Mafia! Italy x Reader. A View to a Kill -part 1.

   It was comforting. Familiar.

   Every scent, every sight, every sound. And you hated every minute.
   The smell of hot food and cigar smoke wafted through the air while a loud laughter filled every corner of the large ballroom. You were quiet,  resting your hand on Ivan's arm, your chin high and level with your shoulders. A charming smile graced your delicate features so appraised by others before.

   Ivan, who's arm was linked with your's, glanced down at you with uninterest in his lilac eyes, "(Name), why don't you go dance with some other men, da? Go see who has potential for me." He said with a sickeningly sweet smile that brought pure disgust to your heart.

  That was your job. You were Ivan's eyes. His showpiece.

   "Yes, Ivan." You replied, slipping your arm from his and striding away from him through the thinned out crowd, towards the bar, avoiding the dancing couples. A woman in a long red dress caught your eye, her dress sparkled like a disco ball as she twirled around with a man gracefully.

    You smiled; it was obvious that she was trying to attract attention with her peacock-like display, probably hoping to climb the social ladder tonight. You shook your head and continued towards the bar, desperately yearning for a drink and some company.

    "What can I get ya'?" The bartender confronted, leaning against the counter and letting an easy-going smile grace his face.

     You plastered your own fake smile, and said suavely, "Vodka." Simple as that. Your many years with Ivan has helped you acquire a taste for the alcoholic drink.

     Taking your eyes away from the bartender as he bent down to grab a shot glass, you shifted them to the elegant party laid out before you. In the middle of the building was where couples danced to the classical music blasting from the band's instruments. The band was at the end of the room, focused on making the entertainment, focused on not messing up, as most other people were focusing on right at this moment themselves.

     "Here," you heard the bartender say, setting the glass on the counter with an almost inaudible 'clank'. You glanced at him in a silent thanks and picked up the shot-glass, taking a sip that burned your throat coolly.
      

   As you sipped softly from the small glass, gazing out at the twirling dance partners, two prostitutes from the end of the bar scoffed at you, most likely thinking you were arrogant for not wearing something skimpy and short like the rest of them. The dress you wore was long and elegant, but so tight that it showed off your curves just as well as your own skin would.

  "Hey, honey," a brave prostitute with ratty hair that could not be tamed called out, "are you a Doll or a Whore?"

   Dolls were beautiful women that highly honored men used to make themselves look better among friends and enemies. They were showpieces and painted up young women who only belonged to one man, the man could do anything he wanted with her.

   Whores were low class women who could be taken by anyone for a hefty price, and they usually stole everything while the men were sleeping. But whores made the best company, they always had the best stories about life, never leaving any details out.

  "A Doll." You admitted with a tense tone, hating how true and horrible the job was. But at least you didn't have to prostitute for money...

    The woman smirked as her two other friends cackled. One girl was quite lovely, young and soft-looking; how she became what she is now is beyond your comprehension.

   The woman who smirked at you proceeded then saunter your way, her hips swishing like a cat's tail as she walked, her high heels making a 'clack clack' on the floor, "Well, you could make a wonderful Whore, you know that, right?" The woman's voice confessed that she was a smoker, since it was low pitch and covered with a gravelly undertone.

   You smirked in reply, taking a dignified sip from your drink, letting the ring on your index finger catch the light overhead. The Prostitute saw the large diamond and her face fell with realization, "Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were Ivan's property."

   You hated being referred to as property, but it was painstakingly true.

   The Whore backed away, apologizing once again. You chuckled under your breathe as someone moved out of the corner of your eye.

   "Ciao~, pretty lady," the man- who was obviously Italian- greeted when you glanced at him curiously, "can I buy you a drink?"

    You held up your small glass like a signal, "I already have one."

   "Can I buy you another?" He asked, smiling charmingly.

   Immediately, you were suspicious of this man. How could he have not seen the possession ring on your finger? And if a man wanted something, he wouldn't be calling you 'pretty lady', so maybe this Italian's just an innocent idiot.

   You bit your lip, thinking for a second before answering, "I guess so."

   "I won't drug you," he joked, waving down the bartender, "I promise."

   "Only a man that would drug me, tells me he's not going to drug me." You replied, not being able to take your eyes off his bouncy curl on the side of his head.

   The Italian man laughed, "You're funny, bella." The bartender then came, and he asked him to get out some expensive wine. It was obvious this 'innoncent idiot' had some money to burn.

   He handed you the wine glass, and you set the vodka glass on the bar, taking a sip of the sweet dessert wine, gazing out at the twirling couples on the dancefloor.

   "Would you like to dance?" The nameless Italian asked, holding out his inviting hand, a big grin on his face.

    And with that one question and your one answer, your life changed permantly.