His Entertainer

Chapter 5

                  IVY SILVER POV.

    My mother’s voice, bitter and accusatory, echoed in my mind.  "I can't believe you could be such a fool, such a coward, such a selfish man!"  My father's voice, quieter, laced with regret, followed.  "I was greedy, Selfish.  Like so many others. We never thought it could go wrong." My mother's voice, sharp with urgency, cut through his remorse. "These people will destroy us. We have to pay them back. For the children."  Their voices, a painful duet of blame and desperate hope, collided in my memory.  I lacked my mother's fierce courage. I was weak.

"Baby," Genevieve's soft voice broke through my reverie. I'd been staring at my reflection for far too long, lost in the wreckage of my family's ruin.  "We agreed you'd rest."  Her concern was palpable.

"I want to, Eve, but I can't," I whispered, the hopelessness thick in my voice.  The fight to find my mother, my only remaining family, consumed me.  Failure wasn't an option; it was a death sentence.  Without her, I’d join the rest of my family in the grave, a useless daughter consumed by guilt and self-reproach.  This was it, the end of my life, and perhaps the end of my relationship with Wilmert. I hoped he'd find happiness, someone worthy of his love, someone who wasn't broken like me.

"Why are you giving up?" Genevieve's voice was sharp, snapping me out of my despair.  Tears welled in my eyes, a mixture of grief and exhaustion.  I wasn't just sad; I was lost.

Before I could even think, I wrapped my arms around her, the need for comfort overwhelming.  She returned the embrace, holding me close, and the dam broke.  My sobs were raw, uncontrolled, a release of the pain that had been building for so long.  Then, other arms joined the embrace—Sonia, Silvia, and Lucia.  I was surrounded by warmth, a fragile shield against the cold, harsh reality of my life.

Carrie's whispered interruption broke the moment.  "Excuse me, Mr. Zhao is on the phone."

Genevieve, her jaw tight with barely controlled fury, snatched the phone from Carrie.  "Where the hell is Mateo?" she hissed.

While Sonia and Silvia counted the money, I watched them.  Sonia, a striking mix of Asian and something else, with long, straight hair; Silvia, a fiery Brazilian with short, blonde hair.  Both were twenty-one, yet they possessed a wisdom beyond their years.  Sonia dreamed of a snow-covered rendezvous with a sex god; Silvia of owning a strip club where she was the star.  They were my sisters, bound by shared experiences, by the strange, twisted family we'd become.

Lucia, tall and striking, sat quietly, her discomfort evident.  "Are you alright?" I asked softly.

"Yes," she murmured, avoiding my gaze.  She shifted, clearly in pain.

I followed her to the large window overlooking the city.  "You're not alone in this," I said, my voice gentle.  "You can tell me anything."

She turned, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination.  "I signed… the anal sex contract."

"What? Why?" The shock was evident in my voice.

"What difference does it make?" she asked, her voice tight.  "I have something valuable, something I can use."  Tears welled in her eyes. "I'll do anything for Nina.  I promise her a good life."

"How old is she?"

"Five," she whispered, a fierce love shining in her dark eyes.

"Congratulations," I said, a lump forming in my throat.  "She's a lucky girl."  And I was reminded of my own mother's fierce love, a beacon in the darkness.

"Thank you, Ivy. I'm a lucky whore to have you." She hugged me tight, her gratitude palpable.  Lucia, at twenty-one, had been a prostitute since she was twelve, sold by her father after her mother's death.  Mateo had rescued her, but her young daughter, Nina, remained in an Arab country, her life a constant worry for Lucia.  But Lucia was strong, her love for Nina a powerful force.  I hugged her back, feeling a kinship with this young woman, this survivor.
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                    MATEO POV.

I was sinking into the plush leather of my office chair, finally allowing myself a moment of respite, when the jarring ring of the desk phone sliced through the quiet.  I groaned, the sound a mixture of annoyance and weariness.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice tight with barely suppressed irritation.

"Let's skip the pleasantries. I need someone for the week." The voice on the other end was cold, efficient, the voice of a man accustomed to getting what he wants.

"Sì, Signore. I'll send someone immediately."

"No need. I have someone in mind—Ivy."

"With all due respect, sir, Ivy is booked. Mr. Xhao offered thrice the regular rate."  The words were out before I could stop them, a foolish mistake.  I knew I'd pay for this.

A heavy silence followed, then the voice, colder than before, sliced through the air. "This is my club, Mateo. I do whatever the hell I want. And if my memory serves, you work for me.  Do as I say, or face the consequences."  The threat was implicit, but I knew the consequences would be brutal.

"My apologies, sir. I'll get her ready at once."  Mr. Zhao’s considerable offer was a tempting morsel, but Hermann Rodriguez was a force of nature.

"My driver is on his way," he said, ending the call before I could respond.

Ivy.  What was it about her?  She seemed to hold some kind of hypnotic power over the men who frequented the club.  Powerful men, men who could afford to pay handsomely for her time, men who were used to getting what they wanted.  And now, I had to disappoint them all, a bitter pill to swallow.

Genevieve walked in, her presence a stark contrast to the tension in the room.  "I assume you heard his request."

"You know how he is," I sighed, leaning back in my chair, the weight of my responsibilities pressing down on me.

"I'll prepare Ivy," she said, her voice calm, efficient.  "You call Xhao. Tell him Ivy's… unavailable.  Signore Rodriguez's choice."

"Wait. Why me?" I asked, a flicker of annoyance igniting within me.  She was clearly trying to shift the burden onto me.

"Because you're sitting here doing nothing while I'm running the show.  Be useful for once," she said, already heading for the door.

I lit a cigarette, Women. Sometimes, they we are utterly unreasonable.

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