Rhapsody: Interracial French Mafia Romance (The Butcher and the Violinist Book 1)

by Kenya Wright

  I trusted Shalimar because Aunt Celina did, and my aunt was no fool.

  “Wear something elegant and black.” Aunt Celina strolled off. "And don't forget about the mask. And not a horror mask.”

  I laughed. “Of course not.”

  “Something lace. See-through as much as possible. Showing, but not showing. Don’t freak the men out. A pretty face and nice body gets tips. A mysterious sexy woman gets checks."

  Giggling, I followed after her. “Anything else?”

  “Hair down in curls. Minimal make-up. No jewelry. We want you to dazzle, but not entice. The other girls are there for that.” Aunt Celina stopped at the door and turned to me. “And remember how beautiful you are. You look like your mother Valerie, more and more each day.”

  My heart ached.

  Aunt Celina lowered her voice. “I miss her.”

  “Me too.”

  Pulling me into her arms, she hugged me for a long time. I came close to never leaving her warmth.

  “You’ll be fine.” She pulled away and opened the door. “You have to hustle.”

  I nodded.

  “You don't earn without bold steps. Shake up life and wait to see what falls out.” She handed me the black card, as if I didn’t already know The Candy Shop’s address. “Shalimar will be managing this evening. You know I’m too old to hang out there anymore. She’ll have strict instructions to keep you out of trouble. Shalimar has your back, or I’ll break her pretty neck.”

  “O-kay. That won’t be necessary. We won’t get in any trouble. And thank you, Aunt Celina for the opportunity—”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s see if you can do it. This isn’t the opera. You’ll be playing around a lot of stuff—sex, a little violence.” A worried expression hit her face. “You can handle it. Play the violin. Mind your business. Keep on playing unless there is a fire. Don’t talk to anyone, especially the clients. You’re there to play, not entertain them in any other way.”

  “Okay.” I’d read the news articles that talked about Aunt Celina’s brothel. Every now and then, the cops discovered a body there. Other scandals occurred. I tried to stay out of it, and not pay too much attention to the media when my aunt was concerned.

  “I love you, Eden.”

  “I love you too.”

  She left and closed the door behind her.

  I stared at it and let out a long breath. “To shaking up life.”

  Chapter 1

  Pimpa’s Paradise

  Eden

  On the inside of my apartment, V lounged in the windowsill and watched me through the window.

  I stood on the outside, decked out, and wearing a lace mask that barely covered half of my face. “I’ll be back, V.”

  V closed her eyes and took a nap.

  “No, don’t worry about me, V. I’ll be okay.” I tapped my foot on the sidewalk over and over. My violin case knocked against my leg.

  Cars sped by. The sky grayed as the new moon rose.

  I probably shouldn’t have smoked before going. Bad move.

  The marijuana hadn’t helped my nerves. If anything, I’d become edgy and paranoid.

  It’s fine. You’re wearing a mask. Pretend like you’re a superhero.

  My Uber™ arrived.

  I hopped inside.

  “Oh wow.” The guy glanced over his shoulder. “Are you going to a masquerade ball?”

  “Something like that.” I shut the door and gestured to my violin case. “I’m playing at one.”

  He laughed. “Well, get your work on.”

  “That’s right.”

  He sped off, heading toward Belladonna’s Red Light District.

  Earlier, I’d left a note to my roommate. Leo would get in late. He’d grabbed a midnight gig playing for an erotic puppet theater near the Red-Light District.

  Hustle. Hustle.

  We headed to the Candy Shop. As I sat in the back of the car, I was sure I appeared calm, but on the inside? My head walked a tightrope of insanity.

  I wore a black chiffon skirt and see-through black lace blouse. The lace mask matched the shirt and covered my forehead, nose, and around my eyes with a swirl patterned. The band of the skirt hit right at my waistline. The contrast of the fitted skirt and the voluminous blouse made me look thinner.

  I’d wrapped my hair into an updo and wore minimal makeup—elegant but understated. My long split exposed the crimson red silk lining. I found the best undergarments I could find and went with it. Mismatched stockings, thigh highs, panties and a bra.

  It doesn’t matter. No one will see under the dress.

  Since the struggle with poverty, my dating had declined. In psychology, I learned about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. The base of the pyramid included food, water, and sleep. He believed that those needs had to be met before people could move on to safety and love. Since the symphony scandal, I’d been wondering how I would eat and pay my rent. I’d lost my desire to even call guys back.

  The brothel could help me get my sexy back.

  My body was like a violin. It needed to be regularly played to stay in tune.

  I'll figure out who can be my tuner, once I get this money right.

  I stared down at my violin case.

  Eros was the most beautiful, and expensive, thing I cared for. He was the king of violins and cost millions of dollars. I paid a thousand a month for insurance, just in case a classy, smart thief happened to spot its worth at one of my concerts and plan a heist.

  Eros was created by Antonio Stradivari in 1731. Stradivari, who was considered the greatest violin-maker of all time. The instrument was one of 600 Stradivari violins in the world.

