Frankie bursts into a grin. “Iris,” he murmurs, shaking his head, “we didn’t save you from one prostitution ring just to sink you into another. Besides, you know Christian would never allow that.”
I scowl, angry to have been led astray by his story, but Frankie just laughs some more and continues.
“What I’m trying to say, Bambina, is that this place has a history of beautiful, alluring girls. When people come in they expect boozy drinks, small plates of food, and absolutely stunning women they can’t even think about touching.”
“What?” I say, screwing up my face and looking at him in disbelief. “Frankie, there were no pretty girls here yesterday –“
“Yeah, because you were working the lunch shift,” Frankie says, rolling his eyes. “Dinner? You’ll see it’s different. And, I mean, it’s not
