Her Predator

Some relief for now

Natalia

Everyone at the club knew Alessandro Costello. A series of clubs, restaurants, casinos, and bars were owned by this enigmatic businessman. According to the rumours, he was a ruthless and dangerous man with ties to the Mafia. He had even been responsible for a few deaths. Looking at these hulking men, it appeared that the grapevine had been right.

Deafening silence descended upon the room as the men locked their gazes on me before bursting into laughter. I waited patiently for them to be quiet. I was getting impatient.

"If you are Alessandro's girlfriend, then I am the King of England?" Karl jeered. The men burst into fits of laughter.

"Do I come across as stupid?" Karl clenched his teeth.

"I can get in touch with him to confirm your suspicion," I said in a calm voice. "Can you tell me why you're surprised?" I made a confident fist and folded my arms. I just wanted these men to get out of my house as soon as possible; I could worry about the ramifications of my actions later.

"Hey, do you work at the Starbutts?" One of Karl's minions raised his voice.

"Yes, it was there that I first met Alessandro. He was my...well, he was a customer, to be precise." I told a lie.

The men appeared to be a little unsettled at this point. I could hear them talking in hushed tones to one another.

"Anyhow, do you have our money or not?" Karl inquired, completely disregarding my previous statement.

I wanted to smack that cretin.

"Can you tell me how much money Johnathan owes you?"

"Fifty thousand," he said, without batting an eye.

I came dangerously close to choking on my spit. The amount was thirty thousand dollars!

I made an effort to regain my composure. "I will repay you, but please do not cause any harm to my brother. Alessandro isn't going to be pleased with this," I said.

Karl appeared to be debating whether or not to proceed. According to what I can gather, these men were Alessandro's underlings who would have had little access to the mob boss himself.

"What if she's telling the truth?" One of his men said in hushed tones.

"I won't hurt him in any way. But, unless the boss orders otherwise, I must receive my payment."

I smiled and said, "Just give me a few days."

I finally took a deep breath after holding it for so long. When the men left, I immediately closed the door and leaned against it, my breathing becoming increasingly laboured. I was well aware that I was in a mess.

"Nat," Johnathan called out to me from across the room. I blinked my eyes open and turned to look at him.

"Do you know Alessandro Costello?" He inquired.

My attention was drawn to his bleeding finger, and I walked into the kitchen to retrieve the first aid box.

"I've never seen him before," I responded.

"So, what was that?"

"I lied, to save your fingers and your ass, I lied," I said this while sitting on our old, worn-out couch. I motioned for Johnathan to take up a position next to me.

"But what are we going to do now?"

I rummaged through the box and extracted a ball of cotton as well as some antiseptic liquid.

"I'm at a loss for words, John. I warned you not to become involved with those people." I let out a sigh.

As I placed the cotton on his finger, he winced a little.

"I'm sorry, and I promise to do better in the future. I'll even pay back the money I borrowed. I'm sure I'll come up with something." Johnathan shared his thoughts.

I gave him a warm hug and a smile. Johnathan was four years younger than I was, and he was the only member of my immediate family.

"I promise you that I will rectify the situation." He murmured to himself.

"Sure you will," I said.

I had managed to get rid of those thugs for the time being, but I knew they would return.

***********

I had never been to a strip club before I was 18 years old. I had previously worked in restaurants, but the pay was insufficient. After that, one of my fellow waitresses suggested that I try my hand at stripping. To be completely honest, I am not a prude, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I suffer from severe stage fright. Due to the stress, I would most likely pass out. Second, patrons would be uncomfortable with a stripper who had scars. Despite this, I went in for an interview.

It was pretty amazing to see other women practically take the entire check from customers with little to no effort on their part. When you hear people say things like "girls who make that kind of money aren't just dancing," you can bet they're lying. This is simply not correct. Based on observation, I can tell you that the most highly compensated women engage in conversation with their guests. However, I decided to work as a waitress in a nightclub instead. The tips were generous, and I had a flexible schedule. I was able to balance my accounting classes with my work.

My shift began as soon as I walked into the dimly lit club and began to get ready. What you're expected to wear will vary depending on which club you're working at. It was acceptable for us to dress in whatever we wanted as long as it was black at the club where I worked. Some of the ladies went all out. We're talking about crop tops, fishnets, skirts, bare midriffs, and other items of apparel. A tank top was my go-to outfit, which I wore over jeans or shorts.

Alessandro was nowhere to be found despite my best efforts. He didn't meet anyone without an appointment, and there was nothing available for the next two months. I didn't hold out much hope for him anyway, as a quick internet search revealed. In addition, he was related to the shady Costello family. His parents had been killed in an alleged gang war, leaving him and his younger sister as orphans. He had inherited his family business when he was quite young.

I bit my lower lip and decided to speak with the manager. Rocco, our manager, was a burly African-American with a thick beard. He was intimidatingly tall and in his 40s, and he appeared to be dangerous, but he was quite the opposite. He took good care of the girls and was a pleasant person in general.

"Hey Rocco, do you mind if I speak with you?" I inquired.

"Sure," he responded, not even bothering to look up. He was probably going over the accounts with an affine-toothcomb.

"I was wondering if there was any way I could get a loan?" I inquired, my voice soft.

Rocco raised his dark eyes to mine, his dark pupils contracting.

"Your brother is in trouble yet again?" Rocco was aware of some of my difficulties.

"Kind of," I said, shrugging.

"Can you tell me how much you require?" he inquired.

"Fifty thousand dollars, "I said, a little sheepishly. I kept my gaze low on the faded brown carpet beneath my feet.

"Wow! That's a lot of money, and I'm sorry, but I can only offer you 5 grand. What has he done this time?"

"He gambled away, which I realise is a lot, but thank you nonetheless. I'm sure I'll come up with something." I said.

"You are aware that you can earn more money if you so desire, aren't you?" When I first arrived at the club two years ago, Rocco extended the offer to me to perform as a dancer. Some of the more well-known strippers earned up to $500 per night. There were also other things, such as private dances, that could have provided me with more tips.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to pull it off." Chewing on the inside of my mouth, I responded to the question.

"Well, if you are afraid of performing on stage, you can do private dances," he said.

"Thank you, Rocco; I'll give it some thought," I replied.