MATTEO
Once again… fuck this broken family.
That thought was the only true religion I had left. It was the only thing that stayed consistent while everything else in my life turned to ash. My father's threats, my mother's cold stares, the snake-like energy of my brothers…it was all a cage. And tonight, I needed to break out of it.
It was another dead night in the club. The air was thick with the smell of expensive gin and cheap desperation. My usual spot was waiting for me in the corner, the black velvet of the booth worn down in exactly the right spots to fit my back. The staff didn't even ask; they just knew I'd show up.
I needed a distraction. I needed something real, something that didn't involve spreadsheets, blood-stained letters, or family loyalty. My craving for a way out was a habit as bad as any drug, and tonight, the itch was unbearable.
A replacement girl appeared on the stage. She was pretty enough, I guess. She tried to grind out a rhythm to the heavy bass, her hips swaying in a way that would have made any other man in this room lose his mind. But I knew immediately: it wasn't her. It wasn't Sin.
I leaned back, watching the pathetic attempt through a cloud of smoke. I took a slow drag of my cigarette and let the heat burn my throat. This girl was moving, sure, but she was just a cheap copy. There was no spark in her eyes. No dangerous, hungry fire in the way she gripped the pole. Her body didn't tell a story; it just went through the motions. Even with the silk mask and the dim lights, she couldn't fool a predator like me.
She cleared the stage and walked toward my booth, trying to catch my eye. She used that same manufactured rhythm, hoping for a tip or a glance. She was smart enough not to touch me; one look at the cold boredom on my face told her everything she needed to know. Tonight, I was starving for something visceral, and she was just a snack I didn't want.
I sighed and lifted my glass, the whiskey burning as it went down. No challenge. No thrill. Nothing in this room felt worth the price of the drink.
Then, a sudden, deliberate thud cut through the music.
Every head in the club snapped toward the stage. A new dancer had just spun down the pole. She didn't just land; she slammed her body into a perfect, aggressive split right on the cold marble. It was loud. It was confident. It was utterly deliberate.
The room erupted. Drunken whistles and gasps filled the air, but I didn't hear them. All I heard was the violent, demanding spike in my own chest. My heart wasn't just beating; it was hammering against my ribs, trying to get out.
My brows furrowed as I leaned forward, dropping the act of being relaxed. I didn't care about the whiskey or the smoke anymore. The way she moved…like every muscle in her body was tight and straining to be worshipped…was different. She didn't just dance. She owned the floor. She looked like a queen claiming a throne made of glass and sin.
And then the cold realization hit me.
It was her. Sin.
My lips curved into a slow, hungry smile. The smoke from my cigarette curled into the air like a filthy promise. Every move she made had a purpose. Every glance she threw over her shoulder, every deep arch of her back, felt like a personal insult to every other woman in the room. She wasn't just performing for the crowd; she was delivering a message. A taunt.
She kept her eyes on some fool in the front row, but I could feel her energy. It was pouring directly into my lap, making my blood thrum with a thick, violent heat. There was something almost sexual in the sheer violence of her performance. The way she dominated the stage made something dark inside me ache. I wanted to seize control. I wanted to throw her down and remind her that some devils don't like playing games. She needed to be broken open. She needed to be claimed.
I smiled wider, feeling the predator in me wake up fully.
I snapped my fingers. A waitress appeared instantly, looking nervous. She knew my face, and she knew my reputation.
"I want that one," I said, nodding toward the stage without taking my eyes off Sin.
Fear flashed across the girl's face. She knew how heavy that request was. "I'll get her right away, Don Matteo," she whispered, scurrying off before I could say another word.
I stood up. My gaze stayed locked on Sin. I didn't care if she had already been paid for the night. I didn't care who she thought she belonged to. In this room, everyone was just a transaction, and right now, her price was about to go through the roof.
She was mine.