by Nyx, Angel
Black Tears
Angel Nyx
Angel Nyx Publishing, LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidences are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
Copyright 2017 by Angel Nyx. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Angel Nyx Publishing
Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs
Logo by Elizabeth Rupp @ Wild Spirit Designs
For Kathy. Thanks, girl, for always being there. Gio is for you.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty One
Chapter Forty Two
Chapter Forty Three
Chapter Forty Four
Chapter Forty Five
Chapter Forty Six
Chapter Forty Seven
Chapter Forty Eight
Chapter Forty Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty One
Chapter Fifty Two
Chapter Fifty Three
Chapter Fifty Four
Chapter Fifty Five
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
Glossary
Acknowledgments
Other Books
About the Author
Chapter One
Carly
This is not what I'd planned for my future. I don't think anyone ever really plans to have this kind of life. I mean, really, what little girl is going to say she wants to be a stripper when she grows up?
Sometimes though, you just have to swallow your pride and suck it up. When you grow up in the Lower 9th Ward, one of the worst neighborhoods in New Orleans, well, you have two choices. You either join the local 'gang', not that they were anything like the gangs you found in big cities like Chicago, or you do whatever you have to in order to move out of the neighborhood.
When I was sixteen, I found out I was pregnant. My boyfriend, Rico, was eighteen and mixed up with the wrong people. Still, he wanted to take care of me and our baby. He was going to get a full time job and find us a place to live.
He had big plans to marry me and raise our baby together. Those plans ended when he was killed in a drive-by shooting. Wrong damn place, wrong damn time.
His death left me heartbroken and facing single parenthood before I was even an adult. I dropped out of school and got a job as a waitress until I got too far along to work. As soon as my son was born, my mother made me go back to work. I guess I was lucky. She didn't kick me out when I got pregnant like my friend Gina's mom did to her.
For the first couple of years I tried to make enough to help with the bills and get my son the things he needed. By the time Eli was three, we were able to move into Hollygrove. It wasn't one of the best neighborhoods, but it was slightly better than the lower 9th. Still, things were tight. So often, I went without because there just wasn't enough money to go around. I was talking with my girl, Camille, about how hard it was to pay my bills on my crappy waitress job, when she told me about the job she'd just gotten as an 'exotic dancer'. Such a fancy word for stripper. She'd made more money in two days than I did in a week.
I did a lot of thinking after she went home. Was I willing to sacrifice my self esteem by taking my clothes off in front of a bunch of strangers? If it was just me, my answer would have been no, but it wasn't just me. I had Eli to think about. That little boy didn't deserve to suffer by going without the things he needed. He didn't ask to be born. He deserved better and I wanted to be able to give him a better life than the one I'd had.
I’d had to get a fake ID to work at Dangerous Curves. I wasn't twenty-one yet, I’d still had a few months to go, but the owner had accepted the fake ID and paid me under the table until my twenty-first birthday.
That was six years ago. Six years of taking my clothes off in front of mostly horny men who tended to get a bit grabby when they were drunk. Six years of putting up with a boss who thought just because we took our clothes off for money it meant he could grope us whenever he wanted to. Six years of not being able to look myself in the mirror, most days.
“Lola, you've got a request. Private lap dance.”
Lola was the name I went by here at work. No way in hell was I going to give someone there my real name. The lap dances were my least favorite thing but they usually got me a nice tip. Or, they would if our boss, Harry, didn't pilfer part of the money we made every night. He was such a bastard. But what were we going to do? It wasn't like we could go to our union rep about it, or complain to the Better Business Bureau. Most people looked down on strippers for taking their clothes off in front of strangers. A lot of those same people didn't mind flashing money to get some girl to shake her tits and ass in their faces though. Yeah, people were fucking hypocrites.
“Hello, lover. Let me guess, you're celebrating a birthday?” The guy who'd requested me looked like he might be old enough to drink. At least it wasn't one of the old geezers that came in here wanting a lap dance. Those make me fucking cringe. They think that, because they’re old, they can grope all they want and get away with it.
“Yeah. My twenty-first. A couple of my buddies said you give the best lap dances.”
“I do try.” I winked at him and got the music going. It was a dark, sexy song that helped me to forget about where I was so I could do the job and get paid. “Rules are, you don't get to touch unless you're invited to. Just sit back and enjoy.”
By the time the private lap dance was done, I was pretty sure the kid jizzed himself. I know, I'm not that much older than him, but the wide-eyed innocence on his face made me feel so much older. I don't think I ever looked that young or innocent.
