The Mafia's Dark Desire

Chapter One

Price of Survival

Brinda's POV

I was born in a junkyard.

Not a hospital, not a cozy room with soft blankets and warm lights. Just rusted metal, discarded cars, and the cold bite of the wind. My parents didn't want me-maybe because I was born with a heart that beat wrong. A disease that could kill me just as easily as it made me feel different. They didn't care about that, though. All they saw was a problem they couldn't fix. So, they left me there, abandoned in the muck of their disinterest.

But I didn't die.

Someone found me.

Sarah. My stepmother.

She wasn't supposed to have children, but she felt horrified about me being alone down that scrapheap and at once something had changed in her completely. To her, I was destined to be hers no matter what conventions the rest of the world believed. That's how I ended up being swept away in her arms, saved and overtaken back to life. She was my mother in every way that mattered, and I cherished her for that. Now, here I was, twenty-seven years later, a nurse with a steady job, living a life that was a far cry from the one I was born into, yet I felt trapped, like gum stuck under a shoe.

This night found me back at the clubhouse, where I had worked as a stripper to pay for my education. Just as it had been a means to an end-as with nothing more, nothing less-the smoky haze in the air, the clinking of glasses, the lewd whispers- none of it bothered me anymore. Just another world; the world that kept me afloat. Money was now required to take care of Sarah.

A disease that made every breath she took a struggle, and each day harder than the last. COPD chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Poor woman, I am not in a position to afford the best available treatments. But I will keep struggling anyway. Because she has done everything for me.

I crossed the stage. My heels clicked on the floor.

The spotlight was too harsh, really blinding in its intensity, but I didn't flinch. I had learned long ago how to keep my face in a neutral position, how to lose myself in the rhythm of the music. Full house this evening, the atmosphere thick with lust and desperation, and I didn't care. I wasn't here for them. I was here for me-for Sarah.

Initializing my routine, moving with practiced grace: low hum of the music billowed through my body with every beat pulse matching its erratic rhythm to my heart. Sometimes I wonder if it was this imperfection that held me on the ground. constant worry, my father abandoning me, survival... they lived in this broken rhythm.

Every step I took on the sparkling floor was shadowed by the eyes of men who sat like vultures waiting for their prey. Their gazes seem hungry, predatory. I ignored them. Age had taught me long ago to keep myself away from the way they looked at me. I wasn't a Brinda for them. I was a body. Commodity. But then, who cares? It's just business.

That's when I felt it-the shift in the air, the feeling of being scrutinized, truly scrutinized. I only turned my head slightly, just enough to see him. The man in the deep corner of the rear was masked, his face shadowed.

He had been sitting there the entire time, his presence commanding the attention of the room even though he didn't make a sound. His posture was straight, as if the world owed him something. Dark eyes, cold but calculating, studied me from behind the mask, and I felt an icy shiver race down my spine.

Something about him made my stomach turn. I wasn't used to being seen like that-not by someone who didn't care about the performance, but someone who wanted more.

His gaze never wavered as I danced. It felt... unsettling.

I shifted my attention back to the crowd, making my movements sharper and more fluid. If I could keep myself busy enough, I wouldn't think about him at all.

But constantly, he had those eyes on me-those suffocating eyes pulling me down every step along the way.

Finally, it was finished, and I stepped onto the walk down from the stage and into that cooling air off the back room. Sashaying quickly into my robe, I tried to shake off the unsettling feeling in my chest. I could hear the clink of glasses from the main floor, the chatter, the laughter, but absolutely none of it applied at this time.

I hadn't even taken two steps when I heard a voice.

"Brinda."

I froze. His voice was smooth, dark velvet. A voice that belonged to someone who knew what they wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.

I turned toward him, my heart now thumping against my ribcage. His mask was still on, hiding the features of his face. But his eyes... his eyes were an open book, and I didn't want to read it.

He smiled, but it never reached his eyes.

"I didn't expect to find you here," he said with a teasing kind of tone, like he knew something that I didn't. "A nurse by day, a dancer by night. Quite the difference, don't you think?"

I stepped back, fists curled tightly against my sides.

"Not interested," I said, my voice low but resolute.

He chuckled, the sound dark and rich. It sent another shiver through me.

"I didn't come here for your body, Brinda," he said, his voice almost hushed now, like he was imparting a secret meant for no one else to hear. "I came here for you."

I didn't know whether to be insulted or intrigued. I have had dealings with men like him before, probably believing that by their money, their power, and their charm, they can buy anything.

But soberly, there was just something more... some-thing about this one that I couldn't quite place. "Well, I don't know who you are, but I have no interest in whatever it is you're selling," I said with sharper words now and more steel had entered my resolve.

I was not going to be anyone's game; not again. He tilted his head, studying me. "You're a hard woman to read, Brinda. But that's what makes you interesting." A flare of anger kindled within me. Who did this man think he was, speaking to me as if this were some mystery item he could unravel?

Without thinking, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. The sound of my palm hitting his cheek rang out like gunfire in the subsequent stillness. For an instant, I thought I might have crossed a line.

Then, I saw that his eyes were cool, unreadable, and unflinching. "I don't play games," I said with a voice that was low but firm. " I don't know what you're after, you'd better find someone else." For a moment he stood quiet.

That's right, he just stood there, slap still echoing between us. Then a smile started on the corner of his lips as though he'd just received the best gift in the world. "Well, Brinda," he said, his voice as dangerous as soft and low, "I think this just became very interesting."