My Mafia King

The wooden stage beneath me creaked under my weight. My body moved of its own accord, repeating the same dance I performed every night until the Madam sent me into a room with whichever sadistic bastard paid the highest price. The bruises from the men who had their way with me these past few days still decorated my skin. The finger shaped marks on my waist and hips itched beneath the shimmering gold glitter that hid them.

You'd have thought it'd be illegal, but sin isn't a thing in Vegas. And sex trade was almost as normal as having breakfast on a sunday.

The cheers filled my ears, nearly deafening as my fingers seductively roamed my nearly naked body, the flimsy bra and panties barely covering me. Every attempt to block out the screams proved futile.

My eyes roamed the crowd, spotting different kinds of men until they landed on the Madam, the owner of this brothel and my current monster. A man stood next to her, frowning slightly. Already his gaze was on me. Those eyes seemed to make the bronze walls close in, almost suffocating even.

No part of me dared to stop dancing as they approached me, but my knees nearly buckled from anticipation. Madam's corset dress shimmered as she walked, her lips moving as she kept staring.

"Come here girl." The Madam ordered. Ignoring the groaning men begging me not to stop, I climbed down from the wooden platform.

Standing infront of him now, the intimidating presence seemed to grow tenfold. His crisp black suit looked like it cost more than every dime this brothel made in a decade and his large frame towered over me.

Her arm extended, gripping my chin harshly and forcing me to meet his gaze. "This is Mr Morozcov. He paid a hefty sum to have you, so you're going to be good for him. Won't you girl?"

Nodding shakily my eyes bored into his cold grey ones. He still hadn't said a word, and that dug a pit deep in my gut. Men who didn't tell you what they wanted were dangerous, especially for people like me.

He was handsome, not that it mattered. I've been forced to be with ugly men, average men and unfairly attractive men. Looks don't matter in my world, but the thought still echoed in my mind, sticking to me. This man, Mr Morozcov, was very handsome.

Her fingernails dug into my skin, snapping me back to reality. "I'll be good." The words came out soft, barely audible but she accepted it regardless.

"Be respectful girl. Say hello to your new owner." Her words were like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. New owner?

My mind raced, still struggling to comprehend what she just said. Trading isn't unusual in this business, and it's happened to me a few times already, but the shock was still there, just like it had been all those years ago when I was a child and sold for the first time.

"H_Hello sir." The uncertainty of not knowing what he might want from me, his expectations and demands, was probably the most fatal position possible.

"Are you OK?" Mr Morozcov spoke for the first time, causing me to flinch back. His voice had an accent to it. Probably Russian considering his last name.

Nausea climbed up to my throat, my head pounding from the effort it took to Nod.

"She's fine. You know how_"

"I wasn't speaking to you." My eyes snapped up, the confusion growing even more. No one had ever dared speak to Madam like that, yet here she was, smiling like he didn't just shut her up. Who was this man?

"I'm fine sir." My head fell, bowing to appear more submissive. That was something men tended to like, girls who obeyed without question because the price of rebellion was too high.

"I had one of the girls pack her things and leave it in your vehicle as requested. If that is all I will take my leave." Her fingers detached from my chin, and with a final pat on my back, she's walking away. Each step seemed to signify the finality of my situation.

The hope that filled my chest when she turned around disgusted me. "Oh, and if she gives you any trouble, just place a call to me. I'll handle her for you." And then she's gone.

My eyes tore away from her receding back to stare at him, his eyes were already taking me in fully. My arms made their way around my body, trying to cover myself and create some sort of illusion of warmth as safety. It was fake, safety hadn't been a word in my dictionary for years now, and there was no deluded reality where this man changed that.

"You are cold?" Without waiting for my answer before he shrugged off his suit jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders. His touch, light against my skin, caused me to shiver.

"Thank you sir." Still unsure of what to call him, 'Sir' seemed to be the safest option. After all, he hadn't complained.

We made our way out of the brothel. The moon provided what little light it could, casting a shadow over the large building that was no longer my home. It was still dark. The streets lights that adorned the littered sides of the road were mostly broken.

Chest pounding, my feet barely managed to keep up with Mr Morozcov. He stopped walking infront of a nice black car. An expensive car.

He was clearly wealthy. What was a man of his status doing in the slums of Vegas?

He pulled open the passenger seat for me, staring expectantly.

My skin prickled when my weight settled in the crisp black leather seat. The interior of the car had an all black aesthetic, from the tinted windows to even the car rugs.

The door to the driver's seat pulled open, my eyes dropped to my lap instinctively, fingers trembling. The glitter covering my bruises had began to fall off, and the black and purple marks left a permanent remainder of my miserable reality.

My lips remained firmly shut while he started the car and drove away. If he wanted me to speak, he would have said so. The awkward silence carried for a long time, until he chose to break it.

"Do you remember me?" His voice was sharp, almost desperate.

Was this a game? Should I play along? Some men like playing games. It usually ended with me bleeding on a stone floor. My body ached from just the thought. "Should I?"