Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 13

Ezra's POV:

The satisfying click of the magazine sliding back into the Beretta was a small point of order in the chaos that ran this club. The gun oil, slick and dark, mirrored the mood settling over me. Control. That's what this was about. Maintaining it. Roy's hesitant knock on the doorframe was a disruption I didn't welcome.

"Boss?" His voice was tight, a nervous tremor I rarely heard from the usually unflappable manager.

I looked up, the polished steel of the handgun glinting in the low light of my office. "What is it, Roy?"

He shifted his weight, his eyes darting around the room before settling on me, a flicker of apprehension in their depths. "It's Angel... Davina. Her performance..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

A muscle ticked in my jaw. "Get to the point, Roy."

"She... she was good, boss. Really good. The crowd was eating it up. But then..." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "One of the patrons, a regular... he reached out, touched her waist. And she... she pushed him away. Hard. Then she just... ran off stage. Backstage. She refuses to come out."

My grip tightened on the gun. Fury, cold and sharp, lanced through me. Insubordination. Defiance. After I laid out the rules. After the deal. This little firecracker thought she could pull a stunt like that? Embarrass me in front of my clientele?

"Where is she?" My voice was low, dangerous.

Roy swallowed again. "Changing room, boss. Devlin's with her, trying to talk to her."

Talk to her? Words wouldn't be enough. She needed a reminder. A firm one. A demonstration of what happens when she forgets her place. When she forgets who owns her now.

I slammed the Beretta down on the desk, the heavy thud echoing in the sudden silence. Roy flinched. "Stay here. Handle things out there. Tell anyone who asks that Angel's having a... slight technical difficulty. I'll deal with her."

Without waiting for a response, I stalked out of my office, the anger a tight knot in my chest. Each step I took through the dimly lit corridors of the club was fueled by a possessive rage. She was mine. Her body, her time, her obedience. That was the agreement. And she would damn well abide by it. The changing room door was just ahead. Time for Angel to learn a little lesson about not dancing with the devil, if she doesn't want to get burnt.

Davina's POV:

My breath hitched in ragged gasps, the heavy velvet curtains doing little to muffle the pounding of my heart. The backstage area was a dimly lit chaos of discarded costumes and hurried whispers. Devlin was trying to soothe me, her hand a light pressure on my trembling shoulder.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," she murmured, her voice a low counterpoint to the distant throb of the music. "Just breathe. That happens sometimes. Some of these guys are animals."

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