. I laugh. Janeen has such an effervescent personality, it’s hard not to want to go wherever she’s going. “I’ll think about it,” I say, finishing my plate. “I’ve got some work to do –“ “Work work,” she says, rolling her eyes and scooping up her plate and mine. “You work way too much. Have some fun , baby!” I roll my eyes at her and pat dad on the shoulder as I head into the living room. He picks up his paper, eyes already on the sports section. When Janeen first got started in her profession, I wondered if it bothered dad. But he just said that there’s no stopping Janeen from doing precisely what she wants, so why not go along with it? “Besides,” he had said. “As long as she respects herself, why should I care if she dances in a thong or a tutu? Let her be happy.” I smile at the memory, grateful, again, for such a good dad. In the living room, I open my laptop and open a search engine. My mind drifts to Janeen’s idea that I should get more in touch with my body and my instincts. My cheeks grow red and I find myself – bizarrely – typing Kent Lippert into the search bar. I’m surprised by the results. The news channel that dad watches every night calls Lippert the Mafia King, always detailing his dirty deeds, but the sites I’m looking show him standing in front of a tech company in Silicon Valley, calling him the CEO. Another site lists positive reviews of his many businesses, with employees suggesting that he’s a great boss. Still another…god, is that Brad Pitt he’s shaking hands with in that photo? I gather my hair in my hands, passively starting to braid it as I look through these results, trying to match it with that ruthless man I met in the prison the other day – “Whatcha looking at?” Janeen says, flopping onto the couch and grabbing the laptop out of my hands. “Hey!” I say, snatching at it. “Janeen, give it back!”“Oooohhhh,” she says, scrolling through the photos of Kent on the page. “Now this is a hottie who could light a little fire under me , for sure,” she says, nodding appreciatively. “Who is this guy?”“Kent Lippert,” I say, hugging my knees to my chest. “I had to interview him at the prison the other day. He was…unnerving.” Janeen flicks her eyes to me, considering. “Did he scare you?” I shrug. “A little.” She narrows her eyes a bit, snapping the laptop shut. “Okay, that’s it. You’re coming out with me tonight, baby Fay,” she says, coming across the couch to give me a big hug. “You’ve had a hard week with your gay boyfriend and scary Mafia King. You’ve got to have some fun!” I laugh, letting her wrap me up. “Okay, okay! Geeze, I’ll come.” Little did I know how much these separate aspects of my life would collide in just a few hours.

Chapter 5 Chapter 5

The music pounds in the club and, I have to admit, I’m really starting to have fun. Janeen even dressed me tonight, which would usually make me uncomfortable, but I let her take charge. What she called a “dress” is more a sheet of silver fabric that falls across my front and then wraps low around my hips. It’s strapped together across my shoulders with a spiderweb of silver strings. She also curled my long red hair into waves and gave me shadowy makeup and full red lips. Looking at myself in the club’s mirrored walls, I feel…well, I blush to admit it, but I feel really sexy. Janeen sits down next to me then, laughing, waving goodbye to the man she had been talking with. She turns her attention to me, her eyes a little glazed. “You having fun, baby Fay?” she asks, giving me a wide, inviting smile. I can’t help but smile back. “Yes,” I say, laughing. But then Janeen stiffens next to me. There’s a man standing across the VIP area, his arms crossed, staring at her. As I look, he starts to walk over. Janeen gets quickly to her feet, reaching out her arms to wrap this big fat potato of a man in a hug. I grimace a little – he looks like he hasn’t showered in a while. “Dean!” she says, and I can tell her voice is falsely cheerful. “How you been, gorgeous?”“Janeen,” he says, pushing her way from him. “We’ve got to talk.”“Have you met my little sister, Fay?” she asks, gesturing towards me with a big smile. “Fay, this is Mike Dean, an old friend. He’s the manager of the club.” Dean’s eyes rove over me, taking in the generous portion of my thigh exposed by this little dress. Uncomfortable, I try to tug it down lower with my fist. “Um, hello,” I say, hesitant. He takes Janeen by her elbow. “Come on,” he says. “We’re going to talk around back.”