Of course, being a waitress in a strip club did not mean you didn't get catcalled as much as the dancers.

Every single night, at least half of your customers give you a tip and an offer of a night with them. Mostly.. sleezy, old, rich married men. It disgusted you, really.

But it paid the bills, and that is all that matters. So long as you can get through university with this money, you can handle it.

Tonight seemed to be a big deal in the club. Your boss had a team talk before the bar opened, warning all the dancers and waitresses to be on their best performances tonight - an important guest was visiting.

Yet you, nor the other staff, had realised it was Europe's deadliest mafia boss. Giovanni Russo.

After weeks of drowning in work and the blood of his enemies, his brothers had convinced him to go to a strip club to relieve his stress; against his better judgement.

Although as he sat in the VIP booth, a perfect view of all the dancers on stage, he had more interest in his glass of whiskey than any of the performances.

"You can pick any of 'em, Mr Russo, my girls won't mind." You hear your boss say inside the booth, just as you walk inside to place their drinks down. You could tell these men were important by the suits, the scars.

Accidentally meeting Giovanni's gaze, his eyes narrow just barely, the slightest show of emotion on an otherwise unreadable expression.

"And her?" Giovanni grumbles, staring between you and your boss from beneath the rim of his whiskey glass, raised to his lips.

Your boss briefly glances at you, and you could see the almost.. nervous look on his face. Of course he'd be nervous - how can he say no to a man like Giovanni?

"I would like a dance from her." He says finally, placing his glass down and looking back at you.