"I don’t like the idea of my girl stripping, Iris,” my boyfriend Steven says, glaring at me with his arms crossed. “It’s disgusting and impure. And I need my girl to be pure.”

Steven is my college sweetheart – we’ve been dating for nine months, even though he’s graduated. He's very disciplined and reserved, the son of a pastor, though he’s very good to me. He's always stressed that we'll wait until the night of our wedding to be intimate, which makes me feel so respected and safe.

On top of that, he's made millions of dollars trading cryptocurrencies. As someone who grew up with nothing, that financial security makes me feel so protected. He’s the most generous and intelligent guy I'd ever met and I’m so lucky to be with him.

"Steven,” I reply, “I swear to god I would never do anything to betray you at the club – I just dance." I kiss his cheek. "But I'm running late, and we need to pay rent. Everything will be fine."

Lately Steven's tied up his money in some crypto investments. To ensure the best returns, he’s invested everything he has and is staying with me for the moment. He’s been working so hard for the last month, but it’s taking a toll on him. He rarely takes phone calls, doesn’t really leave our place, and he drinks more alcohol than he used to to calm his nerves as he stares at his computer almost all day long.

So, I took up a couple shifts at the strip club to cover us in the meantime. I am a university student in hotel management, but dancing is in my nature - at first it was a weight loss goal as a teenager, then it was a way to hold on to thoughts of my mom, and then it became part of who I am.

Unfortunately, there’s no money in classical ballet, my favorite. So, even though it wasn't what Steven wanted, I took a part-time gig at a strip club and I give Steven my salary to help with his business.

Being an exotic dancer wasn’t my first choice either, but if I can make money from idiots who want to shove their hard-earned dollars into my g-string? I don’t see any shame in that.

Eventually I convinced Steven that this is true – my dancing is just an investment in his company. I am glad he’s letting me help – I just want to do whatever I can to get our life started.

I arrive at the club at 8:00 on the dot, smiling at Pete, my manager, who gives me a nod. The music pounds through the low-lit club and I note that it’s busier than usual tonight. Some of the other dancers wave to me and I wave back, but I make a beeline right for Anthony, who’s already got a big smile on his face just for me.

“Hey cutie,” he says, pulling me close as I slip behind the bar and wrap my arms around his waist.

“Hey gorgeous,” I say, laughing up at him. Anthony – he is gorgeous, but alas, my heart belongs to Steven. And even if it didn’t, Anthony is as gay as a purple handbag. Still, he’s my best friend here, and I love when his bartending shift overlaps with my dancing.

“What’s going on tonight?” I ask as he slings an arm around my shoulders. There’s a busy, exciting vibe and the dancers all have on their flashiest outfits, their best perfume.

“Nothing escapes you, does it, baby?” Anthony replies, I grin at the compliment. “Rumor has it big shots are coming in – mob guys, the real deal. Some are saying that the Mafia King is going to make an appearance.”

“Whoa,” I say, my eyes going wide. “Seriously? Isn’t he…dangerous?”

“Only if you go against him,” Anthony says with a shrug.

“I heard he took out his own brother,” I whisper, leaning close to Anthony and looking around anxiously, like he’s already here. “That he’s completely ruthless –“

Anthony just laughs, shaking his head. “Iris, just don’t do anything to piss him off. For us? The presence of the Mafia King in our club just means money,” he says, grinning. “So, I’ll finally be able to afford that Botox I’ve been dreaming about, and you can hand your asshole boyfriend an even bigger check than you usually do!”

“Shut up,” I say, scowling and smacking my friend half-heartedly on the chest. Anthony, like Emi, isn’t Steven’s biggest fan. “I won’t get any of the money anyway,” I sigh. “Pete never puts me in the VIP room on nights like this.”