“Okay,” Janeen murmurs, suddenly serious. She leans down to whisper to me. “It’s just work stuff, don’t worry.” I give her a little smile and nod. With that, Janeen follows Dean into the back. They’re gone for a long time. Anxiously, I run my hand over the underwire of my bra, feeling the tiny switch blade that I’ve hidden there. The only possession my mother left to me in her will. I tucked it into my bra tonight, just in case. I don’t really know how to use it, but it calms me to know that it’s there. Half an hour more and the door opens. Dean come out of it but my stomach drops. Where’s my sister? Dean’s eyes catch on me as he starts to move further out into the club. I see him mouth the word “shit,” and then he walks over to me. “Janeen’s sister, right?”“Yes?”“She got sick,” he says. “She’s just throwing up, but she’s a little green around the gills right now,” he says, gesturing towards his own neck. I stand and turn towards the staff door, intending to go find my sister, but he stops me. “No, listen,” he says, “she won’t want you to see her like this. Come with me, I’ll take you some place where you can wait more comfortably.” He pulls me forward. I totter after him, confused and worried, as he pulls me quickly across the club to a black door, pushing it open. The inside is barely lit – a dark room with mirrors on the ceiling and tiny pinpricks of light coming up from the floor. A wide velvet bench wraps itself around the room with little black cocktail tables lined up in front of it. I blink, trying to let my eyes adjust, as Dean settles me into a little table by the door. “Wait here for a bit,” Dean says, looking beyond me. “I’ll have someone bring you a drink. Your sister will be fine soon.” Then, he walks away. Someone does bring me a drink and I take a sip of it, but then, realizing that it might be laced with something, I push it away from me. As my eyes adjust, I look around the room and realize that I’m not alone in here. Bodies, mostly in couples, writhe together on the black velvet seating. Some of them are dancing, but some…well, that girl is on her knees. My eyes go wide as I realize what she is doing. I jump to my feet, blushing and heading for the door. As soon as I reach it, though, Dean comes through it again. “Whoa whoa whoa!” he says, putting up hands to stop me. I shrink in front of him. “Where you going, baby?” he says, rubbing a hand up and down my arm. Instinctually, I jerk my arm away from him. Dean keeps moving towards me, but for every step he takes, I take one backwards. Soon, I feel myself bump into a table behind me. He presses up against me. There’s nowhere else to go. “You’d better be a good girl for me,” Dean whispers, his hot breath on my face. “Or else your sister’s gonna pay. She owes me a lot of money. Tonight, you’re going to work some of it off.” I’m scared to death, a little whimper escaping my mouth. “Do you mind?” The voice drawls from behind Dean. “That’s my psychotherapist you’re harassing there.” I feel Dean’s weight lift off me as he turns towards the voice. I peer behind him, recognizing it, shocked. It can’t be – But there, behind him, stands the Mafia King, his hands cooly pressed in his pockets. “We weren’t quiet finished with our sessions,” Lippert says. “So would you mind getting the fuck off her?”“Okay, boss,” Dean says, putting up his hands. “I didn’t know.” Lippert flicks his chin at him, telling him to get lost. Dean gives me a dirty look as he goes. Lippert moves forward a step and takes my chin between his finger and thumb, turning my face back to him. “Hello, Fay Thompson,” he says, smirking. “Did you miss me?” I stare at him, all thoughts freezing in my mind. Part of me – the sane part – knows I should scream and run. But I’m fixed in place, a mouse caught by a cobra. “Well, doc ,” he purrs. “We’re going to have to put on a little show, for Dean there. If I let you go now, he’ll probably cut your throat for the embarrassment you caused him.” I glance over at the bar and see Dean drinking deeply of some brown liquor, staring at us. My breath ratchets up as I start to panic, as Lippert takes another step closer to me. I’m trapped now – trapped between this king in front of me and the savage by the bar. I want to bolt but I know I can’t. “Just a little show, Fay,” he says. “Shall we make it more convincing?” He slides a hand underneath the gossamer strap that holds my dress up at the