The Price of Protection and the Dancer Who Refused to Bend
He looked different from the video.
He looked thin, his cheeks sunken, his eyes wide and frantic.
“James,” I whispered. “How did you get in here?”
“It’s amazing what a security guard will do for a hundred bucks and a sob story,” James said.
He took a step closer, his hands shaking.
“I told him I was your husband. That I wanted to surprise you.”
“You need to leave,” I said, my voice trembling. “Now. If Dante sees you—”
“Dante?” James laughed, a harsh, dry sound. “The big boss? You think he cares about you?”
“He keeps me safe,” I said.
“He’s using you, Sophia,” James said, his eyes darting around the dark terrace.
“Just like you used me.”
“I didn’t use you,” I said, anger momentarily overriding my fear. “You stole everything I had. You left me when I was pregnant.”
“I was scared!” James yelled, then quickly lowered his voice, looking back at the glass doors.
“I made a mistake, okay? But I’m back now. And I need help.”
“I don’t have any money for you, James.”