Chapter 112
Gianna
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The floor was cold against my bare legs, but I didn’t care. I was still wearing the scrap of lace and silk f’d performed in, the sequins stinging my skin every time I moved. My hair was a bird’s nest of hairspray and glitter, and my feet ached from the six-inch heels I’d kicked off near the door.
In the center of our circle, the carpet was covered in a messy mountain of crumpled bills.
We sat there like kids playing a game, but the air in the Rose Garden was heavy and stale. Mama D leaned against the sofa, her hand still hovering near her bruised ribs, her face pale under the harsh overhead light. Bri and Jasmine were hunched over, their fingers moving fast as they smoothed out ones, fives, and twenties. The crinkle of paper was the only sound in the room.
“Twelve hundred from the stage tonight,” Bri muttered, her voice raspy. She added a small stack to the pile. “Plus the private sets. Tasha got another three in tips. Em had a private set that brought in two.”
“It’s not enough,” Jasmine whispered. She didn’t look up. She just kept counting, “At this rate, we won’t even cover the interest Cole added this morning.”
I reached into the top of my corset, pulling out the wad of hundreds I’d tucked away from my last dance. I tossed them into the middle. The heavy paper fluttered down like dead leaves.
Mama D’s eyes followed the money, then slowly lifted to mine. She didn’t look happy. She looked tired, the kind of tired that goes all the way to the bone.
“Gianna,” she said, “Pick it up.”
I looked at her, “What?”
“Take your money and go back to your house,” Mama D said, gesturing with a weak wave of her hand. “This debt… it’s a black hole. It’s ours. We lived it, we built it, and we’ll bleed for it. But you? You have a chance to be clean. You don’t have to put on these rags and shake for men just to throw your life into a fire that’s already burning us down.”
“She’s right, G,” Bri added, her hands never stopping their frantic counting. “You don’t have to do this. You’re the daughter of a fancy man, and the stepdaughter of a man who probably owns half this city. If Salvatore Capone found out you were back on the pole, shaking your ass for low-lifes in a basement, he wouldn’t just be mad. He’d lock you in a cage and throw away the key.”


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