Sold to the Mafia

Chapter 1

Tessa.

The clatter of ceramic on counters was the soundtrack of her life.

“Another coffee, Sal?” she asked, her voice hoarse from a twelve hour shift.

Sal grunted from behind the grill, flipping a burger. “And a slice of that cherry pie, sweetheart. The one you said looks like it could kill a man.”

She managed a weak smile. “This one just might.”

Her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. A frantic, angry vibration. She ignored it. It could only be one person.

The bell over the door jingled, but she didn’t look up. Another customer was just another order.

The phone buzzed again. And again. Relentless.

“You gonna get that?” Sal asked, sliding a plate onto the pass.

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing, Tessa.”

With a sigh, she pulled the phone out. *PAPA*. Ten missed calls. Her heart sank. This was never good news.

She swiped to answer, pressing the phone to her ear. “Papa? What is it?”

“Tessa! Dio mio, Tessa, you have to help me.” His voice was a raw, panicked whisper.

“Papa, slow down. Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“They’re coming for me. They found me. I don’t have it, bambina. I don’t have the money.”

Her blood ran cold. The same old story, but the terror in his voice felt new. Sharper.

“What money? How much this time?” she asked, her voice dropping. She wiped the counter with a damp rag, a familiar, grounding motion.

“It’s too much. It’s not about the money anymore. I made a different deal.”

“What does that mean? What kind of deal?”

The bell over the door jingled again. This time she looked up.

Two men stepped inside. They were not diner customers. They wore immaculate black suits that probably cost more than her car. They moved with a predatory stillness that sucked the air out of the room.

“Papa, I have to go.”

“No! Tessa, listen to me. They know where you work. I’m so sorry. I thought I could win it back. I swear I did.”

One of the men met her gaze. His eyes were flat, like polished river stones. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod to his companion. They took seats at the far end of the counter. They didn’t pick up menus.

“Who knows where I work, Papa?” she whispered, her back to them.

“They do, Tessa. The Cassano family.”

The name meant nothing to her, but the way he said it made the hairs on her arms stand up.

“I have to go,” she repeated, her throat tight.

“I love you, my daughter. Forgive me.” He hung up.

The dial tone hummed in her ear. She slowly lowered the phone, her hand trembling.

“Everything alright?” Sal asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

She forced a smile that felt like cracking glass. “Just my father. Being dramatic.”

She walked toward the two men, her order pad in her hand. Her feet felt like lead.

“What can I get for you gentlemen?”

The one who had met her eyes looked her up and down. It wasn't a flirtatious look. It was an appraisal. Like he was checking the quality of a piece of merchandise.

“We’re not hungry,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“This is a diner,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “You order food or you leave.”

The second man chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “We’re just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For you to finish your shift, Tessa,” the first one said.

Hearing her name from his lips felt like a violation. A cold dread seeped into her bones. How did they know her name?

Her shift crawled by. Every time she looked up, they were there. Watching. Silent. They never ordered. They just sat, two statues carved from shadows and menace.

The regulars noticed. The usual friendly chatter died down. People paid their bills and left quickly, casting nervous glances over their shoulders.

“Who are those guys?” Sal muttered, polishing a glass until it squeaked.

“I don’t know,” she lied.

“They give me the creeps. You want me to call someone?”

“No. It’s fine. I can handle it.”

But she couldn’t. She was terrified.

Finally, the clock on the wall hit midnight. Her shift was over.

“I’m heading out, Sal.”

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you to your car?” he offered, his eyes flicking towards the men.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She untied her apron and hung it on the hook. She grabbed her worn jacket and purse, trying not to look at the two men. But she could feel their eyes on her back as she pushed open the door and stepped into the cool night air.

Her car was parked two blocks away. She always took the shortcut down the alley behind the diner. It was faster. Tonight, it felt stupid. Dangerous.

She hesitated on the sidewalk, the flickering neon sign of the diner casting a red glow on the pavement. She could walk the long way, under the streetlights.

But a spark of defiance flickered inside her. She wouldn’t let them scare her. She was just a waitress. What could they possibly want with her?

She turned and plunged into the darkness of the alley. The stench of stale beer and garbage filled her nostrils. Her footsteps echoed off the brick walls.

