The Velvet Room

Play It Cool

The lights of the strip club cast a glow on Robin as she pulled into the parking lot. The familiar thumping of bass vibrated through her car, a stark contrast to the nervous energy thrumming within her. As she stepped out of the vehicle, she took a deep breath, trying to project an air of confidence.

Zach greeted her with a nod. "Hey, Robin," he said, his eyes scanning her face. "You alright? You seem a little...different tonight." Robin forced a smile, hoping to mask her unease. "Just a long day, Zach," she replied, trying to sound casual. "But I'm ready to turn it up." Zach's gaze lingered on her for a moment, his brow furrowed with concern. He knew Robin well, knew her usual bubbly personality and infectious laughter. Tonight, she seemed guarded, almost tense. "Alright," he said, his voice low. "But I'm here if you need anything, okay?" Robin appreciated his concern. "Thanks, Zach," she said sincerely. "I appreciate it."

As she stepped inside the club, the sounds of music and voices washed over her. Robin scanned the room, her eyes searching for the man she had been tasked to seduce. It didn't take long before she spotted him, seated at a secluded table near the back, surrounded by a gaggle of obsequious admirers. He was older, with a paunch that strained against his expensive suit. But there was an air of power about him, a sense of control that emanated from his very being. This had to be the Don's financier. Before heading to the dressing room, Robin decided to make her presence known. She walked towards his table, her hips swaying with practiced ease. As she approached, the financier's eyes lit up, a predatory glint in their depths. "Well, well," he said, his voice thick with amusement. "If it isn't the lovely Robin. I must say, you look just as good with clothes on." "Why, thank you," she said, batting her eyelashes. "I was just on my way to get ready for my first dance. But I couldn't resist saying hello." "A wise decision," the financier purred, his eyes never leaving her face. "I'd hate for you to keep me waiting too long." Robin leaned closer, her voice a husky whisper. "Save a spot for me, darling," she said, her fingers trailing lightly across his arm. "I promise, it'll be worth your while." With a final wink, she turned and headed towards the dressing room, leaving the financier captivated by her charm. As she walked away, she could feel his eyes boring into her back. She knew she had made an impression, and the game had begun. Now, all she had to do was play it to perfection.

Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour of the club. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and hairspray, and the room was filled with a chaotic mix of costumes, makeup, and discarded belongings. The other dancers were a mix of ages and backgrounds, each with their own story to tell. Some were hardened veterans, jaded by years of exploitation and disappointment. Others were young and naive, still clinging to the hope of a better life. Robin tried to avoid their gaze, focusing on her own reflection in the mirror. She knew that tonight was different, that the stakes were higher than ever before. She had to be careful, had to stay focused on her mission. One wrong move could have devastating consequences, not just for her, but for everyone involved. As she began to change, stripping off her clothes and slipping into her work attire, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into a trap. But she had come too far to turn back now. She was committed to this, to bringing down Don Moretti and his criminal empire, she had to for Malia. And she wouldn't let anything stand in her way, not even her own fear. With a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face and stepped back out into the club, ready to play her part. The music pulsed through her veins, the lights blurred around her, and the faces of the patrons became a sea of anonymous desire. Robin was no longer just a dancer; she was a weapon, a seductress, a spy. And tonight, she was ready to strike. Robin navigated the crowded club with a newfound confidence, the silk of her dress whispering against her skin. The stage lights caught the subtle glint of defiance in her eyes as she approached the platform where a dancer moved with practiced grace. With a deliberate motion, she extended a hand, placing a bill into the dancer's palm. It was a calculated move, a performance in itself, ensuring every eye in the vicinity followed her. She was playing a role, and tonight, she was the star.

Her destination was a shadowy corner booth where the financier sat, a grotesque figure of wealth and influence. His eyes, magnified by thick lenses, darted around the room, betraying a sense of self-importance. Robin steeled herself, forcing a smile as she slid into the seat across from him. "Mr. Thorne," she purred, her voice a carefully crafted melody, "it's a pleasure." He launched into a monologue about his achievements, each word dripping with arrogance. Robin listened, nodding occasionally, offering a well-placed "Impressive" or "You must be very proud," all the while her mind raced, calculating, anticipating the arrival of the Don.

Time seemed to stretch, each moment an exercise in patience. The financier droned on, oblivious to the game being played around him. Robin maintained her facade, a delicate balance of admiration and allure. Beneath the surface, her senses were heightened, every nerve attuned to the subtle shifts in the room's atmosphere. She was a predator in disguise, waiting for the opportune moment to strike, her gaze fixed on the entrance, where the Don would soon appear, unaware that he was walking into a carefully laid trap. The air crackled with unspoken tension, the stage was set, and Robin was ready to play her

The shrill ring of the financier's phone sliced through his self-aggrandizing monologue, a jarring interruption that seemed to irritate him more than it relieved Robin. "Excuse me, my dear," he grumbled, his eyes already glued to the screen. "This is very important." He lumbered to his feet, his bulk shifting uncomfortably in his tailored suit, and waddled toward the club's entrance, phone pressed to his ear. Robin watched him go, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. She had been so close, the Don was due any minute, and this blustering fool had to take a call.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching into an eternity. The club's music throbbed around her, the flashing lights a dizzying distraction. She checked her watch, then again, and again. Thirty minutes had passed, an unacceptable delay. The Don would be expecting her, and she couldn't afford to be late. An hour crawled by, an agonizing stretch of uncertainty. Something was wrong. Mr.Thorne wouldn't just disappear without a word, not when he was so eager to impress her. He hadn't even ordered a drink, an anomaly for a man who seemed to revel in excess.

Driven by a growing sense of unease, Robin approached Zach, the hulking bouncer stationed at the entrance. "Zach," she said, her voice low and urgent, "Mr. Thorne stepped outside about an hour ago. Could you take a quick look and see if he's still out there? He was on his phone." Zach nodded, his expression impassive, and disappeared through the heavy doors. The wait was excruciating, each second amplifying her anxiety. Finally, he returned, his brow furrowed. "Nothing," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "No sign of him. Just the usual crowd smoking and milling about."

A cold dread washed over Robin. Thorne was gone, but why? Unless… had he suspected something? Had he somehow discovered her true intentions? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Was the Don still on his way? Thorne's sudden departure was a wild card, a twist she hadn't anticipated. What did he know, and who else might be involved? The game had changed, and Robin was no longer sure who was playing whom.