Chapter 2 2

I called the police. For a brief, flickering moment, I questioned whether it was the right decision but once the panic stopped clouding my judgment and I could think again, I told myself the truth: there was no way the police would see a terrified student as a suspect. Or at least, I prayed they wouldn't.

Three police cruisers arrived within minutes. They roped off the alley and started swarming the scene, locking it down and immediately homing in on me the lone witness. I repeated my story again and again, four different times, to four different officers, until my voice grew hoarse and my nerves frayed at the edges. I was desperate to go home, desperate to lie down and let the weight of the night slide off me. But my sagging shoulders, trembling knees, and bloodshot eyes did nothing to soften their line of questioning.

Detective Teodoro was the fourth and, by far, the most grating. He cleared his throat and glanced at his notepad, his brow furrowed in skepticism.

"So, let me get this straight," he began. "The victim stole your wallet and ran into the alley. Then someone killed him, and somehow your wallet with all your documents just ended up next to the body?"

"That's exactly what happened," I said, steady but exhausted.

He narrowed his eyes. "You're awfully calm, Ms. Crivelli. You're a twenty-two-year-old college student who just witnessed a gruesome murder. I've been in this job for years, and even I find this scene disturbing. Don't you think your lack of emotion is a bit... suspicious?"

I could have told him I wasn't calm just too drained to show it. But his words dug deeper than I expected. A bitter smirk twisted my mouth.

"I've seen death before," I murmured. The image of my parents' car wreck flickered through my mind. I was six when they died. I still remembered the way their eyes looked... just before the light left them. "That scene was worse than this."

The detective hesitated, then offered a half-hearted apology.

I nodded once, letting it pass. Then I met his gaze, unwavering. "And before you start pointing fingers, I suggest you check the security camera." I gestured toward the device mounted on the building across from us. "I never left this spot. The footage will prove it."

Detective Teodoro chuckled dryly. "Who said I was accusing you?"

I shrugged. "No one. Just a feeling." But I knew better. Trouble liked to follow me. I was Domitilla Crivelli, Bad Luck Incarnate.

And speaking of misfortune...

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to swallow my pride. "Detective... about the money in my wallet. I know this probably sounds inappropriate, but I need to pay rent in the morning, and "

"I'm sorry, Ms. Crivelli," he interrupted, his expression turning sympathetic. "We need to process everything for forensics. We can notify your bank, but the paperwork... it might take a while."

"How long?" I asked, voice cracking.

He scratched his chin again. "A month. Maybe two."

The air left my lungs like I'd been punched. My landlord would never wait that long. I might beg him for a day or two, tops, but a month? My knees nearly buckled under the weight of it.

"You can go home now," the detective said, nodding once before turning back to the body.

As I watched him walk away, I felt my stomach twist. It was strange I barely cared that a man had just been murdered in front of me. I cared more about the bloody ruin of my rent money lying beside him.

"What the hell am I going to do?" I whispered to no one, my face pale as a ghost.

"Excuse me," came a voice from behind me.

I turned and found another officer standing there. His cap cast a shadow across most of his face, revealing only his lips full, curved in a knowing half-smile. The voice was deep, fluid, and unfamiliar in its accent almost aristocratic.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to overhear, but it sounds like you're in need of work... and money."

Any other time, I would've told him to mind his business. But desperation was a powerful silencer.

I managed a weak, wry smile. "My rent money soaked up the blood of a dead man."

He laughed softly, covering his mouth with an elegant hand. None of the other cops had looked at the scene with anything but disgust. This one? He seemed untouched almost amused.

"My friend owns a nightclub," he offered. "They're hiring. Waitresses. The pay is... generous. You might even earn four figures in a single night." He handed me a business card.

I stared at the thick, engraved paper. "Velluto Nero," I read aloud.

He noticed my suspicion immediately. His smile widened.

"No, they don't sell drugs, and it's not a brothel. It's legal."

I gave him a skeptical look. "A cop recruiting waitresses for a nightclub? That's... different."

He shrugged. "You're of age, and clearly in need. I'm not recruiting. I'm offering help." Then he leaned in slightly. "I'm Fosco."

My name caught in my throat for a second. "Domitilla," I finally said. "Nice to "

A sudden shout from the alley cut me off. I turned, heart jumping, only to realize it was just the tech team arguing. When I looked back... Fosco was gone.

I scanned the street, hoping to find him among the uniformed officers, but he'd vanished. Just like that.

Sleep never came.

Despite the exhaustion clawing at my bones, I tossed and turned, my thoughts spinning like a broken record. Every time I closed my eyes, the image of the man's neck, torn open and bleeding across the pavement, burned itself behind my eyelids.

Maybe I wasn't as numb to death as I thought. Or maybe it was the realization that if the killer had seen me... I'd be lying in a pool of blood too.

"Get a grip, Domitilla," I muttered.

At some point, I found myself holding the business card, eyes fixed on the elegant logo. I'd worked service jobs before waitressing, bartending but never at a club. The word alone conjured images of stiletto heels and tight dresses, girls leaning in too close to men with too much money and too little conscience.

My gut screamed to run.

At eight, the landlord showed up. I told him everything. He didn't believe a word of it.

Thirty minutes of begging got me a three-day extension. Just three. The tears came the moment he left.

I stared at the business card for what felt like an eternity. Then I dialed the number.

A woman answered.

"Yes, recruitment starts today at nine. Wear something... enticing," she said smoothly.

My heart dropped. "Enticing?"

"Don't worry," she added with a smirk I could hear through the phone. "No one will touch you... unless you want them to."

I hung up, laughter bubbling from my throat half hysterical, half horrified.

Lavinia would have a field day if she knew. Maybe she was right to mock me.

But I wasn't some naive girl looking to sell herself. I wasn't the type. I'd rather starve than lose my dignity.

Still... I had dreamed of selling my soul to a hot demon more than once though only in the safety of a spicy romance novel. And demons weren't real.

I dressed in what I had: jeans, a white top, sneakers. My only "enticing" dress had been clawed to death by a rat weeks ago.

I left the house with my hair down and my pride hanging by a thread.

The club sat in a renovated industrial building elegant, ominous. A line of women stretched outside. Every single one of them looked like they'd walked off a runway.

I stuck out like a bruised thumb.

"Lost, Princess?" one of them sneered.

I ignored her and took my place at the back.

A man with reddish hair opened the door. "Welcome to Velluto Nero," he said with a low bow. "I'm Ermes, the manager. Please, come in."

Inside, the club was a surreal blend of Gothic elegance and steel modernity. Brick walls. Velvet booths. A round bar in the center like a throne.

"Stand in a circle," Ermes ordered.

"I hope you're not choosing people based on looks alone," one girl scoffed, arms crossed under barely-there fabric.

"I don't need to ask about your experience," Ermes said smoothly. "I'll know."

His words sent a shiver down my back.

He studied us, pausing when he reached me. His eyes moved slowly from my sneakers to my messy waves, eyebrows lifting in silent intrigue.

"Interesting," he murmured.

I stepped back, wishing I could disappear. Then I felt it another gaze. My head snapped up.

He stood on the balcony above.

Tall. Dark suit. Black shirt. Broad shoulders. Pale skin. Eyes like obsidian, watching me with a hunger that stole my breath. It wasn't lust. It was deeper like he could read me, unravel me, expose every secret I'd ever buried.

Then he looked away.

The spell broke. I shook, dizzy, breathless.

"Ms. Crivelli?"

I turned, startled by Ermes' hand on my shoulder.

"Yes?" I whispered.

"You're hired." He smiled like the devil himself.

And I... had no idea what I'd just gotten myself into.