He's 21, I'm 31

Diana's POV The hall is quiet when I step onto the stage. Soft music plays, and I do what I came here to do—move, smile, keep the crowd entertained. People watch closely, some with too much interest, others with mild curiosity. And then my eyes land on Alessandro Moretti. The ruthless, feared, arrogant mafia boss. If I’m not mistaken, he has been coming here for a month now, and his eyes are always on me. I always look away to avoid problems because everyone knows how arrogant he is. I ignore all of them and keep my expression calm, even though my breast is leaking and I’m terrified it might show, even with the padded bra. I keep dancing, making sure my body moves in the sexy way they expect. When the music ends, the applause comes immediately. I bow slightly and step off the stage. A staff member hands me the tip tray. I go from table to table, collecting whatever they place inside. Some give money, some give jewelry, some stare at my body before giving anything. I smile the way I’m supposed to because I need the money. If I can survive hunger, my child can’t. She needs a good life, a good education. Inside, all I want is to sit down and breathe. I’ve been performing for hours. Just one more hour. Then I can rest from dancing and move to serving guests at the restaurant. I’ve barely taken two steps toward the hallway when a man blocks my path. Tall. Well-dressed. Expensive watch. “You’re beautiful. What a sexy body,” he says, his eyes dragging over me too slowly. “Come with me tonight. I’ll pay well.” I don’t even blink. “No.” He raises a brow. “I can double it,” he says, lifting his hand to touch me. I flinch back. “No.” I might be dancing in sexy clothes, but I know my worth. And I fear only one thing—what will my child think if she ever finds me in a place like this? His jaw tightens, but I don’t stay long enough to hear anything else. I walk past him, my heels tapping lightly against the floor, refusing to let him ruin the little peace I have left. I head into the dressing room and remove my red gown, wearing another white sexy dress—short skirt and a shirt that looks more like a sleeping vest. This is the dress code in the restaurant. We have to look sexy for the guests if we want to keep our jobs as waitresses. Just because of money, we are practically selling ourselves to these stupid men claiming to be rich. I walk out of the dressing room, heading toward the restaurant. I freeze when I stumble upon a lifeless body on the floor, blood soaking his stomach—a stab wound. It’s the same man who asked me to come with him tonight. I raise my head to shout for help, but nothing comes out. Instead, my whole body begins to tremble. Because I see Alessandro Moretti holding a knife dripping blood. One of his guards holds a tissue, cleaning Alessandro’s hand while the other collects the knife. I can’t scream. Even the cops fear him. I quickly bow my head and start walking past him, but I’m pulled back and I land on a broad, heavy chest. I raise my head and see Alessandro. I quickly look down. “I’m sorry, I… I… I don’t know how I fell on you. Maybe I… I stumbled,” I manage to say, my voice trembling. What I even said doesn’t make sense. It’s clear he dragged me to his chest. He puts his hand in my hair and pulls it hard. “Ouch!” I blurt out painfully. “This should be the last time you ever talk to any man again,” he says, making the grip even more painful. “You can continue your dance. That gives me joy.” I stare at him in surprise and confusion. Why would he say that? Who is he to me? He’s not my husband, not my boyfriend or brother. Still lost in thought when he suddenly yanks my hair down, forcing my face up to look at him. He stares at me, and then he suddenly seems like he can’t breathe. A guard quickly hands him a glass of something. He starts drinking it roughly, and some of it spills from his mouth onto my chest. It’s not wine. It looks more like milk. He lowers the glass, and I look at it again to make sure I’m not imagining things. It’s actually milk. “Wanna drink?” he asks in a husky voice. I quickly nod. He pulls my hair tighter. “I don’t speak ‘nod.’ Do that again… and you’ll lose the head.” “No, thank you,” I say immediately, my voice shaking. “And take ‘no’ as ‘yes,’” he says, drinking again. Then, without hesitation— His mouth crashes onto mine, forcing the drink into my mouth. I try my best to stop it from entering, but I can’t. I have no option but to swallow. And it doesn’t taste like normal milk. That’s… weird. He starts kissing me passionately, then roughly. I don’t know how, but my body betrays me and I find myself kissing him back. Ten years. Ten long years since anyone touched me like this. He is so good that I feel myself growing wet. His hand cups one of my breasts and before I know it, he’s squeezing it. Panic hits me. I quickly pull away. I’m scared he might notice I’m lactating because no one knows that. I tried everything—medications, teas—but I always lactate. “I’m sorry,” I whisper and quickly walk away as I notice his eyes turning completely red. My whole body shakes as I leave. It’s strange how a grown woman like me is terrified of someone younger, but here I am. I have gotten myself into trouble. I kissed a mafia boss who is very arrogant. I head to the restaurant. Within thirty minutes, I reach. Even before I enter, my madam stops me at the door and grabs my shirt, loosening three buttons until half my breast is exposed. “My boobs are out,” I whisper harshly. “Don’t be silly. Master is here. Leave it like this so he’ll give us a lot of money before leaving,” she says, still adjusting my shirt like she wants my whole chest outside. “There are a lot of waitresses available. Pick them, please. I’m a mother. I won’t be happy if my child ever sees me like this.” “Will you shut up? You’re more beautiful than them even with your age. You have a sexy body.” “This is the first time in history he attends this restaurant.” “Who is master?” I ask, wanting to know what kind of man makes her this excited. “Alessandro,” she whispers in my ear. “You mean Alessandro Moretti?” I ask, and she quickly covers my mouth. “You don’t call his name or your mouth will be cut off. You call him ‘Master.’” Oh my God… what is he doing here? I’m already in trouble. I pick up the menu and pen, my hand trembling. Just as I’m about to enter the reception, I see his eyes fixed on the door… as if waiting for someone to walk in. I quickly step back and close the door. My heart is beating too fast. “Be courageous, girl. He won’t kill you unless you wrong him,” Amara, my friend and fellow waitress, says. If she only knew what happened minutes ago, she wouldn’t say this. “Can you please go—” I don’t finish before she cuts me off. “I would have done that before you arrived, but that stupid woman refused,” Amara rolls her eyes. “You better go. All the ladies are looking for an opportunity to even look at him, talk less of talking to—” “Amara.” “Yes, madam.” She leaves as her name is called. I gather my courage and start walking in, even though my stomach feels tight with fear—especially after seeing him kill someone and what happened earlier. He is sitting with one leg crossed over the other, one elbow resting on the table. His lustful gaze lingers on me. It’s now, this close, that I truly see his complete beauty. Handsome in a way that seems almost unfair, considering his habits. No wonder ladies want him so badly. They hover around him, hoping for a glance, a smile, anything. He has a broad chest stretching the fabric of his shirt, light green eyes that look unreal, and long, silky black hair falling past his shoulders. Even the way he sits radiates power. His large palms rest on the table as though the entire room exists at his leisure. I swallow hard and remind myself none of that concerns me. Beauty or not, power or not, he’s just another customer. I’m here to work. That’s all. I force myself to stay focused and walk toward the table. “Good evening, Alessandro Mor—” The name slips out before I can stop it. His head lifts immediately from my body to my eyes, locking onto me with a sharpness that makes my stomach twist.