Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 30

Davina's POV:

A few days later.

The early morning shift at "The Daily Grind" was a stark contrast to the late-night world of the Devil's Club. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries, the clientele a mix of sleepy locals grabbing their caffeine fix and students hunched over laptops. I moved behind the counter, the unfamiliar weight of the apron around my waist, the clatter of ceramic mugs a welcome change from the clinking of champagne flutes and the heavy bass vibrations.

It was a means to an end, this second job. Every dollar I earned here was another step, however small, towards the impossible mountain of Ezra’s debt. The tips were meager compared to the Devil’s Club, but the exhaustion that settled in my bones at the end of each day felt… cleaner, somehow. Honest work, even if the circumstances that necessitated it were anything but.

The days blurred into a monotonous cycle of brewing coffee, wiping down counters, and forcing polite smiles. Then night would fall, and I would transform back into Angel, the masked dancer on the pole, the object of lust. It was a schizophrenic existence, two separate worlds colliding within the confines of my weary body.

**********************

Tonight, the Devil's Club was its usual frenetic self, the music pounding, the lights flashing, the air thick with anticipation. My costume, another of Ezra's carefully chosen ensembles – this time a shimmering crimson that felt like liquid fire against my skin – offered a perverse kind of anonymity behind the elaborate, feathered mask. As the music pulsed, I moved, the practiced choreography, a way to lose myself in the rhythm and the burn in my muscles.

Then, through the haze of smoke and flashing lights, I saw him.

Standing near the entrance, a group of boisterous men surrounding him, was Dexter. His familiar, lanky frame, the cocky tilt of his head – I couldn't mistake him. A jolt of pure shock, followed by a wave of icy dread, crashed over me. What was he doing here?

His eyes, scanning the dimly lit club, landed on the stage. His jaw dropped, his expression shifting from drunken amusement to stunned disbelief. Recognition flashed across his face, a dawning horror that mirrored my own. He knew. He knew it was me.

Panic seized me. My carefully constructed composure shattered. This couldn't happen. He couldn't know. The shame, the potential repercussions…

Dexter didn't linger. His face pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disgust, he turned abruptly and pushed his way through his bewildered friends, heading for the exit.

Without thinking, without considering the consequences, I stopped mid-routine, my breath catching in my throat. The music still pulsed around me, the confused murmurs of the audience washing over me. Ignoring Roy’s furious gesticulations from the side of the stage, I scrambled down the pole, my bare feet hitting the cold floor.

I had to stop him. I had to explain… or beg him to keep silent.

Pushing past bewildered patrons, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I ran towards the entrance, my crimson costume a stark beacon in the dimly lit club. I caught a glimpse of Dexter disappearing through the heavy double doors and burst out into the cool night air, the sounds of the club fading behind me.

"Dexter!" I called out, my voice hoarse, the word swallowed by the night. He was already halfway down the street, his long strides eating up the distance. "Dexter, wait!"

He hesitated, his shoulders slumping slightly, then turned slowly, his face a mask of shock and a profound, wounded disappointment. The boisterous laughter of his friends echoed from the club entrance, a stark contrast to the silent, charged air between us. The two worlds of my fractured existence had collided, and the fallout felt devastating.

********************

I pushed the door open. Dexter was there. He sat on the sofa, a smug, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched Lexi, her face still blotchy and tear-streaked, and mom, her expression a mask of cold fury. He looked almost… triumphant.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence," Dexter said, his voice dripping with a false concern that made my stomach churn. "Did you have a good night out, Davina?"

My heart sank. He told them.. He had painted me as some shameful pariah, basking in their shock and disgust.

Mom didn't even look at me. Her gaze was fixed on some distant point, her jaw tight. Lexi, however, turned, her eyes filled with a raw hurt that pierced me more than any anger.

"So it's true," Lexi whispered, her voice trembling. "Dexter told us… about the club."

I swallowed hard, the bitter taste of betrayal rising in my throat. "Yes," I admitted, my voice barely audible. "It's true."

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