Chapter Two
Gio
I knew something was up the moment I got the summons to my father's office. My father, Vincenzo Marchetti, is head of the Marchetti family. We're the only famiglia in New Orleans. The last 'known' mafia family in New Orleans was the Dixie Mafia, but they've been pretty much irrelevant since the early 80's.
How did a branch of the Italian Mafia end up setting up shop in the middle of New Orleans? That's a long damn story. I'll try to ma
ke it short, though. See, my pop was already starting to make a name for himself in Chicago, with the Ricci Crime Family, one of the most influential famiglias in Chi-Town, by the time he was twenty. His Don trusted him with one of his most precious possessions; his daughter, Carmela. He sent my pop down to New Orleans, where she was in college, to keep an eye on her. Being her bodyguard meant they spent a lot of time together. It also meant feelings developed. When Pop asked his Don for her hand in marriage, he was welcomed with open arms. He and Mama could have returned to Chicago after she graduated, but Mama fell in love with the Crescent City and whatever Mama wanted, Mama got. What she wanted was to make New Orleans home. Over time, other members of la famiglia moved to New Orleans and made it home, as well. Where, in the past it was just Pop slowly building up a base of operations, we now had our own little empire here in The Big Easy.
With there not being any competition from other famiglias we have our fingers in a lot of pots here in New Orleans. You name it, we're more than likely involved with it. I started out as a courier for la famiglia, then moved up to a bruiser, and now I specialize in turning newly acquired businesses around, all while keeping an eye on some of our other operations. You might say I was Pop’s right hand man.
Stepping into my father's office, I took the seat across the desk from him. He was on the phone, and no one, I mean no one, interrupted Vincenzo Marchetti when he was on the phone. Not if they wanted to continue breathing, anyway. I was pulled from my thoughts when he set the phone down and turned his attention to me.
“Gio, I have an acquisition for you to take a look at. We've recently acquired an exotic dance club. The rumors coming out of the place have me concerned. Go in, see what you can find out, then we will deal with it.”
I knew what he meant. He didn't want them to know who I was. “You got it, Pop.” An exotic dance club might seem like an odd business for a mob family to run, but my Pop doesn't like stereotypes. If the business is in an area that could bring in the cash, he didn't care what it was; he went after it. And he always got whatever business he targeted.
“Good. The name of the club is Dangerous Curves. There's rumors that some of the dancers are coerced into having sex with customers and management has been allowing it to happen.”
“Che cazzo? I'll find out what we need to know, and make changes where they're needed. After discussing them with you.”
“Bene.”
I nodded and rose from my seat. That was my cue to leave. I had a club I needed to go check out. Some nights I really loved my job.
Dangerous Curves. Walking up to the front doors, I immediately saw one problem that needed to be rectified. The bouncer was letting some women in without even asking for their ID. Sure, they were scantily dressed and flirting with him, but if they were under 21, he was putting our newly acquired business at risk. He would be the first to go.
Once inside, I gave my eyes time to adjust to the lighting, then stood on the raised area that had stairs leading down to the ground, taking it all in. The décor needed an update; some of it was shabby – like the fucking floors – but overall it had a surprisingly romantic ambiance to it. One thing was for sure, the place was jumping. Every table was taken and from where I was standing, the bar appeared to be packed as well.
“Hi there, Sugar. First time in Dangerous Curves?”
I looked down at the blonde who was talking to me and cocked a brow at her.
“First timers always have that look on their faces. They come in here thinking we're going to look like every other strip club they've been into. Dingy lighting, half naked women walking around serving drinks, and lap dances happening right out in the open. That's so de classe. First timers get a discount on a private lap dance from any one of the girls; customer's choice.”
“Good to know. I'll keep that in mind.” I moved away from the blonde, despite the obvious invitation she was giving me, and made my way toward the bar. I needed a fucking drink, and it would give me the chance to scope out how the bartender treated the waitresses. I was halfway to the bar when I suddenly found myself with an armful of lusciousness. The woman was wearing a sheer robe, open to show off the goods, and my eyes were drawn to her smooth, tanned skin. The only thing sexier was the pair of dark eyes that locked with mine when I kept her from being knocked over by some drunk son of a bitch. Her heart shaped face was surrounded by black curls that hung to her waist. With those dark curls and eyes, I found myself wondering if she was Italian. Or maybe she was Latina. Fuck, she was gorgeous. Too bad she was one of the dancers.
Chapter Three
Carly
After finishing the lap dance for the birthday boy, and promising to not breathe a word to his buddies about him jizzing in his boxers, I left the private area to grab a drink before I had to get on stage. The main floor of the club was a madhouse tonight and I was threading my way through the crowd when some drunk asshole lost his balance and crashed into me.
