Chapter 6: The Smell of Substances and Body

'What the fuck?' She said in her head. This isn't what she had in mind when he texted about a party. She walked in, and the booth was bigger than it gave out.

It was like a hall, bigger than usual.

Music played in full blast, different from the one playing downstairs. Three beds were on each side of the room, with girls tied in different positions, each had a man ramming inside her. Their mouth were gagged and some had their eyes covered.

Calla swallowed hard, moving her feet deeper into the room.

'What is this place? Are these girls sex slaves?' Different thoughts ran through her head.

"Don't worry," someone spoke so closely to her ear. Calla jumped and turned around. "They all gave their consent to do this."

It was him. Rico De Romano.

He looked... hotter than the time she last saw him, which was a month ago.

"Doesn't seem like it," she commented, her head high and shoulders straight, as usual.

Rico moved closer, his hands in his trouser pockets. God, he looked gorgeous. He wore charcoal black pants, a white shirt whose sleeves were folded to his elbows, and a matching vest that hugged his chest, the buttons strained slightly over his muscles.

Calla didn't flinch or move back, even though everything in her is screaming to look away from him.

He stood dangerously close to her, leaning forward to meet her eyes, his eyes settling on her lips. "Do I strike you as a man who'll indulge in sex slavery as a business?"

It was a very simple question. Yes! She knows who he is, and the rumors surrounding him. He's Rico De Romano after all.

But she didn’t want her head to roll on these sinful grounds. "No, you don't," she responded.

It then dawned on her, he owns this club!

She should have known.

He smirked and stood straight, his eyes still holding hers. "This is what you choose to wear?" He raised a brow at her.

She got confused. Was something wrong with what she was wearing?

"Well, your text didn't say much," she spoke, "and I'm not a mind reader. She wanted to smack her head for speaking so rudely to him, but to her surprise, Rico’s smirk grew wider.

He didn’t respond and moved past her. "Vieni con me," he said in Italian.

She didn't understand what he said, but seeing that he walked away, maybe he wants her to follow him. Her legs practically ran behind him. She tried to keep her eyes off the sex acts and her ears shut from their cry of pleasure.

Rico walked deeper, emerging into another room. She sighed in relief; this time, there were no tied-up girls.

They took an elevator, and instead of going up, it went down.

Calla furrowed her brows, her mouth itching to ask Rico where they were headed. Instead, she shut her hole and followed blindly.

The elevator ride didn't take long, and they got out. Music was playing over the speakers in Italian.

Two bodyguards, huge and scary-looking, stood by a door. They bowed their head when Rico passed by them, into another room.

She couldn’t help but admire the booth.

There was a bar to the left, lined with bottles that glowed under soft blue lights. A long black couch stretched along the far corner, where a few men sat with girls draped over their laps, laughing and sipping drinks.

In the center of the room stood a silver pole, shining under a spotlight, and one of the dancers was slowly spinning around it, her heels clicking against the floor. The air smelled like perfume, sweat, and liquor. Music thumped from behind the walls, but in here, it was quieter, like the fun was private. Controlled.

Calla sniffed something, then she frowned. She crinkled her nose at the sour stench.

'What is that smell?' She thought. It was an all too familiar smell, but she couldn't make it out for sure.

Cocaine? Ecstacy? Or was it crystal meth?

Rico didn't spare her a glance and continued walking. The deeper they went, the stronger the smell got.

She pinched her nose to block the smell.

"Wait here," Rico finally spoke to her, gesturing to the bar. He didn’t wait for her response as he left.

She sat on the tall stool by the bar, I watched as the bartender mixed drinks for those men. He briefly glanced at me, then looked away.

Calla contemplated whether it would be a good idea to drink, now that she's here. But, it's forbidden to drink on the job, unless your client permits you to.

She sighed loudly and focused her eyes somewhere else.

"Aren't you too young to be in here?" Someone spoke so close to her, causing her to shiver. The person chuckled.

Calla turned to face whoever it was. It was a stranger.

Of course, everyone here was a stranger. She thought to ignore him, but she also had a big mouth. "Are you checking IDs, or just bored?" She pushed a fake smile.

His smirk widened, and she furrowed her brows. 'Is this guy okay?'

I decide to ignore him, turning to face the other way and wondering where Rico has gone off to.

"Should I buy you a drink, or...?" He spoke again, his voice was deep and manly, but not as Rico's. She glanced at him, but she didn’t say anything.

Rico wouldn't want her talking to anyone, especially a man. At his club.

She wasn't sure of how Rico's temper was, so it was better not to find out.

She continued ignoring him. She heard him say something to the bartender, but she couldn't understand as it was in Italian.

Soon after, a glass of martini was passed to her. She looked at the drink, then at the persistent stranger. 'Does he have a death wish? Doesn't he know who I am? If Rico is his boss, he'll be in big trouble.'

He urged her with his eyes to accept the drink. Calla licked her red lipstick lips and turned fully to him. "Does this usually work for you?" She tilted her head slightly to the side.

He brushed his lower lip with his thumb slowly, then his other hand moved to touch hers. Calla immediately retracted her hand. 'Is this dude for real?'

She was about to lash out at him when Rico’s low but deep voice came.

"Lasciala in pace, Ezio."

She wasn't sure what it meant, but she saw the stranger hold both hands in the air, as if to surrender.

So, Rico knows him? She quickly stood up as Rico approached them.

"You know who he is?" She asked, still angry that he made advances towards her.

Rico reached where they were. "Calla, meet Ezio," Rico spoke firmly, his hands buried in his pockets, "Ezio, this is Calla."

The guy whose name is Ezio stretched his hand for a handshake, but Calla would be stupid to take it.

She raised a brow, her arms folded to her chest. "You should be glad I didn't smash your face in," she spat, causing Ezio to chuckle.

Rico hissed. "Careful, Calla," his voice laced with a warning, "I don't want you speaking to him that way."

She almost scoffed. His friend harassed her first, but she didn’t air out her complaints. She gave a quick nod.