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“What is going on? Where am I?” I try to take on a more demanding, authoritative tone, “What is going on?”
The woman still doesn’t respond, and I try asking her the same question, only in Russian, and when she doesn’t respond, I switch to French—hoping that it’s just a language barrier.
Other girls cry softly around me as they are scrubbed. Still, the old woman doesn’t pay any attention to me. She roughly moves me around and scrubs me so hard it feels like my skin is on fire. I feel violated even more when she starts to dry me, touching me in the most intimate ways. I feel sick.
Once she’s done, a guard comes over and releases me from the bindings holding me in place.
I struggle to stand on my two feet, but he pushes me forward, and I try my best not to hit the floor. He’s forcing me out of the room to the next one, where there are piles of clothes. He nudges me and the clothes. I look around and see another girl resisting. The guard with her rips her underwear off and hits her in the face, and the older women start forcing her into the outfit.
I don’t want that. I reach for the dress, but the guard smacks my hand and smirks. “No underwear.”
He understands me, and I open my mouth, but he raises his hand as though to strike me, and I close it quickly. Feeling exposed, I slip out of my underwear and into the short, revealing dress.
I look at the guard and take the risk, asking, “What will happen to me? My father is a powerful man you don’t want to cross. You will regret not helping me.”
The guard's laugh makes my blood run as cold as the water they tossed over me. He sighs and looks at me, his head tipped to the side. “We know of your father, Ivan. We’ve known about him for a long time. You see, we’ve been seeking a way to humiliate and defeat the head of the Bratva of New York City—a man who seemed not to have any weaknesses. We knew who you were from the start. Mateo Catalan swore his revenge against ‘The Bear’ years ago, which is just bringing him closer.”
I swallow hard.
They knew from the beginning. I thought I had been playing Juanita, but she had been playing me the entire time. I shake my head. “He’ll pay you to let me go.”
“Mateo would pay me more to take you here right now. But you’re a virgin, as you’ve made it widely known, and therefore you are worth more in money than pleasure.”
He grabs my hands and drags me down a hallway. I still feel sick from being drugged, and my mind isn’t clear enough to make a plan to get me out of this situation.
I don’t think I can get out of this situation, and the more it dawns on me, the more panicked I feel.
The guard handcuffs me to a ring on the wall. Other girls are in front of me, all dressed like me and crying. I will never claim my family is perfect or saintly, but we don’t do this.
We don’t sell women at auction.
The guard looks at me and gives me this greasy smile. “Don’t worry, little princess. You’ll soon be with your new owner, and then you can learn what the underworld is really like.”
Chapter 8 - Luigi
I lift my head off my pillow as my phone buzzes on the docking station beside my bed. I grab it and answer, “Dom?”
“The invitations have been sent.”
I sit up. “Details?”
“You will introduce yourself as Brother Death, and you must be there within an hour. The auction will start soon after that, and they move quickly. You need to do this swift and clean. Password is Gimmick Pleaser.”
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll be there. Who do I have?”
“Clint and Toby, they are in the car downstairs waiting for you. They’re loyal and good guys. You can trust them. Toby will cause the distraction you need to get access to the politician. Do not hang around afterward. Killian Irving is Irish, and his claim to fame is his take-no-shit policy. He’s not some softy you can manhandle. You need to catch him off guard.”
“Dominic, I get it. We’ve been over this.” I’m up, with my phone on speakerphone so I can get dressed quickly. “The more you keep me on the line, the later I’ll be.”
“Let me know once it’s done.” He hangs up, and I can tell he’s annoyed at my insolence. I don’t know where it came from either, but he should treat me as a professional.
Dressed in no time, I go downstairs to find a car idling and waiting for me. I get in. “Toby. Clint. Nice to see you, gentlemen.”
“A pleasure to see you, sir. I’m Toby.” He reaches back, and I shake his hand.
“We need to get going,” I say. “The window of opportunity is small.”
“Understood,” Clint says. He’s clearly the less friendly one.
