Episode 13

I observed the landscape through the glass of the moving car, watching the blur as the vehicle sped on. Dominique was driving with one hand, his foot pressing hard on the accelerator.

Under my father's protests, my fiance picked me up to get me tattooed. Although we were at war and should keep a minimum number of security, Dominique didn't seem to agree. He didn't accept being followed by anyone and said that he alone was self-sufficient to keep me safe.

I just thought: either he was completely insane; or had an unshakeable ego trip; or a gigantic stimulus in defying death.

Whatever it was, I was as insane as him, because I wasn't afraid.

"Have you ever gotten a tattoo before?" he asked, breaking the oppressive silence that followed.

I looked at him, analyzing the veins in his forearms that bulged on his skin, visible through his shirt that was folded up to his elbows. He was wearing a beret and a few brown strands of hair escaped from the sides, giving him a stripped-down look that was still extremely sexy and attractive.

I swallowed to wet my throat.

"Never," I replied in a slightly hoarse tone.

It was no sin to admire my fiance, soon we would be married and sharing the same bed, but I had to remind myself to stay focused, or soon things would get out of hand. My mask was my best defense. I couldn't remove it at any time, not even for anyone.

"It's going to hurt a little, but nothing you can't handle."

I nodded.

I had lived much of my teenage years with my body aching and covered in bruises from daily training. Marco didn't take it easy on me most of the time. He made me suffer and cry in pain until I learned to inhibit his blows.

I wasn't afraid of needles or blood, but Dominique had no way of knowing that. The tattoo would be quite light and irrelevant compared to what I went through in my training.

Dad wasn't entirely supportive of the heavy training, but he wanted me to learn one way or another. He knew that, deep down, pain was nothing relevant compared to what would happen to me if I was caught unprotected and defenseless.

Dominique turned the car right onto a quiet street.

It didn't surprise me that the tattoo artist belonged to the Mafia. He was the one who executed the tattoos of every soldier who was initiated. And the underground fighting that took place in the suburban clubs to celebrate the new batch of soldiers wasn't pretty or healthy. People died in those games. At least that's what I knew through Marco.

He parked the car in front of an old house, where the black paint was faded and the red windows were boarded up. On the facade, there was a sign that identified it as a nightclub.

I looked at Dominique, arching an eyebrow.

"Did you bring me to one of the Mafia brothels?"

One corner of Dominique's lips curled into a mocking smile.

"I promise you won't see anything indecent. No one works during the day and Logan lives here," he explained, wiggling his fingers toward the house.

I pondered what I should say or do.

From what I heard from the girls, they would freak out if they were put in a situation like this, because they wouldn't accept such disrespect. I couldn't care less, however, my best friend was a soldier who made no point of hiding anything from me. Our affairs were, to say the least, grotesque to a mob girl, but not to me.

I needed to spend more time with the girls, observe their ways of acting and speaking, to know how to proceed in these situations.

On the other hand, however, why was Dominique doing this? Complete insanity or just a test of how he would treat me?

"All right," I agreed, forcing myself to blush at the situation.

I would have to get this damn tattoo one hour or another, there was no reason to run away from it just because the man lived in a brothel. Damn it.

"If you feel any discomfort, we'll leave," he said, pulling his sunglasses from the glove compartment of the black convertible.

I opened the door and got out of the vehicle, staring at the old-fashioned nightclub with boredom. Dominique wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me toward the house.

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