“Because you,” Anthony says, teasing me, “only like to shake your little booty – you’re never willing to let anyone touch it –“

“Ew!” I wrinkle my nose at Anthony even as I push away, laughing and hoisting my bag higher on my shoulders. “I’m not letting some old mafia lech touch me for a couple of extra bucks –“

“For how much these guys are going to drop?” Anthony says, raising an eyebrow at me. “Hell, I’ll let them touch me.”

Laughing again, I wave over my shoulder and head for the dressing room. Anthony calls after me, wishing me luck. I blow him a kiss as I move through the curtain.

It’s always better working here on nights like this, when everyone’s in a good mood, even if I am anxious about the prospect of the Mafia King being here.

I mean, he’s been all over the news, and where he goes? Violence seems, inevitably, to follow.

The good mood in the room completely changes all of a sudden when Lily – our top dancer – gives a little moan and collapses to the floor. Our manager Pete is through the curtain a minute later with some of our bouncers, who pick Lily up and carry her to the back.

Pete’s pissed though. He spins, looking around the room with his arms crossed

“You!” he says suddenly, pointing at me. My eyes go wide. “Irene! Come here!”

“Iris,” I correct, and then I bite my lip with anxiety when Pete rolls his eyes like it doesn’t matter and beckons me closer.

“You’re going into VIP for Lily tonight,” he snaps. His eyes flick over me. “And I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit about just being a dancer, all right? ”

He spins me around, shoving me towards the door. “Now get out there and remember what I said - the only answer you have for these mafia bosses is yes.”

My legs shake as I walk towards the curtain.

“Welcome to the stage…Bambi!” The DJ says, using my stage name.

Dancing comes naturally to me – music has always made me feel at home in my body, and when the music is sexy? Well, then I feel sexy too. I whip my hair back at the crescendo of the music, my eyes moving directly to the man in the money seat directly in front of me, who paid a great deal to be there.

As I move my body in slow, sultry ways, the spotlight is on me, which means that I can’t see the details of the VIP’s face. But even without specifics, I can tell that this is the most important man in the room. He just radiates power.

My breath hitches when I look over the powerful lines of his muscled silhouette. If the Mafia King is here, this is definitely him. He looks like a man who belongs in the shadows, and even though there are other men here, I feel like I’m dancing just for him.

The Mafia King’s eyes are fastened on me as I get my six-inch heels beneath my body and slowly raise myself into the air ass-first. I let him get a good look at every bit of me before I smirk, and turn, and move to the pole.

Am I imagining it in the darkness? Or is there something…familiar about the way he watches me?

I let the thought fade, concentrating instead on pulling out all my best tricks. And as I hook my leg around the pole, spinning myself and letting my hair flare out wide, I see that these tricks are working tonight.

Shouts and whistles begin, and the Mafia King leans forward to lay a stack of bills on the stage in front of him.

I almost stutter to a stop.

Seriously? That much cash, this early in my dance?

He leans back in his chair, raising a dark eyebrow at me, inviting me to show him more.

So, I do. I pick up my pace, arching my back as I spin around the pole, climbing up it and sliding slowly down. As my song ends I’m excited to see that there’s quite a bit more money on top of the pile.

“Thanks,” I murmur, crawling across the last bit of stage towards him. “I’m glad you liked my dance.” There really is something familiar about his blue-grey eyes…

I reach for the stacks, but suddenly a meaty hand slams another pile of money down next to it, startling me.

“Double what he’s put down, honey,” the man grinds out, leering, “and I’ll take you in the back for a private dance.”

“Sorry,” I say, casting my lashes down. “I’m just a stage girl.”

I know Pete said to give these guys whatever they wanted, but I’m really not comfortable touching anyone.

“Oh, come on,” the man says, grabbing my chin with his thick fingers and pulling my face up. The Mafia King is immediately on his feet. “Pretty bitch like you? I bet you can do more than just dance –“

I gasp, pulling my face from his hands as I slide off the edge of the stage, wanting to get away from him as soon as possible.

