The Don’s Fallen Queen Chapter 01

The Don’s Fallen Queen Chapter 01

After my mafia husband went to prison, he left behind a mountain of debt.

I spent the next two years dancing at an underground strip club in Atlantic City to pay it off.

That night, I was halfway through a squat onstage when I saw a familiar figure walk in.

I froze.

Dante.

He sat in the VIP booth, cigar smoke curling around the sharp line of his jaw as his cold gaze swept across the stage.

A moment later, several bodyguards approached me.

They escorted me into the private room. Roxanne—the woman who owned half the girls in the club—was already smoking by the couch.

“Jesus, Sierra. Long time no see.” Dante let out a mocking laugh. “Look at you. I barely recognize you anymore.”

He leaned back lazily, eyes dragging over my body.

“You used to sneer at Elena for being a whore. And now?” His lips curled. “You’re worse than she ever was.”

I stared at him, my mind completely blank.

So it had all been fake.

The prison sentence. The charges. The debt.

The whole thing had been a trap.

“I figured you’ve probably learned your lesson by now.” His tone softened slightly. “Elena’s pregnant, and she needs someone taking care of her.”

He glanced at me casually, like we were discussing the weather.

“You can come home and be my wife again. Or you can stay here.” He shrugged. “Your choice.”

He said it so easily, like these past two years had been some extended vacation.

Roxanne stood off to the side in silence, smoke thick in the air. She wouldn’t even look me in the eye.

I lowered my gaze to my scar-covered hands.

Over the past two years, I’d tried to die more times than I could count.

But every single time, the thought of getting back to him had kept me alive.

And now I finally understood.

He never wanted me back.

He was the one who pushed me away.

…

“You used to call her trash.” Dante flicked ash from his cigar with a low chuckle. “Now you’re the one dancing in a miniskirt for strangers.”

He stood, adjusting his cuffs.

“Think carefully, Sierra. Two years is a long time. You must’ve learned something by now.”

The second he moved, everyone rushed to open doors for him.

Surrounded by flattery and eager smiles, he strode out of the booth without looking back once.

The deafening club music swallowed the room whole.

“Your shift’s not over yet.” Roxanne slid a glass of vodka toward me.

I picked it up and drained it in one swallow.

Heat tore down my throat instantly.

My skin started burning. My bones itched so badly it felt like ants were crawling beneath my flesh.

Under the crowd’s hungry stares, I staggered back onto the stage.

“Holy shit,” one of the regulars muttered as he watched me sway under the lights. “She’s insane.”

“I heard her dad’s some college professor. And she graduated from an Ivy League school.”

Another man laughed.

“Well, cheers to us. Not every day you get to watch an Ivy League girl shake her ass for money.”

I moved mechanically beneath the flashing lights.

Dance. Sleep with men. Dance again.

That was my life now.

A thick stack of cash rained down from upstairs.

“Baby!” a man shouted from behind the velvet curtain. “Take the skirt off. Write something on your thigh for me.”

His voice turned filthy with amusement.

“Let’s see what’s prettier. Your handwriting, or what’s under that skirt.”

I reached for the clasp at my waist.

“What do you want me to write?” I asked flatly. “Different words cost different prices.”

Another stack of bills hit the stage.

“Write this,” the man said.

“You are stronger than you think.”

I went completely still.

That sentence had been taped above my desk through all four years of college.

Slowly, I lifted my head toward the booth upstairs.

But the velvet curtain hid everything behind it.

“Write it already!” One of the club guards tossed a pen onto the stage.

I sat down against the pole and spread my legs apart, pulling the cap off the pen.

The crowd exploded.

“Classy little slut.”

“Wonder if she still looks classy flat on her back.”

“Spread wider! Can’t see shit from here!”

I took a slow breath and opened my legs farther.

Then suddenly—

The velvet curtain was ripped open.

Dante stood there, his expression cold enough to freeze blood.