They sat on opposite ends of the couch—Lila leaned back, legs crossed, her eyes fixed on Evan with a piercing intensity. Evan sat rigid, his eyes on the floor, tension evident in every muscle.
Lila, ever the provocateur, broke the silence. "So, you're a prostitute?" she asked, her voice both teasing and sharp. The question hovered, and Evan's heart raced as he reflexively replied, "No!" Yet even as he spoke, a chilling realization washed over him: he might as well be. The thought struck him like a blow, and tears welled in his eyes. He turned his face away, unable to hold back the wave of shame and despair that threatened to consume him.
Lila watched him, a faint smirk barely tugging at her lips. "Are you sure?" she asked, as if she were genuinely curious. Her eyes never left his, her expression cool, almost clinical. Her eyes bore into him, cold and unfeeling, as if dissecting him piece by piece.
Taking a shaky breath, Evan found himself spilling the details he'd tried so hard to bury. "I trusted people, but they left me with this massive debt—$47,000. It feels like a noose around my neck." His voice wavered, and he could feel the sobs rising in his throat. "I didn't want this. I was just trying to help a friend. I didn't know he'd disappear and leave me with… everything."
Lila listened with an air of casual interest, her eyes reflecting a mixture of amusement and detachment. Just as he thought he had her attention, she interrupted. "When was the last time you ate?"
The abrupt shift caught him off guard. "Uh, I—I don't remember," he admitted, a flush of shame creeping over him. It had been days, maybe longer. His body felt weak, his stomach hollow, but the hunger had dulled into a constant ache.
"Stand up," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He hesitated but complied, rising to his feet. Lila examined him with a discerning look, her lips pursed slightly as she took in his gaunt appearance. "You're too skinny," she remarked, with a blend of concern and authority. "Go take a shower. I'll bring you food."
Reluctantly, Evan nodded, grateful for a chance to escape the moment. As he showered, the hot water washed over him, providing a fleeting sense of relief.
After what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the shower wrapped in a towel, feeling vulnerable and exposed. The dim bathroom light wavered, casting uneasy shadows on the walls. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. He was in her world now.
When he stepped back into the living room, Lila was waiting, an amused smile dancing across her lips. "What a shame you're not a prostitute," she teased. "I'd gladly pay for a toy like you." Her voice was low and sultry as she reached out, brushing her fingers against his face, sending a shiver down his spine.
Flustered, Evan stammered, "C-Can I have some clothes?" His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes darting to avoid her gaze.
Before he could process her words, the door swung open, and one of Lila's men entered the room. Tall and powerfully built, dressed in a sharp suit that emphasized his muscular frame, he exuded an air of quiet authority. A thin scar cut through his right eyebrow, adding a touch of ruggedness to his otherwise composed appearance, while his green eyes held a sharp, almost assessing glint. His hair was buzzed close to his scalp, further accentuating the strength in his jawline and the intensity of his gaze. Evan felt a flush of embarrassment, standing nearly naked in front of this stranger. But the man didn't glance at him, treating him as if he were invisible.
"Boss," he greeted Lila, his tone respectful and indifferent as he placed a takeout container and a bag on the table.
"Thank you," Lila replied, her gaze still fixed on Evan. Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a sleek black phone. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Don't break this one."
Evan took the phone, feeling the weight of its implications settle in his hands.
"Now, let's talk about your debt," Lila said, her tone shifting to something colder. She turned to the man. "Do you know anyone who'd lend $47,000 to a young man in Soria?"
The man paused, contemplating. "A few names come to mind. There's… Marco, Lou, and—" He hesitated, then added, "For that kind of money, only Dancing Danny could provide it."
The moment the name left his lips, Evan felt his heart drop. Panic surged through him as he blurted out, "No! Please don't—if they find me—" His voice trembled, tears streaming down his cheeks as the weight of the situation bore down on him. "He'll come after me!"
The man ignored Evan's distress, turning to Lila with a calm detachment. "Should I find him, boss?"
Lila nodded, a glint of amusement in her eyes as she watched Evan's reaction. While he continued to cry, she handed him a change of clothes, her expression unreadable. "Stop crying, get dressed, and eat. You need to regain your strength."
As Evan sat at the small table, he stared at the food before him, trying to process the reality of his situation. It was surreal—being here, caught in this web of power and fear. He took a small bite, letting the food ground him in the present moment. With every chew, he wrestled with a gnawing realization: he still didn't know what Lila wanted from him.
He felt like a pawn in a game he couldn't see, a piece being moved by hands he didn't understand.
Lila watched him eat, her expression inscrutable, as if she were analyzing every bite he took. The tension in the air was palpable, and Evan felt the weight of her gaze like a physical pressure on his chest. As he swallowed another bite, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being evaluated, measured against an unseen standard.
With the man standing silently in the corner, Evan noticed the subtle exchanges between him and Lila—how she commanded respect without saying a word, how he obeyed her every directive with unwavering loyalty. The realization hit him like a cold wave: Lila wasn't just a woman in control; she was part of something much darker, something criminal. The way she'd treated him, the names her associate had mentioned, the fear that crept into his bones at the thought of "Dancing Danny"—it all fit together like pieces of a grim puzzle.
She was a gangster.
Fear tightened in his chest, but it was quickly overshadowed by a sense of helplessness. He was now entangled in a world he'd never wanted to enter, surrounded by shadows that promised danger. As he took another bite of food, he glanced up at her, catching her eye for a brief moment, and felt a shiver run down his spine. Whatever she was planning, he had to tread carefully. He sensed that any wrong move could mean the end of whatever fragile safety he still had.