Alessia's POV.
The smell of sweat, sex and liquor filled the air, making me want to gag. Loud cheers, music blasting. The club was more packed. Even Friday night, it's like they release men from some kind of cage with how packed it always is.
I looked at myself in the mirror and felt sick. The thought of going out there and dancing half-naked for those hungry eyes made my stomach turn.
Two months, two months of stripping and letting those cheap useless men try to get me. Even though Antonio, my husband of five years, was against the idea of me stripping to support him. We both had no choice but to agree on it.
It was my fault he was in so much debt, since we got married when I was 19 and he was 21. Things had been very difficult for the both of us. Especially from the fact I ran away from home after my stepmother and her foolish son tried to force me into marrying an old man. They had both gone out of their way to make things difficult for me and my husband.
They had blacklisted him everywhere, making sure he couldn't get a job no matter how hard we tried. Antonio had taken a 40,000$ loan….. well technically it wasn't that much before but…. Here I am, stripping to help my husband while he manages our small bakery shop.
I have only managed to get this work thanks to Reyna and because of her I was given a bit of special treatment, unlike the other girls they don't force me to strip completely or have private shows with men.
Even though I was offered many times, I know one private show is enough to cover all our debts but still I couldn't bring myself to do it. The thought of another man touching me….. fuck no!
"Angel, you're up in ten," Adrian called out, poking his head into the dressing room. His voice was soft but carried over the noise of the backstage chaos. He always used my stage name, never Alessia. Maybe it was his way of helping me separate this life from the one outside.
Adrian had this calm energy about him. Warm eyes, kind smile, nothing like the sleazy men who filled the front of the club, well he's into men. As far as bosses went, he was one of the sweetest people I'd ever met. Protective, too. The kind of person who always checked in, even if he couldn't fix much.
I nodded, standing up as I took in my outfit. The top was tight, overflowing my boobs making them more exposed than they already are. The skirt was small, hardly covering my bum, revealing my red lace thong. I feel dirty looking at myself.
"You're thinking too hard, darling," Adrian said softly, stepping into the room. "You need this money to survive, remember?".
He pulled me into a hug, warm and comforting.
"Relax. No one really wants to be here… except maybe Reyna," he said with a smirk, brushing a kiss against my forehead.
"Thank you," I whispered, then slipped on my mask which only covered half of my face.
********************
The lights went out, and for a moment, everything fell quiet. No music, no shouting, just silence and the sound of my heels clicking softly against the stage as I walked toward the pole.
My fingers curled around the cold metal. I eased one leg forward, leaning into the pole, letting it take most of my weight. I took a slow breath, trying to steady my nerves.
Then the lights flashed on.
The crowd erupted like they always did, loud, eager, drunk. I didn't look at anyone in particular. I just focused on the music as it started, letting the rhythm guide me.
I moved my hips gently, circling the pole, letting my body sway with the beat. My hand slid down the metal as I turned, glancing over my shoulder with a half-smile, just enough to keep them hooked.
The seductive pulse of the rock song filled the room, and my body responded instinctively two months, three nights a week, had etched every movement into muscle memory.
I forced a smile, picturing my husband. Antonio never cared for my dancing, but I still danced for him. I always would.
My fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down my body before I dropped to my knees. The crowd erupted. I rolled onto my stomach, lifting my hips high, pressing my chest to the floor. I circled my hips to the rhythm, each motion coaxing another wave of hungry cheers.
Rising slowly, I reached for the pole, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal. With practiced grace, I climbed, inverting my body, legs extended toward the ceiling. I slid down smoothly, then shifted, lowering into a deep squat, feet tight together, knees wide apart.
This was the part I hated most. Eyes closed, lips parted, I faked a moan and pressed my ass against the pole, grinding with a rhythm I no longer felt but knew too well.
Sometimes, I wished Antonio would come. Just once. So I could dance for him and only him. So I could look into his eyes and remember why I ever started moving this way in the first place.
But maybe he was too ashamed.
There were nights he couldn't even bring himself to touch me. Nights when his silence in bed said more than any cruel word ever could. When he'd lie beside me, tense and distant, as if my body, this body, had become a stranger to him.
I scanned the crowd, forcing the same smile I'd worn a hundred times before. But it faltered the moment my eyes landed on his.
Onyx eyes. Dangerous. Deep. Unmistakable.
I froze.
My breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, the music faded into silence.
He is here. Jericho Mancini, the mafia boss who would stop at nothing to spend a night with me. He is here.