  And the history continued from there. Many celebrated musicians played it all over the world. By my time, Eros had made it to an eccentric heiress of a copper fortune. She enjoyed the instrument as a hobby. She died in 1970. Her family found the violin in her closet years later. The history after that was blurry.

  We’re going to make some money tonight, Eros. Are you ready?

  I moved my attention to the journey, gazing through the lace mask. The city sped past the glass.

  Belladonna was full of good and bad neighborhoods. The wealthy and powerful outnumbered the poor. An unofficial Red Light District sat on the edge of the city. It was close enough for the rich to get to it, but far enough to forget they ever went.

  Here we go.

  The car turned the corner into the district. I’d only been here once. The first time I came, was when I moved to Belladonna. I knew my aunt had a place in the area, but since I was never invited to visit, I didn’t know much about it other than…you know…the sex. When I showed, she was pissed and possibly embarrassed. She immediately escorted me out of the Candy Shop and took me to her immaculate condo on the other side of town. The next week, she forbade me to ever go again. I didn’t know if it was because of my dad, or if she didn’t think I should be there.

  Now I get to check this place out. Finally. That’s another upside. This will work.

  Red streetlights signaled the entrance. Every building and store’s window had a red glow in it. We drove past bars with backroom gambling and bare fist fights. Many news reports came from stabbings or gun shots in this area.

  The next set of blocks provided the brothels. The Candy Shop stood at the end in a nondescript building. A small bronze plaque hung above the entrance with its name on it.

  “Thank you,” I said to the driver, grabbed my violin, and left the car.

  I made it to the door in seconds. Two men stood inside.

  Should I take off the mask?

  “I’m here to play.” I lifted my violin case.

  The tallest man smiled at me. “Celina told us. You must be her niece. We’re excited.”

  “Music enthusiasts?” I asked.

  The tall guy shrugged. “It’s a nice change to moaning and fighting.”

  “I can imagine.”

  He pointed to the side door and pressed a button on the wall.

&
nbsp; I tried the handle. It opened. I entered a dimly lit lobby that was the size of my apartment. Gorgeous woman lounged in the space, sipping wine from beautiful glasses. A few blew out smoke. I sniffed the air and smelled weed.

  No one stared at me as I walked in with my mask. I was sure they’d seen much crazier things here.

  This is going to be an experience.

  Sex throbbed through the brothel. It was this intense heat causing my nipples to stir.

  I walked past the lounge and went to the next hallway. Cigar smoke tangled with the sensual scents of lit candles outlining the bar. Art hung on the walls, portraying nude orgies in a forest among hanging fruit. The décor was delicious. Sensuality rode the air.

  My heart sped up. Excitement skittered across my skin, and between my legs warmth rose to my core.

  Calm down. You’re here to play, not pay for action.

  I was glad I wore the mask. It made me feel like I’d put on a secret identity. It allowed me to watch and not feel judged for being excited.

  Wow.

  All around me, beautiful women strolled with dangerous men. Make-up painted exotic faces. Jewels glittered along necks and dangled from ears. Men of all different races coupled with them. They all looked like gangsters. Some had guns in holsters. Most had scars.

  Like the brothel’s sugary theme, everything oozed sweetness. The women sucked on lollipops. Bright colored lingerie decorated the few that wore clothes. White carpet covered the floors and resembled powder sugar. Multicolored chandeliers dangled like rainbow candy drops from the high ceilings. Waiters carried out drinks and savory smelling dishes. A huge fountain of chocolate stood in the center.

  Seconds later, a red door opened in the back of the room. Shalimar appeared. Tall, exotic, and dressed all in black. Her long black hair swung from side to side past her hips.

  “Eden!” She headed my way and glanced at the case. “I can’t believe Celina has you working here.”

  “Me too.”

  “I love the mask.”

  “Thanks. Aunt Celina wanted me to be mysterious.”

  “Of course. You can see that you’re beautiful, but your features can’t be memories.” She extended her hand and grinned. “Welcome to the Candy Shop. You know what? I’ve never seen you here. Have you been here before?”

  “No, she wouldn’t let me come by.”

  “Too many hoes?”

  I parted my lips in shock. “Uh. . .no. My dad is—”

  “It was a joke.”

  “Oh yeah.” I gave a nervous laugh. “Either way I’m excited to play here.”

  “Sure you are.” She gestured for me to follow her. “That enthusiasm may change after a night of playing here. If half of the guys don’t try to fuck you, the other half will tell you to stop playing.”

  I followed. She led me past more women. We stopped at the red door she’d come out of. “You know what? I’m sorry. I’m in a shitty mood.”

  “I get it. Bad work day?”

  “That’s one way to look at it. A blast from my past returned and I’m in a sour mood.” She opened the door and led me through. “And you can’t take sick days with your aunt.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Sucks like a toothless whore.”

  I had no response.

  “Whatever. So, take your time and ask as much as you want here. I’ve been at the Candy Shop the longest.”

  I wasn’t sure I should’ve asked, but I wondered aloud. “How did you start here?”

  Shalimar shrugged. “I was doing the Toppy app first.”

  “Toppy?”

