Omerta- Book I (Winner of the 2015 People's Choice Award)

Snippet of - "Borgata" - Find the Full Chapter On My Wattpad Profile!

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The air conditioning in the club just couldn't keep up with the passionate, swamping heat in NYC. It was work days like this that I contemplated missing another month's rent and purchasing an inflatable kiddie pool and a couple bags of ice on the walk back to my apartment.

Two hours into my shift, and I was already sweating my tîts off, pole dancing for one of my recurrent customers, a sweaty, sixty-five year old dildo enthusiast, Victor.

Skipping work and watching Netflix outweighed dancing half-naked in front of that bastard, but I needed the money.

Victor mopped up the bubbles of sweat on his upper lip and brow, rumbling something in Russian at me. He was more revolting than usual, so I ignored him more than usual, clung to the music around me, and let my mind and body get lost...

A few minutes into my dance, I hung upside down from my pole, and it was then that I caught a shadow of a man peering in from the entrance of the private room, watching me.

I was now made aware of the pocketknife tucked into my bra.

I kept a steel grip on the pole and flipped over, gracefully landing on my heels. Once I was upright, I continued to twirl around the pole, but kept my gaze on that man.

Upon further observation, I decided this man was not a threat. He had a nice face, was around my age, tall, blonde, and wore a suit. The suit threw me off a little. He just seemed more like the type who enjoyed lying down on the beach in a speedo until his skin became a crispy golden brown, instead of being confined in formal attire.

I swung around my pole, looking for the usual bodyguard, Don, who usually hovered around my private room. He was nowhere to be found. Great. "This isn't a free for all, you know," I decided to shout at the stranger. Fear was building in my gut, and Victor was too busy drunkenly staring at my legs to notice there was someone else in the room.

It was stupid to think that the men who were after my father would come after me. They probably didn't even know I existed. And not only had I changed my hair and my appearance, but also I had moved to a completely different state. I lived in Pennsylvania my entire childhood, and now my home was The Big Apple.

Still, I had no idea who let this fücker into my private space for clients, but it better have been for a good reason or else I was going to sprint out of the room, quicker than that flying cartoon dog, Bolt. I wasn't some dog everyone could come look at in a pet store. They had to be rich to see me dance. New York apartments were expensive, and Orlando took a huge chunk of my income.

The blonde stranger stepped further into the room, until he was close enough for me to kick with my heel, and close enough to notice the flicks of green in his eyes.

"What do you want," I snapped. In five seconds, I was going to 1), take my pocketknife out and attack this fücker, and then 2), get the fück out of there. "I have a client."