“I said,” the man growls, grabbing me and slapping me in the face with the handful of bills, “that I want you, you little whore. And I’m willing to pay for it, so you’d better fucking –“

I shriek, trying to push away from the man, but he’s so much bigger than me!

Suddenly the man shouts and falls away, his grip making me stumble forward.

When I find my feet, my eyes go wide to see the Mafia King straightening up, blood on his knuckles. The man who grabbed me - he’s laying on the floor and there’s blood pouring from his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I gasp.

“Get him out of here!” the Mafia King shouts over to the bouncers, and then he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket as he turns to glare at me, wiping off his hand. I flinch back a step, surprised by the venom in his eyes.

“Here,” the Mafia King says, dropping my arm and lifting his stack of bills off the stage alongside the two stacks. “Take it, get out of here.”

“Wha…” I breathe as he shoves the money into my hands. “But I…”

“Trust me, Bambi,” he says, his voice dry. “You earned it. Now fucking go.”

He turns away, putting himself between me and the bouncers, and I turn and run for the bar, ducking behind it.

Anthony gapes at me. “Are you all right!?”

“Anthony…” I whisper, holding up the piles of cash in my hands, staring at them in awe.

“Holy shit Iris!” Anthony whispers, stepping closer and staring at the money. “Look at all that fucking cheddar! For a dance!?”

“I know!” I squeak, “this is going to get us so close to paying off the debt –“

Anthony groans, wiping a hand down his face.

“What?” I ask, frowning up at him.

“I just wish you’d spend it on yourself, Iris, instead of that deadbeat.”

“Anthony,” I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “I’m not explaining this to you again.”

He rolls his eyes as I sit down on the little stool at the back of the bar. I always hang out with Anthony after my dances, but if he’s going to be mean I’ll just quietly count my cash. While I do, I mentally compose an email that I’ll send to my old friend Christian later.

Christian – he would understand. He was my brother’s best friend growing up. Even though he only saw me as a little sister, he always understood me more than anyone else. Plus, he called me Daisy, and I just loved that.

I stayed in touch with Christian after he moved away suddenly – but he never replied. And even though I’m sure he doesn’t read my emails…well, I keep up the habit for fun.

Inwardly, I debate how to tell Christian about my night. I want to tell him about my triumph – I’ve always wanted Christian to be proud of me. But I do fudge the truth a little in my emails. For instance, I write that I’m a company dancer, which is true…

I just don’t mention that my style of dance is exotic, not ballet anymore. I smirk a little, excited to tell Christian that I impressed a powerful client and got a big bonus. But how would he feel, really, if I told him that the client was the Mafia king?

I sigh, thinking that Christian probably wouldn’t be happy. He always wanted me to be safe, and dancing for the Mafia King? I’m sure Christian wouldn’t approve.

I’m halfway through deciding precisely how to word my email when I hear my name.

“Is that Iris?” Two men peer around the edge of the bar.

Anthony steps in front of me as I shy away. How did they know my real name? I always go by Bambi here.

“Who’s asking?” Anthony asks, wary.

“None of your business,” the taller of the brutes says, shoving Anthony aside and stepping forward, looming over me. “Hand over that cash, little girl. You’ve been sold - you work for Don Bonetti now.”

My jaw drops almost to the floor.

I stare at the two men in shock, clutching the money to my chest. “What – what the hell are you talking about!?”

“Your little boyfriend,” the smaller guy says, sneering and pushing Anthony away when he tries to get to my side. “He sold you to Don Bonetti as part of his debt.“

“What!?” I shout, jumping to my feet.

The cat house!? They’re trying to make me work as a prostitute!? I stumble backwards, my back pressing into the countertop at the back of the bar. “There must be some mistake – you have the wrong girl –“

“No, we don’t,” the first guy says, reaching out and grabbing my arm. “Iris Scott? Yeah, your boyfriend Steven showed us a picture. We knew you the second you stepped on stage.” He leans closer now, leering into my face. “We also know where you go to school, and where your best friend lives – so don’t even try to escape.”

