Page 70 of I'm sorry, Princess

“Come here, baby girl.”

The room shifts, a murmur of interest and envy rippling across the floor. As if on cue, “I See Red” by Everybody Loves an Outlaw begins playing, the slow, menacing beat crawling through the air.

I place my hands on his knees, slowly stepping between his parted legs, and start to move. My hips sway to the rhythm, slow and deliberate, as I sink deeper into the music and the moment. The noise fades, the crowd blurs, it's just me and him now, his leering grin etched into my mind.

Then I hear it. A sound that cuts through everything.

Click.

The unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. The room freezes, the music slams to silence like someone cut the cord. My blood runs cold. I turn my head slowly, and the world seems to spin as my gaze lands on him.

Ocean-blue eyes, familiar, furious, and locked on me. Lorenzo.

He’s standing on the same sofa, with the five girls around him and a gun pointed straight at me, unwavering. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I’m frozen under his glare, pinned in place like prey caught in a snare. And suddenly, the air feels like it’s been sucked from the room.

Chapter Twenty

Lorenzo

Isee fucking red.

.

Chapter Twenty-one

Serena

Piercing ocean-blue eyes lock onto mine, unyielding and cold. His gaze feels like a knife, cutting straight through me, and I can’t look away. His body is practically a canvas for the hands roaming over him, girls draped around him, caressing his abdomen, their movements slow and sensual. But now they’re staring at me, confusion etched on their faces, even as their hands continue their work.

And then there’s the gun.

It’s pointed at me.

The realization hits like a punch to the chest. My breath catches, and my mind races, grasping for some semblance of logic in the chaos. Who would’ve thought the last thing I’d do before dying is giving a lap dance in front of a group of mobsters?

“Come here,” he says, his voice low and commanding, the gun tilting slightly as if to beckon me forward.

He wants me to move, but how can I? My legs are trembling, barely holding me upright, and every instinct in my body is screaming at me to turn and run. But I don’t. I can’t.

Pop.

The sound splits the air like lightning, and everything erupts at once.

Screams echo around the room, high and panicked, but all I can hear is the ringing in my ears from the gunshot. My vision blurs for a moment as adrenaline surges through me. This can’t be real. This cannot be happening.

But it is.

When my focus sharpens again, his eyes are still on me, unwavering. His gaze doesn’t flicker, doesn’t soften, not for a second.

He knows. He can see the fear etched in my every movement, in the way my legs shake and my chest heaves. And then, he smirks.

It’s cruel and knowing, the kind of smirk that says he has all the power and I have none. My stomach twists as his expression shifts into something darker, and I realize this isn’t just a game.

This is a trap.

“You’re paying for my ceiling, motherfucker,” I hear Lev call out from across the room, his voice sharp but laced with amusement.

He’s lounging casually, a girl already perched on his lap, giggling as if nothing murderous had just happened. He doesn’t seem to mind the chaos, the gunshot, the screaming, the scene that unfolded moments ago. To him, it’s just another night.