Gia

Sitting on the dirty floor of an oversized office, my heart beat out of my chest with each sound I heard on the other side of the door. I had yet to see who had me now. Hours passed where nothing but the music thumping through the walls filled the void. I was thankful for the noise, even if the obnoxious beat was sending vibrations down my back and legs.

With the drugs still somewhat in my system, I bit back the sickness, not wanting to puke on myself again. I started to doze off when the door creaked open. A soft yellow light filtered into the dark room.

A man I’d never seen before stepped in with a wicked grin on his lips. He tugged at the cufflink on his left sleeve and stalked toward me. I slid my back along the wall, attempting to get away from him. He shook his head, amused, a deep cackle escaping his lips.

In some ways, he reminded me of the men I knew. He had cropped dark hair, olive skin, and eyes so dark they were like soulless pits. His suit fit his muscular frame as if made for him. Angelo wore nothing but handmade suits and shirts. Same as my fiancé, this asshole’s taste in clothing was impeccable.

He turned his back to me to remove a stack of clothes from a shelf on the opposite wall. I tried to get up, thinking I could attack him from behind. But the drugs still owned my body, making me their bitch.

“Don’t even think about getting cute with me.” He threw a black thong and bra onto the tiled floor in front of me. “Get dressed. It’s almost show time.”

“I am dressed,” I countered.

He hunched down in front of me, slicing through me with his menacing gaze. Lifting the thong with his index finger, he held it in front of my face. “This is your new uniform. Get dressed. I won’t tell you again.”

Uniform? What the fuck?

He stood and took a few steps back from me, dropping my new underwear on my thigh.

“You want me to take off my clothes in front of you? No. I don’t think so. I’m not wearing that.”

“Not like it matters. You’ll be taking them off again in front of a much larger audience.” He laughed to himself, finding my humiliation amusing. “Too bad they starved you. I bet your tits looked so much better when you weren’t on your death bed.”

Glancing down at my thinning figure, I considered his words, realizing he expected me to strip for a crowd. Angelo’s family owned Scores, a strip club off the Delaware River. But that didn’t mean much. All of the crime families were into drugs, women, and gambling. Angelo’s family owned brothels and strip clubs from Philadelphia to Las Vegas. If it was illegal, the Morellis had their hand in it.

I peeked up at him, clutching the thong in my hand. “Do you expect me to dance for you?”

He nodded and licked his lips. “You can start with me. Let me get a good look at the pussy that has Angelo Morelli so whipped.”

I balled my hands into fists at my sides, wishing I had the strength to fight him. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re a dirty whore about to get auctioned off to the highest bidder. Shut your fucking mouth and put that on, before I do it for you.”

Clutching the underwear in one hand, I used the other to push myself up from the floor. I wanted to run, but my better judgment told me to do as he instructed. With a shaky hand, I pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it to the floor.

“Why can’t I wear my bra and panties?”

He shook his head, with a cocky smirk on his lips. “You wear what the boss wants.”

My pain was his pleasure. I could see it in his eyes, read it on his handsome face. He wasn’t much older than Angelo. And he was good looking too. Someone as evil as this man should have been as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside. It was almost unfair. Even the scar above his right eyebrow made him more ruggedly handsome.

As I unhooked my bra and slid the straps down my shoulders, he watched my every move. His lips parted for the split second he saw my breasts, but I quickly put on the black lace bra. Sucking in a deep breath, I mentally prepared myself for the last part, as I pushed the yoga pants over my hips.

With my pants and underwear around my ankles, he moved his arms from his chest to his sides and stepped forward. He bent down in front of me and lifted each of my feet to help me step out of my clothes. I had to press down on his shoulders, so I didn’t fall over, which put my pussy inches from his face.

He took the thong from between my fingers and repeated the same process to help me slide it up my thighs, touching my skin on purpose. I closed my eyes and bit down on my bottom lip, trying not to cry.

“Why am I here?” I choked out the words.

He stood and shoved his hands into his black slacks, pushing the suit jacket to the sides to reveal more of his navy oxford, and the gun he had holstered at his waist.

“To settle a debt.”

Is he doing this to scare me?

Growing up around the Mafia, I was no stranger to guns. He would have to do better than flash his piece to get under my skin.

Was this for Angelo’s debt or my father’s?

Without another word, the man gripped me by the arm, digging his fingers into my bicep. Pain radiated up the left side of my body. He dragged me down a long, dimly lit hallway painted a deep shade of red that almost looked black.

Once we reached the end of the hall, he opened the door to a large dressing room with rows of vanities, and skimpy costumes hung on racks. My stomach clenched at the thought of parading around in the underwear this man had picked out for me.

He tightened his grip on my arm and led me through the room. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

He remained silent. Awaiting his answer, my chest filled with dread. In a thong that rode up my ass and a barely-there lace bra that left nothing to the imagination, I felt so exposed and vulnerable.

A girl came out from behind a curtain and stopped in front of us, eyeing me up. “You can’t send her out there looking like that.” She pointed at one of the vanities. “Sit her over there, and I will take care of her for the boss.”

He released his grip on me, allowing the woman to steer me toward a counter with tons of makeup and hair products resting on it. She pushed on my shoulders to force me to sit in the chair in front of her. “Girl, you smell something awful. Where have they been keeping you? A barn.”

“In a dark room,” I spit back. “And a white room. I honestly have no idea. They drugged me.”

“How long does she have?” she asked the man behind us, watching me in the mirror. “Can I throw her in the shower first?”

He glanced down at his watch. “You have fifteen minutes.”

The woman smiled at him. “Not a problem.” Then, she looked at me. “Follow me.”

I never wanted a shower more in my life. The man helped me up and pushed me in front of him, cupping my ass in his big hands. He lightly smacked my ass cheek, the sting sending pain up my side.

I jumped forward and yelped. “Hey!”

Angelo hurt me much worse in the bedroom. This was a love tap compared to sex with Angelo. Still, he had no right to touch me.

“You’re the property of the DiSalvo’s now,” he muttered.

It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. The DiSalvo’s were a small crime family who ran Atlantic City. It all hit me at once. The saltwater and the sounds of waves crashing were from the boardwalk. I’d been to Atlantic City dozens of times with Angelo for overnight stays.

But why was I here?

It was the question of the hour.