“Here,” the second guy says, shoving a phone towards me, the video already playing. My attention is immediately fastened on the screen, because I recognize the voice I hear.

I gasp, realizing that it’s Steven. I lean forward, staring at the video, which shows Steven sitting on the couch.

He’s crying, a gun pointed at him, and he’s begging the two men standing before him – telling them to take whatever they want, he just needs more time. My eyes go wide when I hear the next words spill from his mouth, because he offers them me.

Steven tells them everything that I’m a stripper and where I work. When he tells them how much money I bring in every month, their eyebrows go up. One of the mobsters on the screen makes a phone call – maybe confirming the details? I don’t know.

In the video, Steven babbles on, revealing information that shocks me to the core. Steven's entrepreneurial ventures are all a façade. He was secretly performing some backdoor accounting for the mafia. But he embezzled the mafia funds, thinking he could buy and sell crypto without them noticing and keep the profits for himself!

Suddenly, everything makes sense - Steven insisting we get a new apartment really fast, Steven staying inside all the time, Steven drinking more, Steven allowing me to earn money to pay off his debt while he stays in the house staring at the computer all day...

“She’s – she’s a virgin too!” Steven stumbles out in the video, his eyes frantic. “That will be worth more, won’t it? You can like – action off her v-card to the highest bidder!”

I blush and an angry huff of air falls from my lips, not only because that’s a lie but because my boyfriend is actually trying to sweeten the pot! Not only is Steven not fighting for me - he’s trying to get more out of the deal by convincing these mobsters that I’m worth more!

In the video, the mobster gets off the phone and nods to the guy with the gun. Then all three agree to the deal.

Me – all of me, forever, to do whatever they want with – for half of Steven’s debt.

I go pale at that, because either Steven has sold me for a couple of grand, or he is way, way more in debt than I thought he was.

“That’s enough,” the smaller man in front of me snaps, ripping the phone away as the big guy grabs me by the shoulders. “You’re coming with us, pretty girl. Time to get to work.”

“Get your hands off me!” I shout, trying to kick, to rip free – anything. “It’s the twenty-first century! You can’t just buy girls from their boyfriends! This is ridic-“

I shriek, pushing hard at his chest. The big man glances at the smaller man when he sees that I’m frantic, that I won’t go peacefully. “Get the scum bag on the phone.”

Suddenly Steven’s Facetime is flashing before me.

“Steven!” I gasp as his face appears on the screen. “What’s – what’s happening!? Tell these guys to get off of me! I –“

“Iris,” Steven sighs, but a nasty little sneer in his voice steals my voice. I go perfectly still, staring at him. “I told you I didn’t want your dirty money anyway – but you insisted. You dug your own grave with this one.”

My blood runs absolutely cold, wiping out even the fear from my veins. “Tell them to get their hands off me, Steven,” I growl, glaring at him. “If you don’t want my dirty money, fine, but I am not paying another damn cent to your dirty debt –“

“Why don’t you go cry to that ‘old friend’ you’re always emailing,” Steven snaps, his voice nasty. “He’ll get you out of it, won’t he?” He leans forward to the camera.

My jaw drops open because – I mean, I have told Steven so much about how my childhood friendship with Christian means to me, how much I miss him. But I never expected him to throw it in my face like this.

“Just as I thought,” Steven says, rolling his eyes. “You’re just a whore, Iris. Always mooning on about your childhood crush, more dedicated to a memory than to me. If you really did love me, you’d go with these guys willingly to help me pay of this debt! Guess that was a lie too. I always knew you were a hooker – that you worked at that strip club because you like getting these scum bags off –“

“Shut your god damn mouth, Steven,” I snap, and to my surprise he does, turning back to the phone to stare at me. Because I never, ever talk to him like that. “At least Christian would never have treated me this way. But I am going to make you pay for this,” I hiss, “if it is the last thing I ever do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the guy holding me says, jerking me away from the phone. “That’s enough – come on, let’s go.”

