The mafias Angel

Episode four

Chapter Four

Samantha’s POV

The city never truly slept. At night it only changed its mask. The daylight sellers packed their stalls, the children’s laughter faded into homes, and in their place came the neon glow, the bass of music thumping through walls, and women dressed in sequins and smoke.

That was the mask I had to wear now.

I sat in front of the cracked mirror in my apartment, a stranger staring back at me. My hair, usually tied in a tight braid for training, now spilled loose around my shoulders, dyed darker to shadow my features. Heavy makeup painted my face, eyes lined black, lips a bold red. The girl who once dreamed of chasing criminals through the streets was gone. Tonight, in her place, stood a woman who sold fantasies.

My stomach turned at the thought. But I forced myself to keep steady hands as I adjusted the cheap dress I had bought from the corner shop. It clung to me in ways I wasn’t used to, the fabric shimmering under the dim bulb. Every inch of me screamed discomfort. That was good. If I hated it, then it meant they would believe it.

Because I wasn’t going into Bruno’s world as a fighter or a spy with sharp eyes. No. I was going in as the lowest, easiest thing for them to underestimate—a dancer in a club. A body to be looked at, not a mind to be feared.

I slipped the small blade into the strap of my thigh-high boot. Invisible but close enough if I needed it. I glanced at myself one last time, my heart pounding. Then I whispered the promise I had made last night.

For you, Mother. For you, Father. For revenge.

And I left.

The nightclub’s lights cut into the night like blades. Red, blue, green. The sign above flickered, buzzing against the darkness. A line of men waited outside, some laughing, some too drunk to stand straight. Cigarette smoke curled in the air, mixing with the thick perfume of the women who leaned against the walls, inviting stares.

I pushed through the line with confidence I didn’t feel. Inside, the air was heavier—thick with sweat, alcohol, and something darker, a hunger that clung to every table, every hand gripping a glass. Music thundered from the speakers, the beat vibrating in my bones.

Girls twirled on the stage poles, their bodies gleaming under sharp lights, while others circled the crowd, draping themselves over men with wallets fat enough to spend. Laughter and shouts clashed with the music, a storm of chaos that tried to swallow me whole.

But I didn’t let it. I moved with purpose, scanning the place as though I was one of them—just another girl looking for work, not the woman plotting vengeance.

At the far end of the bar, a man in a dark suit leaned back, his eyes following the dancers with a bored look. He wasn’t drinking, just watching. Something about his stillness marked him as different from the rest. I knew instantly—this was the one I needed. The recruiter.

I forced my steps toward him, heels clicking against the sticky floor.

“You looking for girls?” I asked, pitching my voice lower, softer, just the way I’d practiced.

His gaze slid over me, sharp but uninterested, as though measuring meat. “Maybe. Depends.”

“I can dance,” I said quickly. “Stage. Private. Whatever the club needs.”

“Got experience?” he asked, his tone flat.

“Yes.” The lie rolled off my tongue. “Three years. Different places. I move well.”

He studied me longer, his silence pressing into my skin. Then he stood, motioning with two fingers. “Follow.”

I followed him down a narrow hallway behind the stage, past doors that pulsed with muffled laughter and moans. The walls smelled of sweat and perfume. My chest tightened, but I forced myself forward.

At the end, he opened a door. Inside was a small room, bare except for a stage pole and a low light.

“Show me,” he said.

My throat went dry. This was it—the test. If I failed, the door out might never open again.

I stepped onto the small stage, my palms damp. The music outside thumped like a heartbeat. I closed my eyes, inhaled once, and let my body move.

At first, my limbs felt stiff, unnatural. I wasn’t a dancer. I was a fighter. But then I remembered training—disguises, movements, blending in. I had played beggars, sellers, wives. Now I was playing temptation.

So I bent, let my hands slide down the pole, let my hips sway with the beat. I moved slow, deliberate, letting the shimmer of the dress catch the low light. Each step became easier, the mask fitting tighter. By the time I arched my back and slid down the pole, I could almost believe it myself.

