THE MAFIA KING BROKEN ROSE novel Chapter 1

Aria’s POV

I never expected my life to turn out like this.

To sell my body just to survive.

No, I wasn't a prostitute.

I was a stripper.

I get paid to dance half naked in front of rich fat men who don't have better use for their money.

Except for one guy. Who was tall, handsome, neat. Every girl wanted his attention.

But he didn't spend, he watched. He sipped his wine and he made me the most hated girl in the club. Because whenever he leaves, he drops a generous tip for me alone.

Unfortunately, tonight he wasn't among the crowd.

My movements were mechanical, detached, as I gripped the pole and swung my body to the music.

The bassline thumped relentlessly, vibrating through the club’s walls and into my chest. The air was thick with the mingling stench of alcohol, sweat, and horniness.

Under the neon glow of the lights, shadows danced across the stage, accentuating the sharp angles and curves of my form.

I was dressed.in nothing but panties, and a bra that had silver strings, my long wavy hair moved as I moved.

I moved because I had to.

Not because I felt anything. Not because I wanted to.

This was survival, cold, hollow survival.

Each set blurred into the next, a monotonous cycle of forced smiles, swaying hips, and prying eyes. The crowd was predictable, their whispers slurred, their stares hungry.

Their attention used to bother me, but now it barely registered.

Not after today.

Six months. That was the verdict.

Six months, maybe less.

The words echoed in my mind like a funeral song as I spun, clutching the pole to steady myself. My legs wavered, threatening to betray me.

Stage two cancer.

I was supposed to fight it, but how could I?

My body had already betrayed me. My life had already crumbled. Stripping was never supposed to be my reality, yet here I was, dancing for strangers just to stay afloat.

De Stone had become my prison, its red walls as stifling as my own fears.

How can I survive when I was already lost?

The applause rose as my set ended, a hollow sound that barely reached me.

I bent to gather the scattered bills at my feet, stuffing the crumpled notes into my bra.

The ache in my back and legs felt distant, overshadowed by the ache deep in my chest.

“Aria, you good?” Lila’s voice broke through the noise as I stepped off the stage. She stood by the dressing room door, her arms crossed, her sharp gaze scanning me.

“I’m fine,” I lied, brushing past her as I headed to my locker. My fingers trembled as I unzipped my bag.

“You look like hell,” Lila shot back, softer this time, stepping closer. “What happened at the doctor’s today?”

I froze. My throat tightened. “It’s nothing,” I muttered, avoiding her eyes.

She scoffed. “Nothing doesn’t have you looking like this, babe. Spill it.”

Her persistence broke me. “Stage two,” I whispered, staring at the open locker. The words felt foreign, heavy. “Six months to live… maybe less.”

The silence between us stretched. When I dared to glance at her, her tough mask had slipped. “Shit,” she muttered, the word barely audible. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “Mom still needs me, and there’s no money for treatment. There’s no way to fix this.”

Lila reached for me, her hands gripping my shoulders as she pulled me into a hug. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she murmured.

Her warmth made my chest ache. “I do,” I whispered, pulling away. “You’ve already done too much for me. I can’t put this on you, too.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Just… promise me you won’t do anything reckless.”

I nodded, though the words felt hollow. “I won’t. I just need to get out of here.”

Without waiting for her reply, I grabbed my bag and slipped out the back door, the chill of the night air stinging my skin.

But the truth was, I wasn’t going home.

I needed Perkins.

My legs moved instinctively through the damp streets. My body ached from hours on stage, my mind spinning in a haze of exhaustion and despair. But I needed to see him. Perkins was my constant, my anchor. If anyone could make this nightmare feel less suffocating, it was him.

By the time I reached his building, the flickering porch light cast eerie shadows on the steps. My heart raced as I climbed them, my fingers brushing against the door. It was ajar, the wood creaking slightly under my touch.

“Perkins?” I called softly, my voice trembling.

Silence.

I stepped inside, the faint glow of the TV illuminating the dark living room. Something felt wrong.

The air was too still, too cold.

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