The Mafia Hidden Heirloom

CHAPTER 1 - Savior

EARLIER TODAY

Reese isn't a good woman, and nothing could warm her heart, not even being the mother of fifty children in private foster care. She has never shown emotion; she doesn't even flinch at a cut on her skin. To say she cared for her children is a vast overstatement; the woman's heart runs cold. Nevertheless, she was there in the picture, which is more than our parents ever did. She named all the children under her organization after the calendar months because she didn't believe we deserved anything better. Since there are twelve months and fifty children, she gave each child a second name in pairs for identification. Five were named January and February, while the rest, from March to December, were in four pairs. This made it easy for her to call us by saying "January first" or "January fourth" or "February first" and "February second."

She saw it as discipline, whereas we knew, or at least I knew, it is an insult to mock the orphans under her custody, but we accept it and consider it as something that binds the fifty of us together, something similar to a surname, and we felt like family with it.

I was June third. I was nothing, but I felt wealthy for having family and friends. I prayed every day for the day I would leave this hell, that had no disparity with prison. I've prayed for my eighteen years to come; it was the age of freedom, and I've seen the others leave when they came of age.

For years, I was excited for my turn, and the girls were happy for me. I thought it would be the start of my life. I had planned and sketched everything on paper, from the job I would find, to the apartment I would rent after my first pay, and then furthering my study when I am able to raise enough money. But unfortunately, hell broke loose, and I couldn't escape Reese.

My 18th birthday; that day was a historical painting that will never fade; it was horrifying and tragic, one that I had memorized every bit of the process, like the lyrics of a haunting song.

"Go now, and don't forget you owe me. Do whatever they want and make sure to leave your sass behind," Reese warned me after getting me ready in the cheapest materials that looked decently elegant. "God, please have someone bid on the poor obstinate child, even for less than a grand," the woman pleaded with God, as she had been doing every time she sent one of the girls who clocked eighteen just like me through the tall mahogany door that none of the girls knew what was behind until they were ready, her words not mine.

We had only seen some of us, who were eighteen, get past through the door. Some of us predicted it was a passage door to the real world, and today I was about to find out.

Although, I was getting a bad feeling about it.

Most of the girls never returned after that, they were mostly in haste to pack and leave forever, and those that came back to us, made us assume adulthood life was hard for them, and they chose to live among us instead. We'd see a very outspoken girl turn reticent after giving up on her outside dream. I've always wondered why, I wish I knew now, it would've prepared me for what's next, but they were forbidden to discuss their experiences with the rest of the kids. It was a misery none of the girls have the right to ask until they're eighteen and ready to experience it themselves.

For me, nothing was going to make me give up and return to Reese. I had always known I would never look back once I crossed that door. Yes, there is a lot to miss behind the walls of Reese, but I plan to grow myself once I am outside and hopefully get a house to welcome my sisters with open arms when the rest of them are free. They will have somewhere to call home still.

At the hall that leads to the greatest door, where I stood like a corpse, skin paled, breathing ceased from anxiety, I watched as September Second emerged from the door, glowing with cheerfulness. She spun on her heels and gave a wink around three prepared eighteen-year-old girls, including me, waiting for our call.

"Ma'am, I think six o'clock in army green is interested. He wrote something down."

"He," she had said.

So immediately after what she had hinted at, some of the girls standing in line got super excited; it could be men, while some panicked; it could be men.

Yes, September's Second statement had a slight clue to what was across the door. We weren't leaving this house on our own. I did not have a chance to facilitate my plans for the future. Reese is selling me to someone, like she will with all the girls here. I just don't understand why September Second was thrilled about it.

We had been locked up since we knew ourselves. We schooled in the foster care, played there, and slept there. No routine guided us outside of Reese's surroundings. We knew only ourselves. We saw boys only on TV, which wasn't regular, since we do not pay the bills here. The world had been stolen from us ever since our parents threw some of us away or left this world without us with them.

"He even bribed Hilary for me," September Second added when furious Reese was about to hit her for running her mouth in our presence, since we hadn't gone in to see for ourselves.

But everything changes at the mention of bribery. Reese halted the movement of her hand, including gripping September's wrist, and she grumbled, "You've got to be kidding me. No wonder the w***e ran off too soon."

Hilary, Gianna, and Reese run the household together and everything that's going on until so recently that Hilary decided to leave.

Reese waved her hands at September Second and agitatedly shoved me towards the door. "Now walk away. And do not dare make eye contact. Keep your head low."

My heart jerked to the wall of my ribcage.

In the dimly lit, opulent showroom, the contact my eyes first made was a quick inspection of where I am and what the place is. It certainly wasn't outside. It was calm, chilly from the air conditioner. It's almost like a theatre, with only first-row seats, accommodating countless old, strange faces of men in sophisticated suits, crafted from the finest Italian fabrics, that accentuated their confidence and lent an air of authority.

"Keep your head down," the voice repeated in my mind.

The atmosphere was spine-chilling, goosebumps had laid all over my skin at the fear of the unknown. What do these people want from me? I am only the age of their daughters or granddaughters.

I was spooked and nervous; my heart was making a fretful rhythm. And when the door made a thudding sound as it got shut behind me, I looked back at it impulsively. Exceedingly terrified at this point, and had already taken back my wish for this day. I mentally focus of the pain at every snap of the wirstband against my skin.

If I can go back in time, I don't want to come of age; I'd rather stay under the duvet, I was always safe there.

"Take off your shoes," someone ordered from the row of seats. The pitch was deep and lower and scary. Something we've never heard physically.

My body jumped at the unexpected voice, and impulsively, my body worked as the person commanded. Timidly, I could feel my trembling.

"Undo your hair," they demanded.

