Esmeralda gestures behind her to the dimly lit salon where the girls who aren’t currently engaged in the rooms upstairs are entertaining prospective clients. “Her last suitor just left. She’s free for a few moments at least.”

I snort.

Suitor.

It’s a lovely name for a man who pays for sex. It’s not exactly courting, is it?

When we enter the salon, a few men glance our way, but their gazes slide away once they take in our appearance. Our garb makes it abundantly clear we are not merchandise. All of Esmeralda’s girls wear dresses. None would be caught wearing men’s clothing, especially not with conspicuous bloodstains on the sleeves.

It’ll be a bitch trying to get that out of the wool.

Heavy brocade drapes cover the windows as effectively as they help retain the heat of the massive hearth at the center of the far wall. The carpeting is plush enough that my boots sink into it. Esmeralda must have replaced it recently. Business must be booming for her to invest in improving the decor underfoot. For as long as I can remember, the salon had boasted the same threadbare woven rugs that were once fine but had been worn thin by years of scuffling boots and silk slippers.

I pop up onto my toes to scan the crowd. Few of Esmeralda’s girls are what I’d call truly beautiful. Pretty, yes, and with most of their teeth, which is impressive, but not beautiful. Rosalita in the exception.

She’s easy to find. A gaggle of well-dressed men cluster around the hearth, where Rosalita is holding court. They’re all leaning in, hanging on every word of some story she’s telling. I recognize a few of them from the society parties Kiki drags me to, but I don’t acknowledge them and they don’t acknowledge me. At the end of the night, when the horizon threatens to spill over with sunlight, we will all retreat to our sprawling villas overlooking the city and pretend none of this ever happened.

I wave my hand as I call out. “Rosalita!”

Her eyes dart to me, and I am reminded of just how powerful they are. They’re the deepest, richest, loveliest shade of brown I have ever seen. There is a warmth to her eyes that few in this brothel—maybe even in this entire city—possess. It was she who made me realize my tastes might run toward the fairer sex, and for that, I will always love her just a tiny bit.

Her smile transforms when she sees me. It’s not the perfect one she flashes at men to loosen their hold on their precious coin. It widens just enough to reveal the slightly crooked canine tooth she always goes to great pains to hide.