She was halfway through when two shadows detached from the deeper darkness ahead. They blocked her path.

It was them.

She spun around, ready to run back to the street. A third figure blocked the entrance. She was trapped.

“Please,” she said, her voice shaking. “I don’t have any money. Whatever my father owes you, I can’t pay it.”

The first man stepped closer, the faint light from the street glinting off his polished shoes. “We know.”

“He doesn’t have anything either. He’s a sick man. He has a gambling problem.”

“Oh, we’re well aware of Lorenzo’s problems,” the second man said, his tone mocking.

“Then you know you’re wasting your time. You can’t get blood from a stone.”

The first man was in front of her now. He was so close she could smell the expensive cologne on his suit.

“Your father sends his regards,” he said softly.

“A debt has been called, Tessa.”

“I told you, I can’t pay it.” A desperate sob caught in her throat. “Take my car. It’s not much, but it’s all I have.”

The man almost looked pitiful. “He didn’t offer money, sweetheart.”

Her mind raced, trying to understand. What else was there? What else could her father possibly offer that they would want?

Then the memory of his panicked voice on the phone hit her. *I made a different deal.*

The man smiled, a cruel, sharp thing that didn't reach his eyes.

“He offered you.”

Chapter 2

Tessa.

The man’s words hung in the filthy air. “He offered you.”

For a second, she didn’t understand. The sounds of the city, the distant wail of a siren, the hum of the diner’s neon sign, all faded into a dull roar in her ears.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s not funny.”

“We are not laughing,” the man said. His face was a mask of indifference.

“My father loves me. He would never.” The denial was a weak, flimsy thing against the hard reality of the three men surrounding her.

The second man, the one who had chuckled inside, stepped forward. “He loves his poker games more, sweetheart. He signed the papers. You’re property of the Cassano family now. Payment in full.”

Property. The word was a slap. A cold, hard certainty washed over her, extinguishing the last embers of hope. This was real.

Her fear, a cold knot in her stomach, suddenly erupted into white hot rage. Not at them. At her father.

But that could wait. Survival came first.

“You’re not taking me anywhere,” she snarled, her voice shaking but full of a fire she didn’t know she possessed.

She feinted left, then darted right, shoving past the third man at the alley’s entrance. Her sneakers slapped against the pavement as she broke free, sucking in a desperate breath of night air.

Freedom lasted for three seconds.

A hand tangled in her hair, yanking her back with brutal force. She cried out as her head snapped back. Another man grabbed her waist, his arm a band of steel, lifting her off her feet.

She kicked and thrashed, a wild animal in a trap. “Let me go! Somebody help!”

Her scream was cut short as a thick hand clamped over her mouth. The smell of leather and sweat filled her nose.

“Stop fighting,” the first man ordered, his voice dangerously calm as he appeared in front of her. “You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

She tried to bite the hand over her mouth, her eyes wild with terror. Her foot connected with a shin, and she was rewarded with a grunt of pain.

“Stubborn bitch,” the man holding her legs muttered. “Just like Lorenzo said.”

“Enough of this,” the leader said. He pulled a small syringe from his jacket pocket. The needle glinted under the dim streetlight.

Her eyes widened. “No. Please, no. Don’t do that.” Her plea was a muffled mess against the man’s hand.

“Relax,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “Just a little something to help you sleep on the ride.”

She thrashed harder, a primal terror taking over. The man holding her arm squeezed, his fingers digging into her skin. She felt a sharp, stinging prick in her neck.

Instantly, a strange warmth spread through her veins. Her limbs grew heavy, her frantic struggles weakening. The alley began to spin, the edges of her vision blurring into a dark tunnel.

The hands holding her no longer felt like a restraint but a necessity, the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

“There now,” a voice said from far away. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

Then, there was only darkness.

***

Light. A blinding slit of it. Gone.

Sound. A low rumble. The world was vibrating. The floor was hard and cold beneath her cheek. It smelled of rubber and gasoline.

*A car? A van?*

Her mind was a thick fog. She tried to move her hands, but they were bound behind her. A rough rope chafed her wrists.

Someone was talking. The voices were muffled, distorted, like listening to a radio underwater.

“...is she awake?”

“Doesn’t matter. She can’t go anywhere.”

“The boss wants her unmarked. You think he’ll notice the needle prick?”

