The first betrayal came with a smile.
"You said it would just be talking."
Elena's voice was quiet, but it shook anyway. She stood just inside the apartment doorway, her fingers digging into the strap of her bag as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
Maya did not look guilty. That hurt more than anything else.
"It is talking," Maya said, rolling her eyes as she reapplied her lipstick in the cracked mirror by the door. "Talking, flirting, drinking. Men pay for company all the time."
"That is not what you said," Elena replied. "You said safe. You said easy."
Maya turned around then, her expression sharp. "And you said you needed money. Rent does not wait for morals, Elena."
The words landed harder than a slap.
Elena swallowed. She could still hear her landlord's voice from that morning, calm and final as he reminded her how many chances she had already been given.
She thought of her mother's pharmacy receipt folded in her coat pocket.
Thought of the way her hands shook when she counted coins at the counter.
"I do," she whispered. "But not like this."
Maya sighed like Elena was a child being difficult. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Listen to me. Just tonight. One man. You can walk away after. I already told them you are new."
"You told them," Elena repeated.
Maya avoided her eyes.
That was when Elena understood. This was not an invitation. It was a handoff.
"I cannot do this," Elena said, stepping back.
Maya's jaw tightened. "You already agreed."
"No. I did not."
"You took the dress."
The room felt smaller. Elena's chest burned. "You said it was for the bar."
"And it is," Maya snapped. "A very nice bar. With very rich men. Stop acting like I am throwing you to wolves."
But Elena could feel the wolves already.
In the way Maya would not meet her gaze. In the way the address had been sent without explanation. In the way the car was already waiting outside.
"I thought you were my friend," Elena said.
Maya finally looked at her then. There was something hard behind her eyes. Something defensive.
"I am," she said. "Friends help each other survive."
Elena turned and walked out before she could say something she would never take back.
The club glowed like a bruise against the night sky.
Music pulsed through the pavement. The line outside was full of women who looked like they knew exactly why they were there. Elena did not.
She stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, staring at the entrance. She could still leave. She could turn around and walk until her feet hurt and pretend this night never happened.
Then her phone buzzed.
Maya: Just go in. Please. I already promised.
Elena closed her eyes.
Inside, everything moved too fast.
Lights. Sound. Heat. A man at the door checked her name off a list she had never seen. Someone took her coat.
Someone pressed a glass into her hand.
She did not drink it.
She stayed near the bar, watching.
Learning. Trying to breathe.
That was when she saw him.
He was not loud. Not laughing. Not performing. He sat in a private booth with a woman draped across his lap like she belonged there. His hand rested on her thigh. Possessive. Casual.
There were empty glasses on the table. Many of them.
He drank like he was angry at the world for not killing him yet.
Elena looked away quickly. Her stomach twisted.
"New girl?"
She turned. The bartender leaned toward her, voice neutral.
"Yes," she said. "Just tonight."
His eyes flicked toward the booth. His expression changed.
"Careful," he muttered.
Before she could ask what he meant, the woman from the booth stood. She smoothed her dress, fixed her hair, and walked past Elena without a word. Her lipstick was smudged. Her smile was lazy and satisfied.
Elena's hands began to shake.
A moment later, a man touched her arm. Not rough. Not kind.
"He wants you."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Who?"
But she already knew.
The private room smelled like alcohol and something darker. Leather. Smoke.
Power.
He looked up when she entered.
His eyes were unfocused but sharp underneath. Dangerous in a way that did not need effort. His tie was loosened. His collar undone. His knuckles were bruised.
"Close the door," he said.
She did.
"Sit."
She did not.
He noticed. A slow smile touched his lips. Not amused. Curious.
"What is your name?"
"Elena."
He repeated it softly. "Elena."
Her name felt different in his mouth.
"I am Enzo," he said. "You know why you are here?"
Her throat tightened. "Yes."
"Say it."
"I am here to keep you company."
He laughed quietly and poured another drink. His hand shook slightly.
"They always lie better than that," he said.
She stood frozen as he rose and moved closer. He was tall. Solid. His presence filled the room.
"You look scared," he said.
"I am."
"Good," he replied. "Fear keeps people honest."
His fingers brushed her wrist. Her breath hitched.
She did not pull away. She hated herself for that.
"Take it off," he said softly.
Her hands moved to the strap of her dress before her mind caught up. Shame burned her skin.
"Please," she whispered.
The word stopped him.
His eyes sharpened. Something shifted.
"Who sent you?" he asked.
"My friend," she said. "She said it would be safe."
His jaw tightened. He stepped back abruptly, running a hand through his hair.
"There was another girl," Elena said before she could stop herself.
He looked at her sharply.
"She left happy," Elena added, her voice cracking. "I am not like her."
Silence stretched between them.
"You should not be here," Enzo said.
He turned away and slammed his glass onto the table. Whiskey spilled.
"I do not want this," he muttered. "I do not want you."
The words hurt more than she expected.
He pulled cash from his wallet and dropped it onto the table.
"Take it," he said. "Go home."
She stared at the money. "I did nothing."
"That is why you are leaving."
"Why?" she asked.
He looked at her then. Really looked.
"Because men like me ruin things," he said quietly. "And I have ruined enough tonight."
She took the money with shaking hands.
"Thank you," she said.
As she reached the door, his voice stopped her.
"Elena."
She turned.
"If you see me again," he said, "pretend you did not."
She nodded.
Outside, the night air felt like freedom and terror all at once.
She did not see the black car until it was too late.
A woman sat inside, watching her with cold interest.
Caterina Moretti smiled.
"So," she said softly, already reaching for her phone, "my husband finally slipped."