shoulder. Slowly, he wraps it around his finger, drawing the fabric taught against my skin. Then he yanks, snapping it. The left corner of my dress front sags down, revealing my silver strapless bra underneath. “You know, doc. ” he breathes, staring down at my chest. “I wanted to do this the first day we met.” As I listen to him I know that it’s not just fear that’s racing through my veins anymore. Something in his face, the desire I see there, makes me want more of it. Makes me want him to want me more. God – what is wrong with me? At the sight of this dangerous man – this criminal – looking at me with hunger in his eyes - I feel a heat between my legs, feel myself grow wet. I stand still, letting him stare at me, wanting him to – My eyes fly wide as I realize the direction of my thoughts. Want him to what , to rape me, here in the strip club? Is this seriously how I want to lose my virginity?! I gasp at the thought of it, again full of fear and panic. My hand flies to my chest, tucking under my bra, grabbing my mother’s switch blade. I yank it down to my side, my hand trembling as I flick it open. Then, steeling myself, I scream as loud as I can and whip my hand up, aiming the blade directly for the side of Lippert’s neck.

Chapter 6 Chapter 6

Kent sees the blade just in time, whipping up his hand to intercept it. The blade slips between his fingers and then drags down his palm, cutting his skin, but just the surface. Growling, Kent grabs Fay’s fist and twists, trapping the knife between their palms, wrenching her wrist back so that she feels the bones grind together. Fay cries out, her body bending to follow her wrist, desperate to keep it from snapping. Kay holds her at his mercy as she gasps for pain and looks up at him with wide eyes. His anger turns to mercy in that moment and he huffs a laugh at the girl. She’s just a frightened little thing. “Clever girl, carrying a knife” Kent says. “To bad you don’t know how to use it. But we’re not going to do that again, are we, Fay?” Fay nods, desperate, and Kent lets her go. Fay falls back against the table, gripping her wrist with her other hand, hissing with relief. She looks around on the floor for her knife, but it’s still in Kent’s hand. Quietly, he slips it into his pocket. Kent takes a moment to study this delicate, beautiful girl. His second in command had wanted to come to this club tonight to check on some business, but Kent’s eyes had gone immediately to Fay as Dean dragged her across the floor to the black door of the Champagne Room. Kent had known, instantly, that this meant trouble. He had moved on instinct, following her into this room, saving her from that low life. But now he was in a bind. Dean was a punk, but he wasn’t unconnected. He ran the best strip club in the city and he used his gang connections to exploit his dancers and take their cash. Kent couldn’t take one of his girls away without making waves with Dean’s boss. If the other bosses knew how quickly Kent had acted to save her, they would see Fay as a weakness, something they could threaten to get what they wanted. Kent ground his teeth, knowing that there was only one option now. If he didn’t protect her now, she’d be dragged right to the bottom of the underworld, fast. Kent snaps his head to his second and nods to the girl in front of him. Then, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room. Behind him, Kent can hear Fay’s protest as his second heaves her over his shoulder in a fireman carry and then quickly follows Kent. “What? Hey!” she exclaims, and then “Please!” Kent turns to glare at his second, who gives Fay a rough shake. She shuts her mouth, then, though Kent hears a whimper escape her lips. He steels himself against the sound. It’s a work of minutes to get out of the club. Nobody says a word to stop the Mafia King from carrying a girl out the front door. Kent’s black Escalade is waiting out front, his second’s behind it. For safety, Kent never has less than two cars in his entourage. Fay’s little cry of fear is cut off as the second places her, not very gently, on in the front seat of the first car and then slams the door. Kent goes around to the driver’s side of the Escalade as the second moves to the other car. Kent’s mind is whirring as he opens the driver’s door and climbs in, making plans for what to do with this unexpected new burden. He peels out onto the road, not looking at her. A few streets later, he’s surprised by the