A dry chuckle. “Dante Cassano notices everything. But he’ll be more interested in the merchandise than the packaging.”

*Dante Cassano.* The name her father had whispered over the phone. He was the one who owned her now.

Her consciousness slipped away again, pulling her back under the waves of drugged sleep.

***

Smell. Sharp and sterile. Antiseptic. It reminded her of a hospital, but this felt wrong. Colder.

Someone had put a blindfold over her eyes. The fabric was rough against her skin.

She felt a hand on her arm. Gentle. Too gentle. It was terrifying.

“Her pulse is steady,” a new voice said. A woman’s voice. Calm and professional.

“Good. Clean her up. Get her presentable.”

*Presentable for what?*

Panic tried to claw its way up her throat, but the drug was a heavy blanket, smothering it.

Her thoughts drifted, hazy and untethered. They drifted to her father.

*Papa. Did you do this to save yourself? Are you safe now?* The question was a dull ache in her chest. She couldn’t hate him. Not yet. All she could feel was a profound, hollow sadness.

He had chosen the addiction over her. He had sold his only daughter.

*Is this what it felt like? To have your life taken from you? Not with a bang, but with a signature on a piece of paper in a smoke filled room?*

She hoped he was safe. In the deepest, most selfless part of her soul, the part that still loved the man who taught her how to ride a bike, she hoped this terrible payment had bought him his life. Because if it hadn’t, then her own sacrifice meant nothing.

***

A bump in the road jostled her. Her head knocked against something hard. She moaned softly.

“Almost there.” It was one of the men from the alley. His voice was a low growl next to her ear.

She tried to speak, to ask where they were going, but her tongue was thick and useless in her mouth. The words wouldn’t form.

The vehicle slowed, making a sharp turn. The squeal of tires on smooth concrete echoed in the small space.

She felt the van stop. The engine cut out, plunging them into silence.

A door slid open, flooding the space with cool air and new sounds. The distant murmur of voices. The clink of glasses.

Music? Was that music?

“Get her out,” the man ordered.

Hands grabbed her under the arms, hauling her upright. Her legs were jelly, unable to support her. They dragged her out of the van, her feet scraping against the ground.

She was being moved through a hallway. The air here was different. It smelled of perfume and expensive cigars. A stark contrast to the grimy alley where her life had ended.

This was the beginning of something else. Something worse.

A door opened. They pushed her inside. She stumbled, falling to her knees on a surprisingly soft carpet.

The door closed, and she was left alone in the silent, blindfolded dark. The drug was beginning to wear off, the fog in her mind thinning just enough to let true, undiluted terror seep in.

She wasn’t collateral anymore. She was a commodity.

And she had a terrible feeling she was about to find out her price.

Chapter 3

Tessa.

The first thing she registered was the softness. A mattress so plush it felt like sinking into a cloud. The second was the silence. A thick, insulated quiet that was a world away from the grimy alley.

Her eyelids were heavy, glued shut with the residue of the drug. She forced them open. The room was not a grimy cell or a dark basement. It was a bedroom. A lavish one.

A crystal chandelier cast a warm, golden light across cream colored walls. The bed she lay on was a massive four poster, draped in silk sheets the color of champagne. A single, perfect white orchid sat in a smooth vase on a heavy mahogany nightstand.

She sat up too quickly. The room spun, and a wave of nausea rolled over her. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to clear the fog from her mind. This wasn't a rescue. This was a cage. A gilded one, but a cage all the same.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was small, trembling. Tessa’s head snapped towards the sound. Curled in an ornate armchair in the corner of the room was another girl. She couldn't have been much older than Tessa, with wide, terrified brown eyes and tear tracks staining her cheeks. She was clutching her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible.

“Who are you?” Tessa asked, her own voice a rough croak.

“It doesn’t matter,” the girl whispered, not looking at her. “None of our names matter anymore.”

Tessa swung her legs off the bed. Her body ached, a dull throb in her neck where the needle had gone in. “Where are we?”

“The waiting room,” the girl said with a bitter, humorless sob.

“Waiting for what?” Tessa pushed herself to her feet, testing her balance. She felt weak, but the adrenaline was beginning to burn through the last of the drug’s haze.

