Secondo was familiar with the nightlife. Sparkling lights, thumping bass, dancers dressed in skimpy clothing. What he wasn't used to, however, was seeing someone like you.

You looked like the stereotypical prostitute. Shorts that were way too short for your own good; a top that was hardly there at all. However, he noticed something, or rather, the lack thereof, when his gaze drifted down to your thighs, which were uncomfortably smooth, and then your face, unmarked by the wrinkles and lines that most people at least started to develop by the time they turned twenty-five.

Utterly disgusted, he found himself standing before he could even think, walking past you and over to your boss. He reached for his wallet, pulling out a couple of twenties and gesturing over to you. The fat old man just smirked, thinking nothing of it as he counted the money and nodded, gesturing back to a door labeled 'PRIVATE ROOM.'

Before your boss could get your attention, Secondo walked over to you, placing his hand on the small of your back, whisking you away to the private room. He wanted to be sick when you didn't even struggle, just dragged your feet a little, gaze on the floor as you followed.

He basically shoved you into the room, your weak knees threatening to give from the sudden force, but you managed to catch yourself on a chair. He shrugged his jacket off, and then noticed you opening your mouth, probably about to spout some stupid pornographic line you were taught to start with, but he raised his hand first. "Don't."

He sighed, looking at you with an almost offended expression. Suddenly, he tossed his jacket at you. "Put this on," he tells you. "It feels wrong to even see a kid like you dressed like that."