sound of her voice. “Where…” she says, her voice breathy. Kent’s gaze snaps to her, taking in her wide, beautiful eyes, the movement of her throat as she gulps in fear. He sees her jump, almost, at the force of his glare. But then she steels herself. “Where are you taking me?” she demands. Kent returns his eyes to the road. “Please let me go,” she says. “They’ve got my sister back there – I don’t know what they’ll do to her!” Kent makes a note of it in his mind. She tries again. “Please let me go,” she whispers, “I didn’t mean any harm at the prison – or here – I don’t know what I did –“ “You didn’t do anything,” he says, turning onto a side street. Her voice is frantic when she tries again. “Are you…are you taking me to a brothel?” Kent turns to stare at her, his brow furrowed with disgust and confusion. She’s shaking like a leaf in his front seat. “Why would I take you to a brothel, Fay?”“To make me…work there. Pay off my debt. My sister’s debt.” Kent shakes his head again, laughing a dark little laugh. He just saved this girl from Dean, and here she is accusing him of doing precisely what Dean was going to do. Shaking his head, Kent concentrates on the traffic. Truly, this girl was too delicate for his world. Kent sees Fay moving in the seat next to him, dipping to the floor to grab something, but assumes she dropped a piece of her jewelry. It’s quiet for a moment until – click click – he hears the whirring of a mechanism next to him. What was that – a lighter? Frowning, he turns and is shocked to see Fay with a lit lighter, bringing it so close to her perfect face that he can smell the delicate peach fuzz of her cheek burning – “Stop the car,” she demands, her voice shaking, flinching at the pain of the lighter against her skin - “Fay!” He roars. “Stop the car!” she yells. “Or I swear to god, I’ll burn myself!”“Fay, you idiot ” Kent barks, slamming on the breaks. The car skids to a violent stop and Fay flies forward, slamming her ribs into the dashboard, slipping down to the floor. Kent works to control the car’s skid, ensuring they don’t hit any other cars, that they’re not rammed from behind, and then throws the car in park, spinning towards the girl. She’s moaning in pain, her eyes shut, pressing one hand to her ribs. Kent grinds his teeth, frustrated, glancing over her to determine if anything is truly damaged – No, she’s okay, any injuries superficial - “Fay, what the hell was that ,” he grinds out as he reaches into the back of the car for a metal box he keeps there for moments like this, with uncooperative captives. She speaks with her eyes closed, still pressing her hand to her ribs. “If you’re going to make me a prostitute,” she whimpers, “then I don’t want to have this face – maybe you’ll let me work off my debt some other way if I’m disfigured –“ Rolling his eyes, Kent works quickly, pulling a rag out of the box and soaking it in the clear liquid. Then he reaches a hand behind Fay’s neck to hold her head steady. Her eyes fly open as he presses the rag firmly against her nose and mouth. She struggles away from it, but he holds her steady with a practiced hand. When she goes limp, Kent gently lets her body settle against the seat. Kent turns back to the road and puts the car back in drive, his cut palm smarting at his angry grip on the wheel. God damnit, this girl was already more trouble than she was worth. As he drives, Kent feels something in his pocket. Remembering the tiny switchblade, he pulls it out, studying it between glances at the road. So tiny, delicate – so very much like Fay. She’s got an edge to her, too, he thinks, even if she doesn’t know it herself. He never would have thought that a girl like Fay would have a switchblade hidden in her bra. A mistake that almost cost him a scar on his face, he thinks, a smirk pulling at his lips. He glances at Fay, again, resting on the floor of his car. What a strange little woman – full of contradictions, full of life. Despite himself, he is drawn to her. Frowning at the thought, Kent flicks open the switchblade, studying it. At a red light, he looks closer, noticing writing along the razor’s edge. He brings it close to his eye. To my sharp-tongued Victoria, whose words cut as deep as this razor. Love always, Lorenzo. Shocked, Kent stares at the blade in his hand, and then deftly returns it to his pocket. He drags a hand down his face. Victoria. Lorenzo. Fay . Suddenly, he knows exactly who this girl is.