“For them to come and get us.” The girl finally looked at Tessa, her eyes swimming with fresh tears. “For the auction to start.”

Tessa stared at her. “Auction? What are you talking about?”

“They’re going to sell us,” the girl choked out. “My brother… he owed them money. So they took me.”

“My father,” Tessa said, the words like stones in her mouth. It was the same story. They weren't special. They were just currency.

“I heard them talking,” the girl continued, her voice gaining a frantic edge. “When they brought me here. They called us ‘lots’. Like we’re furniture. Or cattle.”

Tessa’s fists clenched at her sides. The fear was there, a cold, coiling serpent in her gut. But something else was there too. A hot, defiant rage. “No,” she said, her voice low and hard.

The girl flinched. “No? What do you mean, no? We don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Tessa said, her eyes scanning the room, not as a prisoner, but as a fighter looking for an advantage.

She walked to the heavy wooden door and twisted the ornate brass handle. It didn’t budge. Locked solid. She pressed her ear against it but heard nothing. Solid, thick wood.

“I already tried that,” the girl said, her voice laced with despair. “It’s locked from the outside. There are no windows.”

“I’m not looking for a way out,” Tessa said, turning back to the room. “I’m looking for a weapon.”

The other girl’s eyes widened in shock. “A weapon? To do what? You want to fight them?”

“I’m not going to be dragged onto a stage and sold like a goddamn television set,” Tessa snarled. “I won’t make it that easy for them.”

She moved to the nightstand, her heart pounding. She picked up the smooth, heavy vase. It was beautiful, but it would shatter on impact. Not good enough. She put it down.

“They’ll kill you,” the girl whispered, horrified.

“Maybe,” Tessa said, her hands running over the polished surface of the mahogany table. It was too heavy to lift, bolted to the floor. Everything was. They had thought of everything.

“What is your name?” Tessa asked, not looking away from her search.

“Sofia,” the girl mumbled.

“Okay, Sofia. How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. An hour? Two? I woke up here just before you did.”

Tessa moved to the bed. She yanked back the silk sheets. Nothing. She felt under the mattress. Nothing. She looked at the heavy velvet curtains that lined one wall, a cruel mockery of windows. She strode over and ripped them aside, revealing only a flat, cream colored wall.

“It’s hopeless,” Sofia cried, burying her face in her hands. “We should just pray they sell us to someone who isn’t a complete monster.”

“There are no good men at a place like this,” Tessa said, her voice flat. She ran her hand along the curtain rod. It was solid metal, but it was screwed into the wall with hardware she couldn't possibly break with her bare hands.

Frustration burned in her throat. The luxury of the room was an insult. It was designed to make them docile, to present them as pristine objects for purchase. She refused to be an object.

She looked at the lamp on the nightstand. It was heavy, with a solid brass base. She grabbed it, wrenching the cord from the wall. She hefted it in her hand. It was clumsy, but it was something.

“What are you going to do with that?” Sofia asked, peering through her fingers.

“When that door opens, I’m going to swing,” Tessa said. “Maybe I only get one shot. Maybe it does nothing. But I’m not going down on my knees.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m angry,” Tessa corrected her. She positioned herself to the side of the door, the lamp held high like a club. Her arms trembled from the weight and the adrenaline. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Please, just put it down,” Sofia begged. “You’re going to make it worse for both of us.”

“Worse than being sold?” Tessa shot back. “There is no worse.”

She looked at the terrified girl huddled in the chair. A part of her wanted to scream at her, to tell her to get up, to fight. But she just saw a reflection of a fear she was desperately trying to crush inside herself.

“Listen to me, Sofia,” Tessa said, her voice softer now, but still strained with intensity. “When they come in, don’t scream. Don’t cry. Whatever happens, you look them in the eye. You don’t let them think they’ve broken you. Do you understand?”

Sofia just shook her head, silent tears streaming down her face.

Tessa knew she was alone in this. A waitress against a world of monsters. Armed with a hotel lamp.

It was a stupid plan. It was a suicidal plan.

It was all she had.

She tightened her grip, her knuckles white. She stared at the door, willing it to open, her entire being focused on a single point of impact.

As if in answer to her silent prayer, a sound echoed from the other side. Not a voice. Not footsteps.

A sharp, metallic click as a key slid into the lock.

The handle began to turn.