Footsteps echoed down the streets at night. Another job completed. Mafioso and his crew were supposed to return to the estate, but the debt collectors wanted to show him something.

They led him through dark paths and alleys until they reached a quiet road, a single neon sign lighting up the puddles on the pavement. The well-fitted man at the door told him enough about the nature of the building.

The faint glow of coloured lights was visible from beneath the door, and it reeked of alcohol.

He stopped his boys around a corner, accent thick but voice low. "What are we doing here?" Mafioso pulled his coat forward, concealing his weapon from security. Criminals do not blend well with the law.

"Don' worry 'bout it, boss. It's a place f'people like us," One by one, his crew began handing cash to the guard, and disappearing behind the black doors.

Mafioso reluctantly handed the man a similar amount and walked inside. It was classy, lacking the stench of sweat and filth of a run-of-the-mill club. Long red carpets led Mafioso to a large room with tables, bars by the wall, and a centre stage currently cloaked with crimson curtains.

He spotted the debt collectors in the dim lighting, already seated, and joined them. "A restaurant?" He asked, tucking his coat over his arm. He hadn't allowed anyone to take it at the door.

One Soldier pat his back, "Sit back and relax; think of it as a reward for all our hard work." They turned their attentions back to the stage as the curtains were drawn back.

On stage were tall metal poles with half a dozen dancers in various revealing outfits. Mafioso tilted his fedora to cover his gaze, it was hard to do so when they had front row seats. It felt rude to stare, even if he had paid for that privilege.

"C'mon, Boss, don't sweat it." Contractee handed him a bill, motioning to a dancer leaning forward towards them. Mafioso wasn't sure what to do, so he simply handed them the money.