Chapter 7 Chapter 7

I’m in a daze, half in consciousness, half out of it – I hear a moan – did that come? I open my eyes, frowning. Where’s the car? I close my eyes against the warm yellow light of the room. I want to wake up, but I feel sleep pressing me back down – A prick at my finger – I jump at it, pushing away the hands that hold my arm – “It’s all right,” a woman’s soft voice says. “All done now…” Then, a man’s voice – I swim out of the darkness, propelled by fear. I know that voice. “…to the lab, I want fast processing. I want it compared to the bloodline…” I shake my head, groaning. I blink, looking around the finely-furnished room. I don’t know this place. I push myself up until I’m seated with my feel curled beneath me on a chaise lounge. I notice that I’m still wearing my club outfit, but someone has buttoned a man’s white shirt over top of it. As I put my weight on my hands, I feel pain in my finger. I look down to see a Band-Aid on it. What – Suddenly, a hazy memory comes back to me – a woman taking my blood, Lippert telling them to take it to some lab – Panic seizes me - I must be somewhere on Lippert’s property. I grip the fabric of the couch, looking around for some kind of escape. There are windows, but they look out on tree tops – we’re certainly on the second floor or above – Horrible images flood my mind – what the hell does Lippert want with my blood? Is he selling it? Does he want the sample so that he can let his cronies on the black market know my blood type so they can better bid on my organs!? My hands anxiously fly to my hair, tangling in it. I stare at the door. Maybe if I just run – The door swings open and I hold my breath. Kent Lippert stands in the doorway, studying me as I stare at him. I know what he sees – a feral, frightened creature, ready to spring. But he doesn’t laugh at me, or scare me any further. After a long moment, he just closes the door behind him and walks forward. My breath comes faster as he approaches, as he reaches in his pocket, brings forward – oh my god – a knife – I flinch back away from it and he sighs, continuing to hold out his hand. “It’s your knife, Fay. I’m just returning your property.” I go still, glancing between his face and the knife in his hand. My mother’s knife. I leap forward to snatch it out of his palm, but he yanks it away, putting out his other hand to halt my movement. His hand lands squarely on my chest and he gives a tiny shove, pushing me back onto the lounge. “Easy, Fay,” he says, his voice all authority. “I’ll give it back. I just want you to answer some questions first.” I stare up at him, totally freaked out. “And if you don’t answer my questions, Fay Thompson,” he says, leaning forward to loom over me, his voice merely a whisper. “I’ll flush this knife down the drain, and you’ll never see it again.” I clench my jaw and nod, my eyes on my mother’s knife, desperate to get it back. “Where did you get that knife, Fay Thompson?” he asks, straightening up and putting the hand with the knife in his pocket. “My mother,” I say softly, twirling a stray strand of my hair around my index finger. Why does he keep saying my last name like that? “She gave it to me.” He nods slowly, thinking. “When did she give it to you?”“In her will,” I say. “My dad told me to carry it always, to remember her, and for protection.” Lippert cocks his head to the side, curious. “And who, precisely, is your father?” I snap my eyes up at him, frowning. Why does he care who my father is, but not my mother? “None of your business,” I snip. “He’s a good person – you can’t hurt him –“ “Fay,” he says, smiling down at me, a little cruel. “In this town, I can hurt whoever I want. You think you are trying to delay me by holding back his name, but with every minute you hesitate, that’s one more minute of pain. For you. Or him. Or your sister.” My eyes widen in horror at the threat. He smirks at me, a smug cat that has trapped its supper. “Their names, Fay.”