Chapter Text
The bar smelled like limes and bleach, sticky from a long Friday night. Catherine leaned against the counter, drying glasses with easy rhythm, her black hair pulled into a messy knot that somehow still looked good. Marina sat on a stool at the far end, half out of her work clothes, stage makeup smudged around her eyes. Her heels dangled from two fingers as she nursed a beer, watching Catherine work with the same mix of envy and affection she always did.
“You closing with me?” Catherine asked without looking up.
“Smurf said I could cut out early,” Marina muttered, though she didn’t move. Her legs ached, but going home to the silence of the compound didn’t feel appealing. Not tonight.
Catherine finally glanced over, smirk tugging at her mouth. “Good show?”
Marina arched a brow. “Tips were shit. Guys in here lately just want to stare, not spend.”
“Maybe they’re saving up for your college fund.” Catherine winked, earning a scoff. Their friendship had always teetered on the line between teasing and tension, but Catherine was the only one who could get away with it.
Before Marina could answer, Catherine dropped the towel on the counter and leaned in. Her voice lowered, almost conspiratorial.
“Smurf’s stopping by later.”
Marina’s stomach gave a little twist. “Why?”
Catherine shrugged, though her eyes said she already knew the answer. “News. About Pope.”
The name landed like a stone in Marina’s chest. She fought to keep her face neutral, but her grip tightened on the beer bottle.
“What about him?”
Catherine studied her for a beat, then gave a small, casual smile — the kind that didn’t fool Marina for a second.
“He’s getting out. Sooner than anyone thought.”
The bar seemed to hum louder, neon lights buzzing against the silence that stretched between them. Catherine went back to stacking glasses, unbothered, like she hadn’t just upended the ground under Marina’s feet.
Marina stared at her reflection in the mirror behind the bottles. Heavy makeup, sweat-slick hair, eyes that looked more like Smurf’s than her own. She lifted the bottle again, swallowing hard, but the taste of beer had gone bitter.
“Soon,” Catherine repeated lightly, almost to herself. “Guess we’ll see what kind of Pope comes home this time.”
Marina didn’t answer. Her pulse had already started racing, mind flashing back to a pair of dark eyes she hadn’t been able to forget since she was a teenager.
The club doors pushed open, letting in a rush of ocean air and the sharp click of heels. Marina didn’t need to look — the shift in the room said enough. Smurf moved through the place like she owned every square inch, and maybe she did.
“Ladies,” Smurf purred, sliding up to the bar in her tailored jacket, her perfume cutting through the beer-and-sweat haze. She kissed Catherine’s cheek first, then turned her eyes to Marina.
“Mama,” Marina said, sliding off the stool just enough to lean in. The word came easy, warm, even though she knew exactly what it meant — a leash disguised as affection.
Smurf’s smile was all teeth. “How was business tonight, baby?”
Marina reached into her bag and pulled out a thick envelope, placing it on the counter between them. “Your cut.”
Smurf tapped it with manicured nails, not bothering to count. She never had to — Marina wouldn’t short her.
“Good girl.” Smurf’s gaze lingered, sharp enough to slice. “Always so reliable. Not like some people.”
Marina didn’t have to ask who some people were. She flicked her eyes toward Catherine, who busied herself with another glass.
Smurf tilted her head, feline and amused. “I hear you were talking about Andrew.”
The name curled through the air, heavier than smoke. Marina’s chest tightened, but she forced herself to lift her chin. “Catherine mentioned it.”
“Mmm.” Smurf reached out, brushing a strand of glitter-stuck hair from Marina’s cheek with maternal precision. “He’ll be out soon. You’ll see for yourself if prison’s made him better… or worse.”
Marina’s breath caught, but she said nothing.
Smurf leaned closer, voice low, meant for her alone. “Don’t get distracted, baby. Remember — everything you have is because of me.”
The words slid under her skin like a knife. Marina swallowed hard and forced a smile, the kind Smurf liked best: obedient, grateful, even when it burned.
“Yes, Mama.”
Smurf kissed her forehead, all tenderness and poison, before slipping the envelope into her purse.
“Good girl,” she repeated, and with that, she was gone, heels clicking back into the night — leaving the air heavy with perfume and the weight of everything unsaid.