Chapter 2 Cherry at The Velvet Pit

Four long months passed after the day my world fell apart. Four months of living a lie under my uncle’s roof, pretending to be just a grieving daughter trying to move on.

During the day, I went to my quiet office job, sat at my desk, and let my boss hand me stack after stack of paper to shred. But the moment night came, I locked myself in my room and spent hours in front of my computer screen.

Uncle Hector assumed I was staying up late reading or working on basic computer repairs. He had no idea what I was actually doing, and I intended to keep it that way. He had taught me the basics of fixing hardware when I was younger, but my coding skills had gone way beyond anything he could understand.

Digging into Demetrius Moretti wasn't like searching for a normal person. The dark web was filled with rumors, buried police reports, and coded messages about him. The more I dug, the more dangerous he became.

The police files spoke of rivals who disappeared without a trace, street gangs wiped out in a single night, and men who tried to steal from him being found dead weeks later.

The details made my stomach churn, but every time I felt like closing my laptop, I looked at the purple rose sitting dried on my desk. I refused to back down.

A powerful man like Demetrius lived behind bulletproof glass and armed guards. The only place he visited regularly was his high-end club in downtown Chicago: The Velvet Pit.

Getting inside took time. I spent weeks learning how the club operated, studying their hiring patterns, and taking secret dance lessons to make sure I looked convincing. I created a fake identity from scratch, building a new background for a girl named Cherry.

"Iris, are you going out tonight?" Uncle Hector asked, standing near the kitchen door as I came down the stairs.

I had my large coat zipped up to my chin to cover what I was wearing underneath. "Yes, Uncle. I got a part-time job doing night security audits for a local business. "

Hector frowned, his tired eyes looking over me with deep concern. "Night work? Iris, you know it's not safe out there. Not after what happened to your father."

"I'll be careful, I promise," I said, forcing a gentle smile. "I'll be back before morning."

He sighed, handing me a small bottle of water from the fridge. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

Twenty minutes later, I walked through the back entrance of The Velvet Pit. The deep bass from the music inside was already vibrating through the floorboards. The locker room smelled like cheap perfume and hairspray.

Nadia, the club manager, stood near the mirror with a clipboard in her hand. She was a tall blonde woman with a sharp look in her eyes that meant business. She looked me up and down as I unzipped my coat.

"You're late by two minutes, Cherry," Nadia said, her voice crisp.

"Sorry, traffic was bad," I replied, setting my bag on a bench.

"Get ready fast. You're up on the main floor in ten minutes," she said, tapping her pen against the board. "Remember the rules. Don't talk to the VIP clients unless they talk to you first, keep your eyes on your work, and don't make trouble."

"Got it," I said.

I stepped over to the mirror and looked at myself. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.

The outfit was a bright red set with thin straps, barely covering anything. My skin felt bare, leaving me completely exposed and out of my element, but I reminded myself why I was here.

"You're up, Cherry," a stage worker called out, pulling back the thick curtain.

I took a deep breath, stepped out onto the stage, and let the bright lights hit my eyes.

The main room was packed with people drinking, talking, and moving to the music. Loud music filled the air, mixed with the smell of expensive drinks and cologne.

I forced my legs to move, using the routine I had practiced for weeks. I moved across the stage, twirling and keeping my eyes moving over the crowd, scanning the VIP booths on the upper level.

Suddenly, the music cut off completely.

The loud chatter in the room died down in a split second. I stopped mid-step, gripping the stage pole as the bright lights dimmed to a low, deep red.

Large security men in dark suits stepped out from every corner of the room. They began calmly but firmly pushing the customers toward the exits.

"Hey, what's going on?" a man near the front bar complained.

"The club is closed for the night. Move to the doors now," a security guard ordered, his hand resting near his coat.

Within two minutes, the entire main floor was cleared out. The other dancers rushed off the stage toward the back locker rooms, but as I turned to follow them, a tall guard stood right at the bottom of the stage steps, blocking my path.

"Stay right there, Cherry," he said flatly.

My blood ran cold. The atmosphere in the empty room shifted, becoming quiet and tense.

Footsteps echoed from the main entrance. I turned around slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs.

A tall man walked into the empty room alone. He wore a black suit with no tie, the top button of his shirt undone. He had dark hair, broad shoulders, and a face that looked like it was carved out of stone. His dark eyes locked straight onto me the moment he walked through the door.

Demetrius Moretti.

He didn't look like a man who just ran a nightclub. He looked like someone who owned everything his eyes touched, and he didn't care who he had to break to keep it.

He stopped near the edge of the stage, looking up at me. The silence between us stretched so long I could hear my own shallow breathing.

The sheer size of him and the cold focus in his eyes made my pulse race, sending a strange, terrifying shiver down my spine that I couldn't control.

He held up a single hand and gestured with two fingers for me to come closer.

My knees felt weak, but I forced my feet to move. Step by step, I walked to the edge of the stage, right where he stood below. I tried my best to hold onto my fake act, keeping my expression blank like I was just a frightened worker.

Demetrius stepped closer, leaning his body up toward the stage platform. The faint scent of his cologne drifted up between us.

Before I could pull back, his large, calloused hand reached up and wrapped firmly around my wrist. His skin was warm against mine, his possessive grip holding me completely still while his dark gaze burned into mine.

He leaned in close, his face just inches from my neck, and whispered directly into my ear with a voice so low and smooth it made my heart stop.

"Hello, Iris Fernandez."