Two days to freedom.
Three years of being suffocated. I needed a release.
I walked into the most exclusive underground club in Chicago. I swiped Marcello's credit card. Took the best booth in the house. And ordered eight of the hottest male dancers to my table.
They surrounded me. One poured my drink. One knelt to light my cigarette. Another rubbed his chiseled chest against my shoulder. Anything to please me.
It felt good. To be worshipped. Better than being a toy passed between two psycho brothers.
I was just starting to enjoy my brief moment of freedom.
Then I heard a familiar voice. A voice that made me sick.
"I'm telling you, the second that goddamn wedding is over, you strip that b***h Aria naked. And you toss her in the dirtiest back-alley whorehouse in the city to rot!"
My