  “It’s like Uber, but for prostitutes. Worst mistake of my life. My adopted parents kicked me out of the house. I was young and stupid. Homeless, of course. No high school diploma. No relatives. It was a desperate moment. One day, I made peace with the fact that I’d have to sleep with strangers.”

  Her raw truth rocked me.

  She continued, “I ended up Googling© how to be a hooker and found the app. Celina’s recruiter found me months later, auditioned, and hired me.”

  “Oh.” I’d figured she’d only been management. “Do you like it here?”

  “After three years of working, Celina told me I was too smart to get paid for fucking. She paid for me to go to college. Of course, I had to pay her back, but she gave me a chance when no other would. During my sophomore year, she promoted me to management and retired my room.” Shalimar led me down a hallway. “Next semester I graduate.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  I had no plans to jump into prostitution, but Shalimar’s story was inspiring. She’d taken lemons and made lemonade.

  Aunt Celina argued that high-end brothels were slowly becoming a thing of the past. Sex working had migrated online. Apps and escort sites replaced streetwalkers in torn fishnet stockings. These web sites provided client reviews and user ratings.

  “You’ll be playing in the VIP section,” Shalimar said. “There’s four levels in this building.”

  We passed a few.

  “How much are the rooms?” I asked.

  “$3,000 for the lower rooms. The VIP levels vary in price.”

  Shocked, I asked. “$3,000 for a room?”

  “Yep. Not counting the two thousand to even enter the building.”

  “$2,000 to only come inside?”

  “Yes, but the price includes alcohol and food.”

  That’s still a lot of money.

  Shalimar smiled. “But if a man wants to spend more time with a woman that he likes, then he gets a room.”

  “So, $5,000 altogether?”

  “That’s only to get her in the room. He still has to pay her, and she decides the price. It’s all handled between the customer and me. He picks the girl. I set it up and charge his card. Once everything is paid, I give him a key as well as notify security.”

  “Are cameras in the rooms?”

  “Only on the first three levels. The fourth level has no cameras.”

  “So those rooms cost more?”

  “A lot more.”

  I had no idea Aunt Celina was bringing in that much money. I knew big names swarmed around her with huge pockets, but these prices shocked me.

  One room had the door open. Inside, diamonds covered the necks of four naked women as they surrounded one fat man on the floor. They giggled and poured champagne into his open mouth.

  “Some of the men like to keep the door open. They’re exhibitionists.” Shalimar eyed me. “Starting to think about a new career huh?”

  “Oh, no.” I shook my head. “I’m not crazy enough to think being a prostitute is easy. There’s seduction, and a psychological foreplay that I’m not that skilled in. I’d be stumbling all over the place, trying to make some change.”

  “I could always show you the ropes.”

  I laughed again as we passed another room with an open door.

  Shalimar stopped at the opening and gestured. “Sex is being sold for high prices. You would make more from what’s between your thighs, than that violin.”

  “After those numbers, I believe you.” I felt weird looking inside, but my curiosity wouldn’t let me stop myself from checking it out.

  “Take Lidia over there.” She gestured to a dark-skinned woman with violet hair. “She charges $2,000 an hour. What could she be giving to the guy that he couldn’t get on the street for $100, or even free from a lonely girl in a bar?”

  “Uh…that is a question I would love to know too. In fact, teach me whatever she’s doing.”

  Shalimar chuckled and moved us along. “Women think a whore gets more because she must be gorgeous or has a perfect body. Not true. The difference between Lydia and another, is that Lydia can look a man straight in the eye and tell him her worth. Period. And she believes that $2,000 is the price. And she finds people who are willing to pay it.”

  Which is why I’m broke.

  When I dated, I gave away my body and heart freely. There were no rules or hold
ing back. I enjoyed the passion of life and there was nothing more exciting than love—new hearts beating against each other’s chest. No hundred-dollar bill could replace the scent of a man who loved me with all his heart.

  Yep. This is why I’m broke.

  “There are things that women in here do different. But it’s the small things.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “We practice our smiles.”

  I giggled. “What?”

  “There are different types of smiles. There’s the sly ones. The you’re-so-wicked ones.”

  “You practice smiles?”

  “You should too. Stand in front of a mirror and label your smiles.”

  Maybe when I have some extra cash to stand around and do that.

  “Either way, if you’re interested, let me know.” Shalimar winked at me. “Of course, your aunt would kill us, so it would be between us.”

  “Which is exactly why I won’t do it.”

  “Anyway, back to why we’re here.” She tossed her black hair over her shoulder. “You’ll play for eight hours each night.”

  “Okay. Cool.”

  “Your aunt said you had to raise some quick cash in the next two weeks, so she figured you would want to do all fourteen days.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Stay to yourself. Don’t look at people in the eyes too much. This is a world of double lives and fake names. If you’re not selling your body, then it’s best to disappear. Check with me on anybody.”

  “I understand.”

  “You’ll get a twenty-minute break every two hours to rest your arms. Is that good enough?”

  “Yes.” I’d played back to back before, sometimes three shows in a night. My arms had worked up enough muscle to handle the brothel’s schedule.

  Focus, and stay cool.