The man watched, face unreadable. When I stopped, breathless though not from effort, he nodded once.

“You’ll do,” he said.

Relief loosened my chest, though I didn’t let it show. “When do I start?”

“Tomorrow night,” he replied. “You’ll meet the manager. He decides how long you stay. Don’t disappoint him.”

He scribbled something on a card and handed it to me. An address, a time. Then he turned back toward the door.

“Wait,” I said, pocketing the card. “What about… pay?”

He gave a thin smile. “Earn it.”

Then he was gone.

I stood alone in the small room, my heart still pounding from the performance. My knees trembled slightly, but my hands were steady. I had made it in. Step one complete.

But this was only the beginning.

Back in my apartment, I stripped off the dress and wiped the makeup away, layer by layer, until the stranger vanished from the mirror. My face returned, pale, marked by exhaustion, but my eyes burned brighter.

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the card heavy in my pocket. Tomorrow, I would walk into that club not as Samantha the spy, but as Samantha the dancer. And somewhere behind the velvet curtains and locked rooms, Bruno’s empire pulsed.

I didn’t need to see him yet. It was enough to know I was inside his walls.

I let out a slow breath. My body trembled with both fear and excitement. I was no longer a shadow circling the outside. I was in.

But my mind kept circling the same thought: What happens when he looks at me? Will he see through the mask?

I turned to the window, the city lights flickering in the distance. They looked like a thousand eyes watching me, waiting for me to slip.

I couldn’t. Not now.

I whispered into the night, “I’ll make them believe.”

The next evening, the card led me back to the same building. This time, the bouncers let me through without question. I wore a different dress—shorter, tighter, the kind that demanded attention. My stomach twisted, but I walked tall.

Inside, the club roared again. Lights, music, heat. Girls danced on the stage, their bodies glowing under the lights. Men shouted, glasses clinked, money spilled across tables.

The man from yesterday found me quickly and led me to a door marked Staff Only. Inside was a dressing room lined with mirrors, makeup kits scattered across tables. Women laughed and gossiped, slipping into glittery costumes.

One of them, a tall blonde with sharp eyes, looked me over. “New girl?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Starting tonight.”

She smirked. “Good luck. Manager’s picky. If he doesn’t like you, you won’t last the night.”

My stomach clenched. But I forced a smile. “Then I’ll make him like me.”

The women laughed, some shaking their heads, others whispering. I ignored them.

The recruiter handed me a slip of paper. “Stage name,” he said. “No real names here.”

I hesitated. Then I wrote: Raven.

Dark. Untouchable. A creature that thrived in the night.

He glanced at it and nodded. “Raven it is. Wait here. Manager will call you.”

He left, and the room filled again with chatter and the sound of heels clicking. I sat quietly, staring at myself in the mirror, adjusting the lipstick, the hair. Raven stared back at me. Samantha was gone.

Minutes dragged into an hour. Every time the door opened, my heart jumped. At last, the recruiter returned. His expression gave nothing away.

“Manager’s ready,” he said. “Follow me.”

I stood, my knees tight, my breath shallow. Around me, the other women paused, their eyes following me. Some smirked, others whispered. I ignored them and walked forward.

The recruiter led me down a long corridor, darker and quieter than the rest of the club. The music faded behind us, replaced by the echo of my heels on the floor. My chest thudded with each step.

Finally, we stopped before a heavy door. The recruiter pushed it open and motioned me inside.

The room beyond was dim, lit only by a single lamp in the corner. Shadows stretched across the walls.

And in the middle of it sat a chair, facing away from me.

A voice, deep and calm, rolled out from the shadows.

“Raven, is it?”

My breath caught. I had expected another recruiter, maybe the manager. But the weight in that voice—steady, powerful—t

old me otherwise.

Whoever sat in that chair wasn’t just some manager.

I froze, my pulse hammering. Had I already walked into the lion’s den?