Chapter 51: You Are the Dancing Quean

[Claire’s POV]

I fondle my two-month sobriety chip in my pocket as I walk into the office. The familiar weight of it grounds me, a constant reminder of just how fragile my recovery is. Over sixty days without a bet.

Today is my first day back at work at La Reale Casino. I slip into my cubicle in the accounting section, trying to be as invisible as possible. The office looks exactly the same, sterile gray dividers, the gentle hum of computers, women in crisp suits moving purposefully between departments. It’s been two months since I’ve been here, but it seems like nothing has changed.

Well, almost nothing.

I boot up my computer, typing in my old password out of habit. To my surprise, it still works. The system loads, revealing spreadsheets and financial reports waiting to be processed. As a bookkeeper, my job is to make sure all the numbers add up, to track the flow of money through the casino’s legitimate operations. At least, that’s what it says in my job description.

What it doesn’t mention is that I’m also supposed to ignore certain discrepancies, to look the other way when money appears or disappears without explanation. It’s all part of working for a business owned by Caterina De Luca.

Caterina. Just thinking her name makes my stomach twist into knots.

“Well, look who’s back from vacation.”

I spin around, anxiety replacing the momentary calm of routine. Lara Rosso leans against my cubicle wall, her wild red hair framing her face like flames. Her blue eyes glitter with barely contained mania, her perfect suit a stark contrast to the chaos I know lurks beneath.

“Rehab,” I correct automatically, my voice smaller than I’d like. “Not vacation.”

“Same difference.” Lara shrugs, examining her short, practical nails. “Both involve lying around all day while other people do the real work.”

I turn back to my computer, trying to focus on the screen rather than the predator hovering at my back. My hands tremble slightly as I navigate through the familiar software.

She circles around, perching on the edge of my desk. Too close. Always too close. Her presence fills the small space of my cubicle like toxic gas.

“To think you didn’t kill yourself after all?” she asks with mock disappointment. “Shame. I had twenty bucks riding on it.”

The casual cruelty lands like a physical blow. Two months ago, I might have broken down or walked right down to the game floor. Now, I just feel tired.

“Can you just leave me alone?” I ask, not looking up from my screen.

Lara chuckles, the sound like broken glass in my ears. “Yeah, sure thing,” she says, standing up with exaggerated compliance. “Oh, look at that, boss is walking in with her boy toy.”

My head snaps up before I can stop myself. I see them, Caterina De Luca in all her towering glory, her white suit pristine against her golden hair. And beside her, Adam.

My Adam.

Except he’s not mine anymore. He’s hers.

I stare at his hands as they walk past, and the sight makes my stomach lurch. Even from this distance, I can see how wrong they look, twisted, scarred, the fingers curled at almost unnatural angles. I gasp involuntarily, the sound escaping before I can trap it behind my teeth.

“That’s on you,” Lara whispers, her mouth suddenly at my ear. “Never forget that.”

The words sink into me like poison darts. She’s right. This is my fault. I sold him to pay off my gambling debts. I thought Caterina just wanted him for... I don’t know what I thought. Not this. Never this.

Adam’s eyes drift across the office, scanning the rows of cubicles with casual disinterest until they land on me. For a split second, our gazes lock, and I see a flash of recognition light up his face. His eyes widen, lips parting slightly in surprise. Then, just as quickly, panic floods his features. His head snaps down so violently I’m surprised he doesn’t hurt his neck, his shoulders hunching as if trying to make himself smaller.

The reaction is so visceral, so immediate, that it feels like he thinks just looking at me will get him into some trouble.

Caterina notices the exchange instantly. Her crimson eyes follow Adam’s line of sight until they find me, and the transformation in her expression makes my blood freeze. Her lips curl into a slow, deliberate smile that contains no warmth, only promise. A predator acknowledging prey.

She slides her arm around Adam’s waist, her fingers digging visibly into his side as she guides him past my cubicle toward her private office. The message couldn’t be clearer if she’d shouted it through a megaphone. He belongs to her now.

“Well, that was awkward,” Lara whispers, delight dripping from every syllable.

I can’t respond. My throat has closed up, my entire body rigid with fear and grief.

