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Suddenly, the lively atmosphere of the strip club was pierced by a drunken shout from a table near the stage. An unruly patron was grabbing at one of the dancers, his fingers digging into her thigh as she tried to pull away with a squeal.
"Hey, let me go!" she cried out, her voice wavering with fear.
Joey's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the scene unfold, unsure. He stepped out from the bar. "Hey, let her go!"
The patron in front of him shot him a nervous glance. "Let it go. He'll fuck you up," he warned. "Look at you, you're one-ten soaking wet!"
But before either of them could intervene, Marco appeared on the scene like a guardian angel in a tailored suit.
"Alright, buddy, that's enough." Marco's voice was cool and controlled, sending a shiver down Joey's spine despite the danger of the situation. "You're going to let her go now, and apologize."
The unruly patron sneered at Marco, slurring his words as alcohol wafted from his breath. "Who the f-fuck are you? I can touch whoever I want!"
"Wrong answer," Marco replied, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. In one swift motion, he grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it until the patron yelped in pain and released his grip on the dancer. She immediately scurried back, shooting Marco a grateful look.
"Apologize," Marco commanded, his voice low and threatening.
"Go fuck yourself!"
"That didn't sound like any apology I know." Marco wrenched the man's arm further back, making him howl.
"Sorry!" the patron wheezed through gritted teeth, wincing under Marco's iron grip. "Sorry!"
"That's better. Now, get out." With a shove, Marco sent the man stumbling towards the exit. The rest of the patrons watched in awe, some whispering among themselves while others simply stared in silent admiration—or fear.
As Marco turned away from the door, his eyes locked onto Joey.
Joey wasn't sure what Marco saw on his face—but from the smirk that resulted, it was clearly nothing good. Joey forced himself to look as stern as possible.Yup, I'm just wiping down the bar, here. Nothing else going on. Just cleaning.
Definitely not thinking about a Mafia man bending me over it.
With a slow, confident stride, Marco approached the bar, leaning against it with an easy grin that only served to heighten Joey's nervousness.
"Quite a show you put on there," Joey said, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies in his stomach.
"Smacking down trash like that is part of the job." Marco looked Joey up and down. "I saw you stepping in, kid." His gaze lingered on Joey's tight-fitting shirt.
Joey swallowed, his heart beating hard—
But Marco's interest turned out to be on the lack of muscles beneath. "Bad idea. Look at you, you're a noodle. He would've kicked your ass."
Oof. Joey's ego quietly deflated.
"If you want to survive in this world," Marco continued, unaware of Joey's turmoil, "you need to be able to handle yourself. People like that guy won't hesitate to step all over you if they think they can get away with it."
"Thanks for the advice," Joey replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. But beneath the surface, he couldn't deny that Marco's words rang true.
And as much as he hated to admit it, he wished he had some of Marco's confidence.
His gaze fell. "You make it sound easy."
"Look, I didn't always have things figured out either," Marco admitted, his voice softer than before. "I've made my fair share of mistakes. But I learned from them, and that's what matters."
The vulnerability in Marco's words surprised Joey, catching him off guard. It was a side of the man he hadn't expected to see. It made him wonder if there was more beneath the surface. "Like all of us, I guess," Joey muttered, unable to fully mask the curiosity in his voice.
"Exactly." Marco flashed a knowing smile before pushing away from the bar. "Keep your chin up, kid. You'll do fine here."
As Marco disappeared into the crowd, Joey couldn't help but watch him go.
