Sold 2 The Mafia Boss

My life had always been a series of nightmares, each one more suffocating than the last. For years, I had live in a world painted with shadows, where hope didn't exist, and each day was a cycle of pain, fear, and despair. My mother's death was the spark that lit the inferno of misery I now called my life. I had watched her fade away slowly, powerless to stop the illness that stole her from me. She had been my only shield, my protector, the one person who ever cared for me. And when she was gone, my world crumbled.

What came after was a torment I couldn't have imagined in my worst dreams. It started with my stepfather. The man who was supposed to care for me in her absence revealed himself to be a monster. He shed the façade of civility the moment her body was cold. At first, it was subtle cutting remarks, a cruel smirk when I tried to talk back, and an icy glare that silenced me faster than words ever could. But as time passed, his hatred for me grew, spilling over in waves of rage that he didn't bother to hide.

I became his punching bag. His outlet. The beatings were merciless. His leather belt snapped against my skin, leaving welts that burned long after the blows had landed. The sting was sharp, but the humiliation was worse. My arms, legs, and back became a canvas of purple bruises and angry red swells, a physical reminder of his cruelty. I stopped flinching after a while. It didn't matter. Pain had become as familiar to me as breathing.

But the abuse wasn't enough to satisfy his need for control. He locked me in the basement for hours, sometimes days, without food. I grew used to the gnawing hunger that twisted my stomach into knots. When he did feed me, it was with scraps, cold, stale leftovers that barely kept me alive. He would stand over me as I ate, watching with a smug grin, reminding me that even my survival depended on his mercy.

And then there were the "punishments." If I made a mistake or worse, spoke out, he would force me to kneel for hours. My knees would scrape against the cold, hard floor until the skin was raw and bleeding. He'd pace back and forth, his voice a venomous hiss, spewing insults that cut deeper than any blade.

The blades came later. The first time he pressed a knife to my skin, I thought I was going to die. The cold steel bit into my flesh, drawing blood that dripped down my arm in crimson streaks. "This is a lesson," he said, his tone void of emotion. The slices weren't deep enough to kill, but they scarred physically and emotionally. My arms, legs, and back bore the evidence of his twisted idea of discipline.

I was nothing to him. Nothing but a burden. And when his debts grew too large to handle, he sold me.

I didn't know where I was going or what would happen to me. All I knew was that I was being handed over to men who saw me as nothing more than property. Their eyes were cold, void of humanity, as they dragged me into their world-a hidden underbelly of society that I never knew existed.

The 'market,' as they called it, was a living nightmare. I was thrown into a cage, the metal bars cold against my skin. The stench of fear hung heavy in the air, mingling with the salty tang of tears. Around me, other girls huddled in their own cages, their eyes hollow, their spirits broken. Some cried softly, their sobs muffled by the oppressive atmosphere. Others sat in silence, staring blankly into the distance as if they had already given up.

I became one of them. Days bled into nights, and time lost all meaning. The traffickers barked orders, their voices harsh and unyielding, treating us like animals. Food was scarce, a piece of bread here, a sip of water there, and we were constantly reminded that our survival depended on their whims.

When buyers came, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew thick with dread as men with cold eyes inspected us like merchandise. I had seen girls pulled from their cages, their cries echoing in the market as they were dragged away. Some fought back, their screams piercing the air, but it never made a difference. Resistance was met with swift, brutal punishment.

I prayed to be invisible. But prayers meant nothing in a place like this.

One day, everything changed. The usual noise of the market stilled as the traffickers scrambled into action. A new buyer had arrived, someone important enough to make even these hardened men nervous. Their voices dropped to hushed tones, but the tension in the air was noticeable.

And then I saw him.

He walked in like he owned the world, his presence commanding and intimidating. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with a confidence that sent a chill down my spine. His dark hair was slicked back, and his sharp features were accentuated by the dim light. He was handsome in a way that made my stomach twist, a predator cloaked in elegance.

I kept my eyes on the floor, hoping he wouldn't notice me. But he did. His gaze swept over the cages, cold and calculating, before landing on me. I felt the weight of his stare, heavy and unrelenting. My heart pounded in my chest as fear rooted me to the spot.

"Get up," he ordered, his voice deep and commanding.

I hesitated, but a sharp prod from one of the traffickers forced me to my feet. My legs shook beneath me, but I managed to stand, my body trembling like a leaf in the wind. He stepped closer, his piercing eyes never leaving mine.

"This one," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The traffickers moved quickly, dragging me out of the cage with rough hands. I stumbled as they pulled me forward, my body too weak to resist. My heart sank as I realized there was no escape.

"Get her ready," he ordered, his voice sharp. "Thirty minutes."

They shoved me into a small room, where I was stripped and dressed in clothes that barely covered me. The fabric clung to my skin, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. My reflection in the cracked mirror was unrecognizable, a girl with hollow eyes, bruised skin, and a soul shattered beyond repair.

When they brought me to his car, I felt the weight of my fate settle over me like a suffocating blanket. The ride to his mansion was silent, but his presence was overwhelming. He didn't speak, but I could feel his eyes on me, cold and assessing. I didn't dare look at him.

When the car pulled up to the massive estate, my breath caught in my throat. The mansion was stunning, its grandeur both beautiful and terrifying. But I wasn't fooled. This wasn't a home. It was a prison.

"Get out," he commanded.

I stumbled out of the car, my legs barely holding me up, and followed him inside. He didn't look back, but his presence was enough to guide me. As the doors closed behind me, I knew there was no escaping him.

I was his now. A possession. A pawn in whatever twisted game he was playing.

And in that moment, I realized the nightmare wasn't over. It was just beginning.