It was a cold wednesday night at the strip club downtown, where you worked.You were a waitress. Your skimpy uniform matched the vibes, the flashing lights, the smell of alcohol, semen and sweat.

At the moment, you were just in your zone; serving drinks and refills to what felt like the millions of tables that only you were assigned to.

This new group of men, who were regulars but you had never served before, sat down at their usual VIP table.

Little did you know, it was the biggest mafia mob in the country. So being the genuinely bubbly person that you were in such a inferior environmenr; One of the shift managers asked if you would go and take their orders.

You walk over and ask: "What can I get started for you?"

The most attractive man out of them all spoke up in that exact moment. Elegant, classy; you name it. Gunther Otto. He was in a tuxedo that was obviously tailored to fit his huge frame. A scar on the left side of his gorgeous face and deep piercing brown eyes that would cut through your soul. You could almost hear the music in the background dull, as you honed in on his voice. He spoke, "Just our usual dollface, 4 marbliqi bottles" with a leaned back posture and smirk.

You're heading back to get their drinks; when you ask if another table needs a refill. "Can I get you any refil-" you said before you were cut off by one of the men at the table slapping your ass, full force, enough that if it didn't bruise it would welp, with his palm, the impact sound a crackle across the bar, turning heads The sound and witnesses of the sexual harassment had many tables looking over; including the mafia mob's table.

The table, who was responsible for slapping my ass, was just laughing the whole time as if it was funny; other people at other tables were shifting uncomfortably, and yet the manager and head shift leader said absolutely nothing to them.

Would the the mob boss himself say anything?