women and children

FRANCESCA

HE'S INTIMIDATING. His gaze flicks to the gun in my hand, then back to my bruised face. I can't look away from him. The room is filled with half-dressed girls in colorful lingerie, and I know what's happening.

My father stands off to the side, his annoyance with me clear. The room is bright, lit by harsh fluorescent lights. It reminds me of an interrogation room, with a large metal table in the center and a leather chair behind an office desk. My husband's imposing figure fills the chair.

Seeing him, I feel a wave of relief and hand the gun back to Fabio. Men don't like giving women power, and the one with the gun is the one in control. Fabio takes the gun from me without hesitation, bows to my husband, and steps back.

As my husband approaches, I look down. The room is silent except for the soft sobs of the girls standing around. I feel a wave of disgust. I didn't know what kind of business my father was in, or how my husband was involved. I'd hoped it was just drugs. I was so wrong.

His shiny black shoes come into my line of sight. I don't dare look up. I want to hide from the shame and embarrassment of who I am and what side I'm on. I can't even meet the girls' eyes.

Antonio lifts my chin, forcing me to look into his emotionless eyes. He's good at hiding his feelings. But I can tell he wants to know what happened.

“A man misbehaved with me where the children are kept,” I say, my voice filled with disgust at the thought of them trafficking innocent children. I quickly shut my mouth, realizing I've judged him.

I brace myself for a hit. No one should ever have to anticipate that. I flinch as his finger traces my cheek where I was slapped. The touch makes it sting and heat up.

Antonio looks away, his expression unchanged. His gaze moves to my father, who's glaring at me. I don't understand why he's angry. I'm not his problem anymore. I'm Antonio's problem. If anyone should be angry, it's Antonio. So why is my father angry? Is it because I interrupted his disgusting business?

“Children?” Antonio asks, his eyes darkening.

I'm confused. Of course children, I want to say, but I don't. I'm not stupid. I'm not getting in the middle of an argument between my husband and my father.

I don't think it'll come to that, though. My father will back down if he angers Antonio. And I know Antonio wouldn't hesitate to shoot my father. It doesn't matter that I'm his daughter. Honestly, I don't think I'd care much. One less monster in the world.

Ignorance really is bliss.

“Yes. I think it would boost our business,” my father says. “Recently, our clients are more interested in younger girls. It's the new trend. It's more popular. More money.”

I bite my lip to keep from saying anything. I know I can't change anything. It would only make things worse for me. In the end, Antonio's word is what matters.

I glance at Antonio, even though I know I won't be able to read his expression. As I expected, I can't.

If I didn't know better, I'd think he was hiding his anger. But he doesn't need to. He's the boss.

“We do not use children for pleasure. I thought I made that very clear when I first took over,” Antonio says, his voice flat.

The room seems to get colder. My father freezes, his eyes wide with fear before he quickly composes himself.

Before he can respond, Antonio continues. “Is your word bigger than my word, Micheal?”

My father looks at me. I'm in Antonio's arms. I hadn't even realized when he wrapped his arm around my waist. My father knows who has the upper hand here.

He can't do anything to me or his boss, even in his own house.

“I'm sorry, Don,” he says, trying to hide his anger. If I wasn't so good at reading people, I might think he felt guilty. But I know my father. He's a great liar. “I will free them at this moment.”

Antonio doesn't respond. He just stares before grabbing my arm and pulling me onto his lap. His arm wraps around my waist, and I lean against his chest.

Despite the situation, I feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. This isn't appropriate, especially in front of my father.

“There's no need to free them,” Antonio finally says. His hand plays with my hair, his other arm wrapped around my stomach. His breath fans the side of my face, and I know he's not looking at my father as he speaks.

I freeze. Is he going to go along with it and traffic children too? The Giordano Family has trafficked children before. When Raffaello was in charge, it became more common.

Kidnapping and trafficking people became popular. So popular that it wasn't stopped.

For a moment, I thought Antonio wouldn't stoop that low. But who was I kidding? Antonio is the Don. He's not going to be some soft-hearted muscle man.

He’s not just some damaged bad boy. He’s a certified criminal, a psychopathic genius. He can’t lead without being the worst, without instilling fear. There’s no kindness in him.

I steal a glance at my father, his eyes sparkling with pride and joy at the prospect of the money we’re about to make.

Then my gaze shifts to the women, all dressed in either red or white lingerie—color-coded to show who’s a virgin and who’s not. There are about six women, two virgins and the rest not.

I can see the fog in some of their eyes. The ones who are sober can’t hide their revulsion.

“Get the kids involved in the other business. Train them to be soldiers, then we’ll decide what to do next,” Antonio suggests.

My father looks angry, but less so than before. He’s considering it. After a moment, he smiles. “That’s not a bad idea. It will be done. How do you want them sorted, Don?”

My father isn’t a good man. I know that. I also know he’s arrogant, but he’s not foolish.

He won’t make the mistake of crossing the Don again, even if he is his son-in-law. My husband wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

My husband tugs on a strand of my hair, making me wince. His hand then wraps around my neck and pushes me back so my head is resting against his shoulder.

He’s clearly marking his territory, but why? The only people in the room besides us are my father, the girls, and Fabio.

“Get the boys into the drug business, train them to be honorable mafiosi, and get the girls to strip and be the baiters,” he commands.

My father nods immediately. “Yes, Don. But what if they aren’t Italian?”

My husband leans back, pulling me with him. “You don’t need to worry about that. Fabio will handle it. Also, you’re retiring. Marco will take over from now on.”

I would have laughed if the situation weren’t so serious. My father’s face turns red, and even though he tries to hide it, the vein on his forehead looks like it’s about to burst.

If Antonio weren’t his boss, my father wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

“Yes, Don,” my father says through clenched teeth before leaving with Fabio to handle the situation.

And then it’s just us and the women. He strokes my hand up and down before dipping his head and marking my neck. His grip on my arm tightens when he finds the marks my harasser left on me.

I know that men are possessive—especially husbands who don’t share. I really hope that my husband doesn’t punish me for something I had no control over. But I also know that men can be kind of crazy.

Women, on the other hand, are taught to forgive and forget. When Antonio gets a mistress, I’ll be expected to turn a blind eye like everyone else, just to keep his ego intact.

I don’t want to let it go. I don’t like sharing, and what’s worse is that even though Antonio is wrong and a hardened criminal, he’s my husband and nothing can change that. Morally, he’s mine.

The slam of the door jolts me from my thoughts. My eyes snap up and I see a very muscular man dragging in a very familiar face. His mouth is gagged and I just know things are about to get worse.