Lara finally slinks away, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter at my misery. I turn back to my computer, trying to focus on the numbers swimming before my eyes, but all I can see is Adam’s damaged hands.

My fingers drift to my pocket, touching the sobriety chip again. Two months clean. Two months of group therapy, of facing my demons, of learning to take responsibility for my actions. And here I am, right back where I started, only now with the full weight of what I’ve done crushing down on me.

I think about the conversation I had the day after getting out of rehab. The strange number I called.

Luna Cruz. The name alone makes my hands shake as I think about our conversation. I’m not stupid. I know who she is. Everyone in Boston’s underworld does. "La Sádica," they call her.

‘No fucking idea what it means, though. I failed Spanish.’

Caterina’s most dangerous rival and the only woman who’s ever gone toe-to-toe with her and lived to tell about it.

“I can save Adam,” she’d said on the call, cutting straight to the point. “But I need something from you first.”

I’d expected money, information about Caterina’s operations, maybe even something illegal. But her actual request was oddly specific.

“I want Caterina’s complete itinerary for the race weekend at Monza. Every meeting, every dinner reservation, every bathroom break if possible.”

I glance at the calendar on my computer. The Italian Grand Prix at Monza is just a week away. Caterina never misses it. Which means I have a week to get this information and somehow pass it to Luna without getting caught.

I look over at Caterina’s receptionist, a woman named Monica, who sits poised at her desk just outside the main office. Her computer is right there, tantalizingly close, likely containing everything I need, Caterina’s schedule, her travel arrangements for Monza, all the information Luna requested. Monica’s the perfect gatekeeper, competent and utterly loyal to Caterina. She never leaves her post unattended.

I fidget with my sobriety chip, trying to think of a way to get access to that computer. Maybe I could create some kind of distraction? Spill coffee on her? Pull the fire alarm? Each idea seems more ridiculous than the last.

Suddenly, a sound breaks through my desperate planning, a distinct grunt coming from behind Caterina’s office door. I freeze, my ears straining to make sense of what I’m hearing. There’s another grunt, followed by what can only be described as... moaning?

“Cat, we’re in your office,” I hear Adam’s voice, breathless and embarrassed. “It’s embarrassing...”

His protest dissolves into more moaning, the sound unmistakably one of pleasure. My stomach twists with a nauseating mixture of jealousy, disgust, and heartbreak.

Monica shifts uncomfortably in her chair, pretending she can’t hear what’s happening behind that door. She reaches for her headphones, slipping them over her ears with practiced efficiency. This isn’t the first time, I realize, with a sickening clarity.

As Adam’s moans grow louder, I notice something crucial, Monica is blushin bright red. She stands up, gathering some files. She glances at the office door, winces at a particularly loud sound from inside, and then looks at me with an awkward shrug.

She walks away quickly, dignity intact but clearly eager to escape the awkward soundtrack. I watch her disappear around the corner, hardly believing my luck. The computer is right there, unlocked and unattended.

‘Fuck, should I just go for it right now?’

I glance around to make sure no one is watching, then slip into Monica’s chair. My hands shake as I navigate through folders, searching for Caterina’s schedule. Adam’s continued moans from the office provide a disturbing backdrop to my frantic search.

The Outlook file opens under my frantic clicking, revealing Caterina’s meticulously organized schedule laid out in color-coded blocks. My heart hammers against my ribcage as I fumble in my pocket, fingers trembling as they close around the small USB drive.

I prepare for it to be a long and stressful transfer that comes down to the wire.

Relief floods through me as the progress bar zips to completion in less than a second. I quickly close the window, trying to leave everything exactly as Monica had it. The USB feels impossibly heavy in my pocket as I stand up, my legs wobbly beneath me.

‘Should I look?’

I can’t help myself. Something pulls me toward Caterina’s office door like a magnet. The sounds coming from inside are unmistakable, Adam’s whimpering growing more desperate by the second. I find myself creeping closer.

I peek through the gap in the door, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure they must hear it. Adam’s on his back on the couch, his damaged hands splayed uselessly at his sides, while Caterina straddles him, her white suit jacket discarded, her silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to reveal the curve of her breasts. Her blonde hair falls forward like a curtain as she moves above him with a killer’s precision.

