Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 34

Davina's POV:

The next evening.

The pulsing, synthetic beat of the club’s generic dance music vibrated through the thin soles of my heels, a familiar tremor that usually provided a strange sense of grounding, a temporary escape from the gnawing anxiety that had become my unwelcome shadow. Tonight, however, the rhythm felt jarring, discordant with the heavy unease that had settled over the Devil's Club, memories of the private dance I gave to Ezra made my stomach feel unsettled. Almost as if my own being was stuck on that closeness.

I was performing my routine for a man seated at a secluded, plush velvet booth near the dimly lit back corner of the club. His eyes, cold and assessing, followed my every sway and dip with a predatory intensity that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle. He was new, a burly figure with a shaved head that gleamed under the strobing lights, and unsettlingly vacant eyes that seemed to bore right through my carefully constructed facade. Roy, with a forced, oily smile, had introduced him earlier as a “very special guest,” emphasizing the paramount importance of keeping him “entertained.” His name was Ivan.

Throughout my set, Ivan had been insistent, ordering several bottles of exorbitantly priced champagne and repeatedly gesturing for me to join him for a drink at his booth. I’d politely demurred multiple times, offering practiced smiles and vague excuses, but his persistent, unwavering gaze, coupled with Roy’s pointed, almost threatening look from the side of the stage, had ultimately left me with little room for refusal. He’d finally gestured to a luridly colored cocktail on the sticky table – something sugary and undoubtedly watered down – and with a tight knot of apprehension in my stomach, I’d taken a small, obligatory sip, forcing a semblance of polite engagement.

Now, a strange, disorienting dizziness was creeping into my consciousness, a fuzzy lightness in my head that made the already chaotic flashing lights seem to blur and swim before my eyes. My limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, as if filled with lead, and the practiced, almost automatic choreography suddenly required a monumental, draining effort. A queasy wave of nausea rolled through me, and I stumbled precariously on the elevated platform, my ankle twisting slightly.

Ivan’s thick lips stretched into a wide, unsettling smirk, his cold eyes gleaming with a disturbing, knowing amusement. "You don't look so good, my angel." he slurred, his English thick and heavily accented, the endearment dripping with a leering possessiveness. He reached out a heavy hand, the thick, calloused fingers deliberately brushing against the bare skin of my thigh, his touch sending a jolt of icy dread through my already compromised system.

A cold, paralyzing fear washed over me, far more potent and insidious than the weak, syrupy cocktail could account for. Something was terribly wrong. My mind, sluggish and clouded, struggled to grasp the unfolding danger.

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