“David and Janeen Thompson,” I murmur, not knowing what else to do. “Please,” I say, begging now. “Please don’t hurt them. They’re good people – they’re not involved in…“ In whatever this is. But what is this, anyway? Why am I here? He nods again and takes his hand out of his pocket, offering the blade to me. I snatch it out of his palm. Then, he turns to leave the room. Desperate, I play my trump card. “Please!” I shout after him. “Please don’t hurt them! Daniel wouldn’t want you to!” He pauses at the door, still for a moment. Then, slowly, he turns. “Daniel?” he asks, his eyes close upon me. I nod vigorously. “Daniel, your son? He’s…” I bite my lip, suddenly embarrassed. “He’s my boyfriend.” Kent laughs then – a real, shocked laugh. He wipes a hand down his face, shaking his head. “My son Daniel is your boyfriend,” he says, repeating my words and looking up at the ceiling in disbelief. I nod again, biting my lip against the tiny white lie – he’s not my boyfriend anymore, after all. But I’m desperate for this to work. “Well isn’t that…serendipitous,” he says. Kent is still for a moment and then strides across the room, back towards me. When he gets to the lounge he grabs me by the elbow, pulling me to my feet, shaking me so that I pay attention to his words. “Fay, you little fool, don’t you know who you are ?” His voice is angry, as if frustrated by my incompetence. “I’m – I’m –“ my face is lost in confusion – I just told him who I am – “Who you are , Fay. Haven’t you ever asked any questions about your mother? Your biological father?” He shakes my arm again as if trying to jog my memory. My mouth falls open in shock, confusion. How did he know David’s not my biological dad? Kent is standing close to me now, glaring down into my face. I feel my lower lip tremble traitorously and I pull it into my mouth, desperate not to show weakness. Kent’s eyes flick to my mouth as I do so, watching the action. Slowly, he exhales and, for an instant, pulls me closer. But then he lets me go. “Fay, your dad has been keeping secrets from you. The woman who owned that knife was Victoria O’Leary, the mistress of Lorenzo Alden.” He looks me up and down, letting go of my elbow and crossing his arms. “We did a DNA test,” he continues, “against a secure sample about an hour ago. Your name isn’t Thompson, it’s Alden. Fay Alden. And your father has been looking for you for a long time.” I feel myself sink onto the couch, my breath leaving me. I stare into the distance, dazed. Never – I had never really thought about the identity of my biological dad, never felt any need or desire to. There was one picture of me as a baby with my mother, standing next to a strange man, but I was never really curious - But could it be – My memories of my mother are of a bright, laughing woman, hair as red as mine – how could she – My mother? A mafia mistress? Me, the daughter of a don ? Suddenly there’s a piece of paper from my face. I take it from Kent’s hand with shaking hands and see the confirmation there. Blood sample from patient A is a biological match for paternity with patient B, identified as Lorenzo Alden . “This is…this is my blood?” I breathe, looking up at Kent. He nods down at me, serious. “You’re lucky I found you, Fay,” he says, again crossing his arms. I come back to myself a little at his words and glare at him. Lucky enough to be harassed in a strip club, thrown over someone’s shoulder, and kidnapped? He sees some of the irony in my expression and the corner of his mouth lifts, barely a smile. “This is valuable information, Fay,” Kent continues. “If Dean had been the one to find out, he’d be sending pieces of your DNA – maybe a finger – to Alden as ransom. But Alden is my ally – I’ll have you reunited with your father soon. In one piece.” I crumple the paper in my hands, tossing it to the ground. “DNA doesn’t make a father – I don’t want to be ‘reunited’ with a stranger –“ I stand up, trying to get out, but Kent blocks my way. “You’re in my world now, Fay,” he says. “And in this world, your DNA means more than anything, family means more than anything. And for me? It’s personal.” I look up at him, distracted from my mission to get to the door. “How the hell could this be personal for you? My DNA doesn’t match yours, thank goodness.” I try to push past him but he puts out an arm to stop me, pulling me against his chest so I can’t go any further. Then he wraps his fingers in my hair, tilting my head back, obliging me to look up at him. “Because, the day she was born, Alden’s daughter was promised to my first-born son. Looks like it was no mistake that fate brought you to Daniel,” he says, his eyes roving over my shocked face. “In a few months’ time, you’ll be married to him.”