The smaller guy ends the call and the big guy starts to haul me away, but I kick and scream, demanding that they get their damn hands off of me.

Suddenly, the sound of a champagne cork pops, and I gasp as champagne sprays over me, dripping down from above.

The guy holding my arms shouts and drops me, starting to wipe at his face into which a stream of champagne is flowing –

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Anthony’s voice rings out. “How could this have happened!? I’m so clumsy!”

But I don’t have time to look at Anthony, or to try to understand the diversion he set up for me - because the big man has dropped my arms.

And I fucking run.

I say a little prayer of thanks to Anthony as I bolt, clutching my money and throwing myself through the curtain at the back of the bar.

Behind me I hear shouting and the sound of something that sounds like a fist on flesh –

God, I hope Anthony is okay –

But there’s no time to worry about him.

I hear another shout as I’m halfway down the hall and I suddenly realize that there’s no way I’m getting into the dressing room without those two jerks seeing me if they give chase. So, I make a split decision and grab the knob to the rarely-used closet I know is here, whipping it open and hurling myself in.

Suddenly, a sound erupts back in the club.BANG BANG!

I gasp, slapping my hands over my ears. God, it sounds like fireworks were lit off inside the club – or like gunshots.

Screams erupt in the VIP room, and girls in the dressing room start to shout and panic as well.

I gasp, pressing myself deeper into the dark closet, listening to pounding footsteps running up and down the hall as everyone tries to run out.

“She must have gone on to the dressing room!” A deep voice shouts just outside the closet door. I bite my lip as hope rushes through me, because that sounded a lot like the big guy.

“What the fuck are you doing in my club?!”

My breath freezes in my chest. My hope is dashed, because that’s Pete, my manager – and he’s stopped right outside the closet door. “Get the fuck out of here! This is a respectable joint – you can’t come in here and -“

“Listen, asshole,” the big guy snarls. I can’t help peering through the crack in the door. The big guy grabs Pete by the collar, curling his bicep so that Pete is basically dangling from his fist, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor.

“We do whatever we want in here, okay?” the big brute snaps, leaning in close to Pete’s face so that it’s sprayed with spittle.

I go pale then as mobster pulls a gun out of his suit jacket, pointing it right at Pete’s head. “Now,” he says, his voice dangerous and soft. “You show me where that girl went.”

“This way –“ Pete’s voice squeaks, his face turning red with fear and lack of air. “I’ll show you –“

Silently, I curse Pete for being a traitor like Steven – though honestly, with a gun to his head, I’m not sure that’s entirely fair.

The big guy lowers Pete, and Pete darts forward, leading him to the dressing room.

I shriek suddenly, my head flying up as I hear two more gunshots and the door whips open.

My eyes are wide with terror as I look, expecting the brute, or his smaller, smarmy friend –

But this man – he’s neither of them – he has dark hair that falls into his eyes, and I gasp in surprise when I see that his shirt is covered in blood.

“Come on, Bambi,” the man snaps, his voice dry as he reaches into the closet and tugs me by the wrist, making me stumble forward into the hall.

I tripping on something on my way out of the closet and my mouth falls immediately open when I catch a glimpse of a body laying in the doorway to the dressing room, blood all around its head –

I can’t fully see at this distance, but I gasp because I’d swear it’s the big brute, the one who was chasing me.

But before I can even look any closer the man tugs me up straight before his shoulder hits me in the stomach and I am lifted up into the air over it, hoisted high as he wraps his arm around the back of my thighs. He holds me tight as he starts to stride back towards the club.

“Let me down!” I shout, pounding on his back as best I can with my hands still full of my cash.

He just shakes me, frustrated, trying to get me to shut up and stop moving as he strides the length of the club, where patrons and dancers are shouting, fleeing for the doors.

I shout along with them, my words mingling with theirs, but this man completely ignores me.

