Page 21 of Dirty Game

"Bane." Paulie Corsini rises, extends a hand that Varrick doesn't take. The insult hangs in the air like smoke. "And this must be the Lombardi payment."

Payment.

Not girl, not woman. Payment.

I keep my eyes down, the way I learned when Uncle Enzo would parade me in front of his creditors.

Don't make eye contact.

Don't speak.

Don't exist except as proof of the debt being paid.

"Rosalynn," Varrick says, pulling out my chair. "Sit."

I sit.

The conversation begins with territories and shipments, but I feel their attention sliding to me like oil.

One of the unnamed men—scarred face, Russian accent—keeps staring at my chest.

Luigi Corsini is watching my hands, probably imagining them doing things I don't even have words for.

"The Irish are pushing again on the south side," Viktor says, his thick accent making the words sound like threats. "They think because you've been distracted lately, territory is up for grabs."

"Distracted?" Varrick's voice is mild, dangerous.

"Well." Paulie gestures to me with his wine glass. "You did spend six million on a piece of ass. That's the kind of expense that makes people wonder about your priorities."

The other men chuckle.

Under the table, I dig my nails into my palms.

"Though I understand the appeal," Paulie continues, his eyes crawling over me like hands. "Virgin pussy always costs more. Supply and demand."

"Is she though?" This from the scarred Russian. "Virgin, I mean. Enzo could have lied. Wouldn't be the first time a Lombardi dealt in false goods."

"Should we check?" Luigi suggests with a laugh that makes bile rise in my throat. "Could bend her over the table right now, see if she bleeds."

I stare at my plate—duck confit I haven't touched, sauce congealing into something that looks like blood.

This is familiar.

Uncle Enzo's poker games where they'd discuss my virginity like a stock price.

My brother Marco describing in graphic detail what he thought would happen when I was finally sold.

I've been reduced to parts before—mouth, breasts, the space between my legs that supposedly holds all my value.

"Heard the Lombardi debt was substantial," Viktor says, swirling his vodka. "Six million is a lot to pay for an untouched cunt."

"Unless she's got a golden one," the second unnamed man adds. "Or maybe Bane just likes them scared. Virgins always cry the first time."

"The crying is the best part," Luigi agrees. "That moment when they realize it's going to hurt no matter how gentle you pretend to be."

My stomach churns.

The smell of duck fat is making me nauseous.