Thanks to the spiked heels on my feet, I lost my balance. And found myself pressed up against a very hard, very muscular chest. My gaze lifted up and up until I locked eyes with the man who'd caught me. He was a God. That was all there was to it. Fine, chiseled jaw, aristocratic nose, dark hair that looked like he'd run his fingers through it and made me wonder what it looked like after a good fucking, and a pair of dark eyes that sucked me in. I didn't want him to let go, but much to my disappointment, he stepped back once I was back on my feet.
“You okay, Bella?”
Oh sweet baby Jesus. He was Italian. That was my kryptonite. Rico had come from an Italian family, too. That’s why, even though I was Latina and creole, my son had an Italian name. “I am now, Gorgeous. Thanks for catching me before I landed on my ass.”
He chuckled and cocked a brow. “It's too nice of an ass for it to hit the floor.”
I watched as he turned to the guy who'd knocked into me.
“You owe the lady an apology, asshole.”
“Lady? What lady? I don't see no ladies in here. Just bitches and whores. A lady doesn't walk around showing off her tits and pussy for any guy to look at and grope.”
His voice slurred as he spoke and when he reached out like he was going to grope me, for emphasis, the Italian stallion next to me grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip.
“Watch your mouth. Apologize, now, or I'll break your fucking hand.”
Whoever this guy was, he was going above and beyond being a good Samaritan.
“Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to knock into you...or insult you...or try to grab you.” The drunk's voice squeaked at the end. As soon as his wrist was free, he was rubbing it.
“Get lost. Now.” The drunk didn't waste any time in disappearing into the crowd. “Are you sure you're all right, Bella? He didn't hurt you?”
I shook my head at his question. I'd been staring at him, mouth slightly opened, but managed to close it before he looked at me. “That wasn't anything I haven't dealt with before. It's to be expected when you take your clothes off for money. Men see you and think you're a whore, ignoring the fact that a whore has sex for money, a stripper doesn't.” I had a hard time keeping eye contact at the end because, while it was technically true, a stripper just took her clothes off for money, things didn't always work that way behind the scenes. “I'm Lola. If you're interested in a private lap dance, Stallion, I'm free after my performance. Shit, I need to get backstage and get ready.” So much for that drink I'd needed.
He leaned in close and growled in my ear. “And what if I wanted something more than a dance?”
I let my gaze travel over him. I didn't fuck the customers, that was the one line I didn't cross, no matter how much Harry tried to force me to, but for the Italian stallion in front of me, I was mighty tempted to rethink that. “Sorry. If that's your thing, you'd do better with one of the other girls.” My morals might have taken a beating since I'd become a dancer, but if I crossed that line, I knew I wouldn't be able to look myself in the mirror.
I felt his eyes o
n me as I sauntered away from him. When I reached the area leading backstage, I glanced over my shoulder and sure enough, his eyes were glued to my backside. I put a little more sway into my walk, winked at him, and disappeared into the back.
Each dancer had three solo performances and at least one group performance every night. I usually waited until the end of my shift to do my group performance. For tonight's group thing, each of us was dressed as a dominatrix. As I pushed my tits up into the black leather top that wouldn't stay on for long, my thoughts turned to the Italian stallion, the Roman god, who'd gotten me wet the moment he'd called me Bella. Would he take me up on the offer of a lap dance? Part of me hoped he did. Hell, not just part. The man was sexy as sin. Yeah, I wouldn't mind it a bit if he wanted a private lap dance.
Sauntering out onto the stage, I couldn't stop my eyes from searching him out. Too bad the light in my eyes made it almost impossible. The one, and only, thing I like about this job is the music. As it began, I lost myself in it. While the music played, I could forget about the shame I felt every time I took my clothes off.
Moving to the edge of the stage, my eyes locked onto the sexy as sin Italian and for a moment no one else existed. Then I turned, top gone and tits exposed with just pasties over my nipples, and the moment was gone.
Chapter Four
Gio
If I thought watching her ass sway as she walked away from me was hot, seeing her up on that stage was scorching. I don't date the staff, I sure as hell don't fuck them, but if she asked me to, I'd bend her over one of the tables in a heartbeat. Or I'd pin her against the wall. Or maybe both. Yeah, both sounded like a really good idea. Shit. I needed to get myself under control.
Every time she got close enough to the edge of the stage for a customer to slip some bills into the thong she wore, I had to stop myself from reacting. The thought of any of these fuckers touching her pissed me off. It didn't make any damn sense. I needed to get my shit together because I had a job to do and that wasn't going to happen if I couldn't focus.