My cries are frantic as I continue to pound on his man’s back – who is he!? Does he work for the Mafia Don who bought me – is he taking me to the whore house!?

I struggle and kick, but I go absolutely still with shock when the man spanks me hard on my mostly-bare ass with the flat of his palm. “Stay still, Bambi,” he orders, laughing, his voice cold. “You’re making this way harder than it needs to be.”

I’m still gaping in shock as he carries me right out the front door.

I turn my head in both directions, trying to see where he’s taking me, and a black SUV skids to a stop immediately in front of the club. The man carrying me doesn’t break his stride, instead carrying me around the car and wrenching the back door open to toss me bodily inside.

He slams the door shut behind me and I pant, my head spinning with anxiety. But I gasp again when I hear someone clear their throat, pressing myself back against the car door when I realize that there is already someone sitting in the dark of the back seat.

I go perfectly still as my eyes rove over the figure, which as much man as it is predator. Broad-shouldered, the man lounges in apparent ease in the seat across from me, his tall frame corded with muscle, power dripping from every inch of him.

Though he sits in darkness, a shaft of light crosses in a streak across his face, revealing those blue eyes that I recognize…

My jaw drops open when I realize that…that it’s the Mafia King.

Who…who is this man? Why am I in his car? Because…the Mafia King is different from Don Bonetti, who apparently owns me now – in fact, they’re famous rivals. So why…

I jump, suddenly, when the front passenger door wrenches open and the man who carried me leaps in.

“Let’s fucking go!” he shouts. “Hit it, Frankie!”

My head snaps to the driver – is that Frankie? – who nods and slams his foot down on the gas, the car ripping forward away from the club.

I start to shake now, both from the cold outside of the club as well as my fear –

Who are these men?

What do they want with me?

Are they…are they going to make me…

“Well, Bambi,” the man on the other side of the car says, bringing my eyes immediately back to him. His voice oddly accents my stage name like he knows it’s fake. “You sure as hell started a lot of trouble for me tonight. We’re going to have to -”

But his words are interrupted by a huge crash and my scream as the rear window of the car shatters, the sound of gunshots echoing in the air.

I scream again, covering my head and ducking down as low as I can go, my feet drifting over the back seat and kicking the Mafia King in the thigh –

“Fucking go, Frankie!” the Mafia King shouts, “they’re on our god damn tail!”

“Get down!” the Mafia King shouts, ducking and throwing his body over mine as Frankie pulls the car hard to the right, our tires squealing on the road.

I scream then, I think, curl back up into my ball, muttering prayers I haven’t said since I was a kid in Catholic grade school, and which I didn’t really believe then. But now I’m begging anyone who might be out there listening to please, please save my life.

The bullets stop, and I feel the Mafia King’s weight lift off of me. I start to raise my own head, but suddenly our whole car wrenches to the side and I can tell, somehow, that we’ve been hit from behind.

“Fucking turn, Frankie!” the Mafia King shouts, frantic, pulsing more bullets out of the broken window.

“I can’t – there’s no place to –“

“Onto 42(nd) street!” the guy in the passenger seat shouts, his voice frustrated and sharp with fear.

“On it!” Frankie shouts now, wrenching the wheel to the side so sharply that the whole car bends to the right –

The car turns up on two wheels and I shout in fear as my body slides across the back seat. Lights flash across the windows and horns blare, because Frankie is cutting off a whole line of traffic to make the turn.

My shout turns to a scream as I go completely airborne, but suddenly hands snatch me, one grabbing my waist, the other flying to my head and covering my skull the moment before it smacks into the glass of the window –

I gasp, my eyes flying open as I’m pulled into the Mafia King’s lap, and as my eyes meet his I realize that if his hand hadn’t been there to take the impact against the glass, my brains would be all over this car right now.

I stare into wide-eyed into his face, which is suddenly so close to mine.

