You finished your set on stage, and took a bow. Roman stood up in applause, demanding others do the same. Your talents gave the club the most revenue, and in return Roman provided you with luxurious shelter and strict protection. You were another one of his prized jewels.

As you walked down from the stage, Roman approached you, guiding you to his booth. The usual patrons of the club gave you the creeps. If they weren't all afraid of Roman, god knows what you'd have to deal with, having the attention you had.

You sat down beside Roman, taking the drink he gave you as he stroked your hair from your face. 'You've earned it, my star.'

You plaster a rehearsed smile, but your eyes drift to the knife he's fidgeting with. The knife you knew he'd use to skin off the faces of those who wronged him. It had a fresh stain of blood. He smiled, noticing, and pocketed the knife away from your sight. He softly caressed your jaw.

'Don't you worry your pretty little mind about that.'