“Cat,” Adam whimpers, his voice breaking with desperation, “I think I’m gonna…”

“No, not yet,” Caterina commands. She grabs his wrists, pinning them above his head while her hips continue their relentless rhythm.

The sound of skin against skin fills the office, wet and obscene. Adam moans louder than I’ve ever heard him, his back arching off the leather couch as he strains against her grip. His face contorts with a mixture of pleasure and agony that I never once managed to draw from him during our time together.

“Please,” he begs, “please, Cat, I can’t…”

A laugh suddenly erupts behind me, making me jump so violently I nearly crash into the door. I spin around to find Lara leaning against the wall clutching her sides. Her blue eyes glittering with malicious delight.

“Tell me you’re not a cuck on top of everything else, you rancid bitch,” she says through her laughter.

My face burns with humiliation as I stumble backward. Lara’s smile widens as she watches me squirm, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

“I was just… I didn’t mean to…” I stammer, each word digging me deeper into this hole.

Lara takes a step closer, invading my personal space with predatory intent. “You were just what? Getting off on watching your ex-husband get fucked by the woman you sold him to?” Her voice drips with contempt. “That’s a special kind of pathetic, even for you.”

I shake my head frantically, tears springing to my eyes despite my best efforts to hold them back. The sounds from the office continue, Adam’s moans growing more desperate with each passing second.

“This is none of your business,” I manage to whisper, trying to edge away from both Lara and the office door. “I was worried about him thats all.”

Lara shakes her head, a mirthless chuckle escaping her lips. “Whatever. I’m sure she’s only making it this loud for your benefit anyway.” She leans in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “Maybe you’d be happier as a cuckquean. It suits your pitiful nature.”

I turn away from Lara, my face burning with shame and humiliation. Her mocking laughter follows me as I retreat. Somehow I make it back to my cubicle without collapsing of heart break.

The sounds from Caterina’s office still reach me even at this distance, Adam’s desperate moans mixing with her commanding voice.

“Wait no not there…” I hear Adam groan out.

I sink into my chair, trying to block it out, but the images of the way he begged Caterina for release are already burned into my brain

With trembling fingers, I pull the burner phone from my pocket. Luna had given it to me, a cheap flip phone with only her number programmed into it.

I hesitate for just a moment before typing out the message: “I got Caterina’s itinerary.”

Luna’s response comes almost immediately: “Send it.”

My fingers hover over the tiny keyboard as I type back: “It’s on a USB.”

Luna texts back: “...”

Another message follows quickly: “fym it’s on a usb? You coulda just taken a picture.”

I wince at her obvious frustration. Of course. A picture would have been simpler, faster, safer. But in my panic, with Adam’s moans filling my ears and the fear of discovery sending adrenaline coursing through my veins, I’d defaulted to what I knew, data extraction, clean and complete.

‘Like a movie! It was the cool choice!’

“I thought you wanted the file,” I text back, my thumb pressing too hard on each key.

Her reply is swift and exasperated: “Okay, fine, just send the file.”

“How?” I type, the single word feeling inadequate even as I press send.

Luna’s response arrives with almost palpable irritation: “Are you fucking serious? Just upload it to your computer and then share it to your phone.”

My heart sinks as I glance at my work computer. The mere thought of connecting the USB to this machine sends a chill down my spine.

“My work computer?” I type back.

A crying emoji appears on the screen, followed by words that make me cringe: “R U SLOW? Do not upload it to your work computer.”

I bite my lip, shame burning through me as I type out the truth. “I don’t have a personal computer. I lost it gambling.”

Luna’s response pops up on the screen, the capital letters practically screaming at me. “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. I’ll pick up the stupid fucking USB drive from you tonight. Stop messaging me.”

I stare at the text, relief washing over me like a cool wave. Despite her obvious frustration, she’s coming. She’s actually going to help. I clutch the phone to my chest, a smile breaking across my face for the first time in what feels like forever.

“I did it. I actually did something right for once.” I can’t help but smile as I whisper to myself. A job well done.

‘Now I just have to figure out why my period isn’t coming in.”