Neon lights flickered over cracked paint and the stale stink of sweat and cheap cologne hung thick in the air. It wasn’t a place Marco Romano would normally be seen. But when someone owed the family money, he didn’t always send a soldier. Sometimes, the message needed a face. His face.
The manager, a greasy sack of flesh named Rick, was all nervous energy and desperate charm, sweat beading on his forehead. He kept yapping, pretending this was a social visit.
“Let me give you a tour, Don,” Rick babbled. “You gotta see what I’ve built here. It’s got class, got character…”
Marco walked in silence behind him, his tailored black coat brushing the grime of the narrow hallway walls. He had no interest in the stage, the lights. He was here for payment.
Rick stopped in front of a cracked door with a star sticker half-peeled from its center. “This is my star,” he said proudly, puffing his chest like she was a prized possession.
Marco didn’t speak. He just watched.
The door creaked open.
She was sitting on the floor. A woman in her twenties, robe half-slung around her, hugging herself. Her knees pulled close to her chest, eyes red and swollen. A thin blanket lay crumpled on a couch that was more springs than cushion. Her makeup case spilled open like a crime scene. And in her arms… a faded cat plushie.
Marco looked at her, then at the room. This wasn’t a dressing room—it was a cell.
“Hey, hey!” Rick barked, charging in. “Not again with the crying. Don’t you know we got guests?”
The girl’s eyes widened as Rick stormed toward her. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to wipe her face.
Rick snatched the plushie from her arms and stuffed it into his jacket. “You’re only getting this shitty stuffed thing back if you behave tonight, got it?! And don’t cry in the middle of the damn performance, bitch!”
She gasped like he’d just pulled her heart out. Her lips trembled. Silent sobs choked her chest.
He yanked her arm and shoved her into the stool in front of the cracked mirror. “Fix your face, NOW.”
From his pocket, Rick pulled pills. He popped one into his palm, pressed it into her hand.
“Take it,” he ordered. “You’re useless without it.”
Marco’s eyes darkened.
*Rick turned to him, chuckling.“Sorry you had to see that, Don. Sometimes they get outta order, am I right?”
He laughed like he expected Marco to laugh too.
But the Don didn’t move. Not an inch.
Instead, Marco walked slowly toward the girl. She looked into the mirror, saw the man behind her—tall, calm, silent. His voice was deep, soft.
“Spit, love,” he said gently, holding a clean white tissue just beneath her chin.
She hesitated, looked at him through the mirror.
Then she spit the pill into the cloth.
Tears streamed again. He stepped closer, placed his hand on her head, letting her lean against him. She pressed her forehead to his side like a child finally finding safety.
Marco didn’t need to give the order.
Two of his men were already walking in.
Rick stammered. “W-wait! You can’t—listen, it’s not what it looked like, okay?! I was just keeping her in line! She’s got problems!”
Marco turned.
“Hold him,” he said.
Rick didn’t get another word out before he was pinned face-down to the sticky floor, arms twisted behind his back.
Marco walked over calmly, reached into Rick’s jacket, and pulled out the cat plushie. Its button eye was loose. The fur was matted from years of love.
He walked back to her, kneeling. She looked at him, breath shaky.
He extended the plushie. “Here,” he said softly.
She took it like it was made of glass, hugging it to her chest with a sob. She didn’t say thank you—she didn’t have to. The look in her eyes said enough.
Marco stood, turned to Rick. Looked down on him like the rat he was.
“You owed me money,” Marco said coldly “But now you owe something else.”
Rick whimpered “Wh-what?”
His men dragged the guy off the room
He turned to the girl once more
“You live here?” he asked
She nodded slowly
“Not anymore.” His voice was a promise