In The Blink Of An Eye
Aria lay curled up on her mattress, her hoodie still on. Her eyes were still swollen from her crying all day.
"Go back to the sidewalks!" Her boss had shouted.
"You're just like your mother."
"A prostitute's daughter always ends up the same way."
She squeezed her eyes shut, but his voice wouldn't stop.
She had done everything right. Yet one customer harassed her and she fought back... but she was the one who lost everything.
She checked her pocket. She had a few coins left, barely enough for something small. Her stomach hurt badly from hunger, so she forced herself up, washed her face with cold water, and went outside.
Drunk men were leaning against the light poles. One of them was pulling a young girl who couldn't have been more than fifteen. Aria felt sick. She looked down and walked faster.
She went to a corner shop, bought a cheap sandwich and a bottle of water. All she wanted was to get back to her room and lock the door.
But suddenly...
Somebody screamed in pure terror.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots were everywhere.
People scattered, knocking into each other. Someone slammed hard into Aria's shoulder, and she dropped her food.
What was going on?
"Run! They're shooting!" a man screamed, running past her.
Shooting?
Aria didn't think. Her legs just ran. She rounded the corner toward her building and stopped dead in her tracks.
Oh no.
Two black vans were parked in front of the building.
Men in dark jackets with guns strapped across their chests, firing warning shots and grabbing women off the street. They dragged them by their hair and clothes, throwing them into the back of the vans like trash.
"Let me go! Please!" a girl shrieked before a man slapped her face.
Aria panicked, unable to breathe properly. She couldn't move. Her legs felt heavy. A young girl trapped inside the van looked right through the open doors at Aria, tears streaming down her face.
Then a voice behind Aria said, "Grab that one too."
Before Aria could run, a big hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
"Let me go! No!" Aria screamed, kicking and scratching his arms.
Two more men ran over, grabbed her legs, and lifted her up. She fought and screamed, but they threw her into the back of the dark van and slammed the metal doors shut.
It was dark inside and crammed with women who were crying and shaking on the floor.
Aria gasped for breath and banged her fists on the back door.
The driver turned around and pointed a handgun right at them.
"Shut up or I'll shoot you in the head. All of you."
The van went silent.
Aria sat in the dark, her hands shaking as the van started driving away.
It was the last time she was ever going to see Naples.
...
The van stank like piss and sweat.
The girls inside barely moved. Nobody spoke. You could only hear quiet crying, sniffles, and the loud rumble of the engine as the van bounced over cracked roads.
Aria sat in the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest, wrapping her arms tight around herself. Her hands were shaking violently. Her throat was sore from screaming. She pulled her hood down over her face, trying to hide, but she still saw everything.
She saw the little girl next to her, who looked about ten, quietly rocking back and forth with a bloody knee. She saw an older woman glaring at the back doors like she was planning to fight three armed men with her hands.
The van finally jerked to a stop. The brakes screeched, and the doors slammed open.
"Get out!"
"Hurry up!"
The men grabbed the girls by their arms and yanked them out. Aria hit the ground hard, gravel digging right into her palms. A heavy boot shoved her forward.
She looked up. They were at an old abandoned warehouse with rusted gates, broken windows, and graffiti on the walls. The air smelled like oil and dried blood.
Inside, it was even worse.
A few lights flickered overhead. A table was set up at the back with paper and clipboards. Men stood around smoking, shouting orders, and laughing. One of them had a whip hanging from his belt.
They lined the girls up against a wall. A mean-looking woman with short black hair walked down the line holding a clipboard.
"How old are you?" she asked the first girl.
"T-twelve," the girl whispered.
The woman wrote it down without looking at her.
Next.
"Age?"
"Sixteen."
Then she got to Aria.
The woman stared at Aria longer than the rest. Aria forced herself to stand straight, even though her legs were shaking.
"Name? Age?"
Aria didn't say anything.
The woman stepped closer, squinting her eyes. "You got a problem? Answer me."
Aria clenched her jaw. "Twenty-two."
The woman wrote it down. She didn't even ask for a name. She just wrote "
22 – long legs, nice face
." That was it. That's all Aria was to them.
They split the group up.
They shoved the younger girls toward a gated cage guarded by two guys with guns. They pushed the older girls, including Aria, toward a dark corner with dirty blankets and buckets of water.
One girl started screaming again. A guard slapped her across the face hard.
"One more sound and we bury you underground. Got it?"
Aria sat down in the corner with her back to the wall, her heart pounding against her ribs. This was real. No one was coming to save her.
...
Dante Moretti stood by the big glass windows of his estate, holding a glass of scotch in the dark room.
The meeting was supposed to be quick, but it never was when rich men got comfortable around the wrong person.
He turned around and walked back to the long conference table. Six older men in suits stopped talking as soon as he looked at them.
"I don't like small talk," Dante said, his voice flat and quiet. "Let's get to it."
They started talking about business: profits from their clubs in Milan, a new drug operation, and using luxury hotels to clean money and make deals with gun buyers.
One man cleared his throat. "Word is the Ukrainians are pushing into our territory. They're dropping prices in Naples."
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Then raise prices on them."
