My skin pricks as I stare at it. I hope I’ll look beautiful in this tonight. Just thinking about the looks I’ll get from one of those powerful, handsome masked men, causes my breath to quicken and my pussy to clench. A fiery blush comes to my cheeks, a little bit ashamed at how turned on I am. I don’t engage with them though. I stick to the safety of the trainers. I’m not ready for this to truly be real.
I can’t imagine how the people at school would react if they knew I was attending a place like Club X. A twinge of worry pricks my chest at the thought. I don’t want anyone finding out and I’m filled with anxiety every time I show up at school after a night at Club X. I worry that someone will recognize me and out me. But with how strict the rules are at the club and the non-disclosure agreements that have to be signed just to get through the doors, I let the worry slip by.
I’m still slightly shocked about how I found out about it. Or rather who told me about it. One of the teachers at the high school I work at, Mrs. Nicole Flite, mentioned the place to me after she saw me with my nose stuck in an erotic romance novel over lunch break. She was cautious at first, probably scared that I would look down at her or rat her out to the principal when she told me about the darker elements of the club. But when she saw how intrigued I was by the whole thing, she let loose, filling me in on all the exotic details.
I couldn’t believe that a teacher who looked as sweet and unassuming as her could even be part of such a dark, sexual world like that. But then again… so am I. And now I’m hooked. This place embodies what I’ve been dreaming about after reading my romance novels.
It just took a lot of work to build up the courage for me to go. But I finally did and I don’t regret it at all.
I still haven’t seen Nicole there yet, in the weeks I’ve been going. And I’m not sure I will. From what I know, she’s married with kids and she doesn’t get the chance to go often anymore.
I haven’t been able to go that much either, engrossed with school and work. Only on the weekends.
But now that I have all this free time over the winter break, I’m going to make the most of it.
I slip the red nightgown into my bag, feeling the adrenaline rush through my blood, and walk out of my bedroom, intent on spending a night lost in fantasy.
Chapter 2
Joseph Levi
I bring the whiskey to my lips, taking a swig and then wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
The amber liquid warms my chest with a vicious burn on the way down. I revel in the feeling. I need it just to feel at this point. My life is devoid of anything. I have wealth, I gave up power, and now I’m alone.
I made the right decision though. I left the familia, taking the fall to get the heat off their backs. But now I have nothing and no one. I’m bored, that’s what’s pissing me off.
It’s better than taking over the familia. Even if that does make me an outcast.
I clench and unclench my hands into fists. My knuckles are sore from boxing earlier today. I spend most of my time in the gym in my basement. It’s all I do at this point, workout and survive each day. Just like the prisoner I am. A prison of my own making.
I don’t fit in anywhere. Like the fucking Beast in his castle. I huff a humorless laugh, swirling the whiskey in the glass before taking another swig. I can feel the warmth flowing through every bit of me, coursing through my blood and finally giving me the buzz I was after.
I want to drown in this feeling. I need it just to sleep. The visions of what they’ve done and the blood still on my hands burn into me when I close my eyes.
I killed them. I helped eliminate those thieving, lying murderous bastards. Not for revenge, not for a righteous vindication. Killing the Romanos was a message. One that the community and business partners heard loud and clear.
But someone had to take the fall for it and I was eager to leave. I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want a life of corruption and pain. It’s a ruthless lifestyle. One I was born into.
I stare down at the worn journal in my lap. I’m writing every memory down as they come to me. Partly for documenting it, partly to relive it. It’s fucked up that I’m trapped by the memory of a world I was so eager to leave, but the sins of my past refuse to let me move on. And I don’t know why yet.
I close the leather journal and run my finger along the inscribed name on the front. Passerotto. Little Sparrow.
But that’s not my name. It’s what my mother called me. And this journal is all I have left from her, save a few dark memories.
Joe Levi. Murderer. Villain.
That’s the only name I go by now.
I’m sure this wasn’t what my mother imagined this journal would be used for, but she’s six feet under the cold hard dirt. I down the whiskey at the thought.
I was raised to be ruthless and cold, brought up in an environment that breeds sick fucks, like my own father.
They think I’m corrupt or maybe even a snitch cause the charges got dropped. The ones I was meant to take the fall for, but they don’t know how or why they got dropped. Some think I have more power than I do, which is helpful at times. I’m still feared, which is better than having a target on my back, but it leaves me lonely.
The fire crackles in the large den. I stare at the logs, the fire spilling from the splits between the logs. The back of the brick (fireplace thingy) black with soot.
I enjoy their fear. I need it to continue to survive. What’s worse is that it breathes life into me.
I didn’t have a choice.
Lies! The voices in my head sneer at me. They hiss that I could have done more.
They all should have died. My father, my brother.
I shouldn’t have stopped at just the Romanos.
I set the empty glass down and lean forward, my head in my hands and my elbows on my knees.
I’ve done horrible things. I didn’t have to. I chose to so I could survive. So I didn’t have to run my entire life with the threat of death hanging over my head. But I still didn’t have to do it. And now the memories haunt me.
My phone pings on the end table, drawing my attention and breaking the repetitive thoughts that I can never escape.
I slowly reach for it. There are only three people it could be. I dread the ones from my familia. They can all go fuck off. But they don’t seem to get the message. I read the name on the lit screen and relief and something else flows through me. Comfortability.
Kiersten. Or Madam Lynn as she likes to be called nowadays.
She reminds me of the one good thing I ever did. The whiskey pales in comparison to the warmth that memory brings to my chest.
They left her for dead. But I helped him save her.
It wasn’t enough for all my sins to be forgiven, for all my wrongs to be righted, but I’m proud that she’s still here, even if he isn’t.
She’s a close friend and nothing more. It’s only recently that I’ve begun to leave this house, and it’s because of her. She’s always talking about how she owes me; she has no idea. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m the one who owes her.
She wants to help me, but she can’t. I’m beyond repair and there’s nothing I want from her. It’s a sweet gesture that she tries to fill my dark days with something.
I rub the sleep from my eyes, it feels late in the dim-lit room with the thick drapes closed, but the darkness is just setting in beyond the walls of this house. This prison I keep myself in.