Our SUV rights itself onto four wheels and flies down the street, weaving madly between traffic. The Mafia King as he curses fluidly, ripping his gaze from mine and towards Frankie. He shakes his hand out to get rid of the pain.

“Did we lose them!?”

“You tell me, boss!” Frankie calls over his shoulder, and – with me still in his lap – the King twists, looking out the back window. I look too but…

All I see are taxis, sedans.

No sign of them.

“For now,” the King growls, tense. “We’ve lost them for now.”

He looks for a few more moments but then his body relaxes, just a little bit. He exhales sharply and turns back to the front of the car. “Brown Street apartment, Frank,” he says, cooler now than he was before. “We’ve got to lay low for a while.”

“You got it,” Frankie says, still driving quickly but blending into traffic a little bit more now. After all, nothing screams criminal activity like flying through the city with a broken back window and a kidnapped stripper.

It makes sense that they want to blend, now, so that we can disappear. So that we won’t be found by whoever was chasing us, for whatever reason.

“Please,” I breathe, my voice shaky – and I surprise myself when I hear the word come from my lips. I said it without thinking.

The Mafia King immediately turns his attention to me.

“You can – you can have it all –“ I say, gesturing towards the cash scattered all over the back seat now, blowing lightly in the wind coming through the back window. “Just…let me go…”

The Mafia King studies me for a long moment and the he smirks. “A third of that money was mine not long ago,” he says, his voice cold, calculating. “And I gave it up readily enough for a dance. What makes you think that that,” he says, nodding to the money on the seat and the floor, “is going to be enough to buy your freedom?”

I hesitate, not knowing what the answer should be.

“I’ll – I’ll get you more,” I mumble, desperate. “I can work –“

His smirk deepens and he stares at me, starting to shake his head a little, almost in…disbelief? I don’t know – I don’t get it. I can’t read his expression.

“Please,” I beg, my voice soft as my eyes fill with tears. “Please don’t give me to Don Bonetti…don’t sell me to the cat house…”

The Mafia King’s arm tightens around me as his face falls with sadness, pity even. And suddenly he’s cradling me against him, raising his hand and softly running his knuckles down my cheek, staring into my eyes.

“Iris,” he murmurs, and I go still when I hear my name on his lips.

And suddenly, I remember something. I was too distracted then, but he called me Iris before, didn’t he? After I finished dancing…

Is he somehow connected to Bonetti too?

“How…” I whisper, shaking my head at him in confusion, “how do you know my name?”

“Iris…” he whispers, “don’t you recognize me?”

I pull back a little, studying him, taking in the strong line of his lightly stubbled jaw, his straight nose, the blue-grey eyes under dark brows…. And as I stare at him I realize that there really is something familiar about him, especially about his eyes. I’m not just imagining it. But I can’t put together what…

“You’re the Mafia King,” I murmur, frowning at him, willing my mind to put the pieces together. Because I’m missing something here, I just know it.

“Yes, and?” he says, raising an eyebrow at me in a way that strikes some sort of memory. How – how the hell did I know he was going to raise his eyebrow like that?

“And you…kidnapped me? To get…revenge? On Bonetti? Or because I saw someone get shot? Or…”

He smiles at me, more broadly now, letting his eyes flick over my features. “I kidnapped you to protect you, Daisy.”

My eyes widen as I hear my childhood nickname on his lips and everything snaps into place.

Memories come flooding back to me in an instant.

Late-summer twilights spent running through the back fields with the boy who called me Daisy, after my favorite flower.

Sneaking out at midnight with my brother to go to the house next door, to play board games until dawn with the boy who lived there – where he taught me to play poker.

A thousand winter afternoons building snow forts with my brother and with his laughing, blue-eyed best friend…

“Christian,” I breathe, my fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. I stare at him unblinking, like he’ll disappear if I take my eyes off him for a second – like I’ll lose him again, forever this time.

“Hey, my little one,” he murmurs, softly stroking my cheek. “I will never take my eyes off you. ”