"Some of our guys are asking if we should start using girls from the cheaper places..."
"I don't run brothels," Dante cut him off. "I don't deal with street trash, and I don't sell kids. Anyone in my crew caught touching that shit dies."
The room went dead silent.
A younger guy at the end named Jackson leaned forward with a cocky grin. "That sounds nice, but you're missing out on a lot of money. Everyone's doing it. You have an empire, but even emperors bleed when they ignore the market."
Dante smiled, but his eyes stayed cold.
He took a slow sip of his drink and set the glass down. "Jackson."
"Yeah?"
"You think I should follow the market?"
"Well, I just mean—"
"Good," Dante said, walking toward him. "Because the market says a man who doesn't listen is useless."
Before Jackson could react, a loud gunshot blasted through the room.
Jackson flopped off his chair onto the floor, blood pooling under his head. The other men didn't even move. They had seen this before.
Marcus, Dante's right-hand man, put his gun back inside his jacket like nothing happened.
Dante looked around the table. "Anyone else want to tell me how to run things?"
Nobody said a word.
"Didn't think so."
As the men left the room pale and quiet, Luca came in through the side door.
"The club is ready," Luca said in a low voice. "Your table is waiting. You want a distraction tonight?"
Dante looked down at the blood on the floor.
"Let's go somewhere different tonight."
...
The black van carrying the girls stopped in front of a high-end club. It had bright neon signs, a gold logo over the door, velvet ropes, and two huge bouncers out front.
Inside, the air smelled like expensive perfume, cigars, and booze. The heavy bass of the music thumped through the floor.
The guards dragged the girls out of the van and pushed them through the back door. Aria struggled against the guy holding her arm.
"I don't belong here!" she yelled. "Let me go! You took the wrong person!"
The guy didn't even look at her. He just shoved her forward hard.
"Shut up," he growled. "You're getting dressed up tonight. VIP section."
Aria clenched her fists, her heart racing. She knew if she fought too hard right now, they would just kill her.
They dragged them into a back room with big illuminated mirrors and fake lashes scattered across the counters. Three women in short black dresses were waiting for them.
They stripped the girls fast and put new clothes on them.
Aria's stomach turned as they pulled a tight black silk top over her head. It was strapless and cut low. The skirt was barely long enough to cover her thighs. They forced her into high heels that made her stumble.
One of the girls sitting in the corner looked at Aria and chuckled. "Look at the new girl. She looks like a Christmas present."
A man walked past the open door and stopped to stare at Aria, looking her up and down.
Aria didn't look down. She stared right back at him with pure rage, glaring like she was memorizing his face so she could get even later.
The man blinked and walked away.
A tall guy with a clipboard stepped into the room and pointed right at Aria. "The new one with the angry face, put her in the executive room tonight with Elena and Mila. She needs to learn."
The woman next to him nodded. "Three girls. VIP clients only."
Aria set her jaw. They were setting her up for someone rich, and they didn't care that she was begging to go home.
...
The Backstage was tense and way too bright.
The harsh lights, fake eyelashes, and heavy perfume made Aria feel sick. She sat stiffly on a couch between two women who looked totally relaxed. One was smoking a cigarette, and the other was filing her nails. Neither of them looked scared at all.
"You're new, right?" Mila asked, not bothering to look up from her nails.
Aria stayed quiet.
Elena smirked, fixing her hair in the mirror. "You're mad right now, but you'll get used to it."
"I don't want to get used to this," Aria said flatly.
Mila stopped and looked at her. Her face was pretty, but her eyes looked completely dead. "We were all like that at first. I was fourteen when they brought me here. Now I'm twenty-one."
Elena spoke up next. "I was seventeen. That was four years ago."
Aria's chest felt tight. "You never tried to run away?"
Both girls laughed out loud. It wasn't mean, just a dry laugh like they'd heard the question a hundred times.
Mila flicked her cigarette ash onto the floor. "Run away where? To do what? Here I get a bed, food, and drinks. And nobody kills me."
"Plus, I make way more money than a waitress," Elena added.
Aria looked down at her lap. She refused to accept that.
"I don't just want to survive," Aria said, looking them in the eye. "I want to actually live."
Neither girl answered. They just gave her a sad look, like they knew that feeling wouldn't last long.
...
A minute later, a guard with a walkie-talkie opened the door. "Executive room. Move it."
They walked down a long velvet hallway with security cameras blinking on the ceiling. The heavy bass from the club got louder with every step.
Then the guard opened a heavy door into the executive room.
The place was huge. Dim lights, black leather couches, glass walls, and a private bar with low music playing in the background. Three men were already inside, lounging with drinks and cigars.
Mila's eyes went wide. "Jackpot," she whispered.
Elena giggled and smoothed down her short dress. They walked into the room with, swaying their hips and smiling like pros.
Aria trailed behind them, walking slow and watching everything. Two of the men were laughing and pouring drinks. But the man sitting in the middle made her freeze.
He wasn't laughing. He wasn't even moving. He just sat back on the couch with his legs spread, one arm resting on the cushions and a cigarette burning between his fingers.
Dante Moretti.
And he was the most beautiful, dangerous-looking man she had ever seen.