At that moment, I was chewing back my tears from falling.

My fingers were shaking when I also did that.

"Move quickly up the stage. Let's see." The voice was different from the first one. This was slightly raspier and deliberate, but it was more desperate yet calm.

Getting on the stage, with the harsh light pouring on me, made me blind. Somewhat I felt so much exposed and in great proximity under the men's watchful eyes.

"Turn around and take off your dress."

All the voices I've heard in the dim room so far were wild rambunctious and authoritative. It was of men. Powerful men, too frightening to make eye contact with even if I had the card to take a chance.

"June Third," Gianna warned me to abide, and that's when the heavy tear fell from my eye, reminding me of the proverb; be careful what you wish for.

We must do as our guardians order. A disrespectful child is a lonely human even in the next hundred years. That's what they taught us here.

So I let loose of the stupid silk gown, that was far below my modesty, and it dropped to my feet, leaving me standing in the brand new pairs of white lace bra and pantie, Reese had bought for me last week, when I thought it was only a goodbye and a wish you well gift.

One of the men asked me why I do have an underwear. It was humiliating to hear, hurtful to digest, and scary to even take in in the first place.

"A decent woman should have underwear on, Sir." I forced myself to answer him with a trembling croaky tone, that give away my silent cries, while my knees were threatening to give up on me.

"Is what this young woman saying true?" Some slow and breathy voice that was drained of youthfulness asked Gianna. She is standing by the door, making sure the girls didn't do anything embarrassing when they get sent in by Reese.

"I am sorry, sir. I wasn't paying attention. I hope she's not causing any problems," Gianna's voice was agreeable and gentle as she responded to satisfy the man.

"Well, she claimed to be decent. Is that true?" The response was slow-paced and measured, full of power and demands.

I could feel all the sets of eyes in the room on me, their intensity too much to bear as I shuddered from fear, chewing my bottom lip until it bled, tasting the metallic tang on my tongue.

"She is, sir. As you know, all the girls here are. She just turned eighteen, but you can fix that. June Third is very compliant and quick to learn," Gianna explained nervously.

It was disgusting to hear. My stomach hurt, needing me to puke.

At her response, there were murmurs from many men before quiet slowly seeped in.

"Prove, then," asked the same demanding voice.

"I am sorry, sir, but how?" Gianna sounded concerned, and my breathing quickened, fearing what the man meant by proving.

"I want her to take off the underwear, turn around, and touch her knees right away."

I looked in Gianna's direction, unable to see her clearly in the bright light, but I hoped she could see the desperation in my eyes. I needed her protection more than ever. She couldn't let this happen.

It was an absurd command. They wanted to force me into p**********n right here. Even Gianna struggled to come up with a reply until eventually, after what felt like only a second, I heard her voice directed at me while I sobbed uncontrollably.

"Do so."

That order echoed in my head, like the sound of metals releasing on the concrete floor. It haunted me like scars do to humans.

I sought for hope, but I had to give up because I had been hopeless for eighteen years. Nothing was going to stop this moment from happening. I didn't have a loving father to protect me from this wicked man or a warm mother to pull me back into her embrace. I was all alone.

My fingers hesitantly went about to unhook the bra from behind me, sniffing and trembling as I didn't care anymore about the sobs. It was then, earlier before I could unclasp the hook, that someone bid twenty thousand on me.

It was the first time I believed in possibility. That indeed prayers could be answered when put so much effort.

"She hasn't stripped," the old voice angrily asserted, as though only if he hit me, he could find relief.

"I like scared and timid girls, and she seems importantly obedient," said the bidder.

"What's the scar around her wrist?" Someone asked.

Gianna was hesitant to answer and when she did, she lied, "Birthmark,"

"Twenty-one," a second bidder sternly challenged.

"Twenty-five," the old man blurted, furious at the man challenging his patience. Seeming like he was on a race that he wasn't willing to take a loss.

"Thirty-five," someone different got involved. I let go of what I was doing and wrapped a hand around my body to close up the little I could with my arms.

"Okay then, I would pay a million. Are you ready to compete with that?" The older man questioned the rest of the bidders.

There were gasps in the quiet hall while a wound was etched into my heart. My shoulders slumped as despair steeped into my being.

Even if I were to be owned by someone, if only it wasn't the old man, I did settle for in favor. It's not that I have a choice, it's just that I would be too pained to put on a smile and act like September second.

"Sold." Gianna quickly applauds with excitement, breaking my heart into even worse pieces.

I was like a shiny object set in a glass for whoever had the satisfying funds for Reese and her people, and I was mute, having no say in the matter because objects do not talk; they're only stills to be possessed.

"Perfect. Now do as I said," the old man went on and commanded. The question came like a non-stop stab all over me. I was dizzy for a moment.

"Do not." A different voice, much fuller and alive ordered.

"Shadow Boss, how dare—" The old man started but got interrupted by the other man, "I will multiply his offer by twenty times; you will give her to me." The voice asked speechless Gianna.

The man was my angel. To say I can define relief that erupted in my chest at the rescue is a lie. It was beyond happiness. It was life. I was given life too.

All that gave me the courage to pull up my dress instantly and look up into the light, although still a fruitless attempt, but I wondered who saw me with that much worth.

He sounded mature, but not old. I couldn't tell what he looks like, but he's definitely a man.

Girls with freedom will see my situation as a tragedy, but in my case, I was immediately smitten by this man's kindness. All I saw him as was the savior who rescued me from a monster.

Gianna was amazed with wonder; she gaped at the instant, "Excuse me, sir?"

"You heard me, Gianna," The man sounded courageous and bold.

"You cannot, I closed the sal... This is not fair. We agreed, she is my property. Please—just withdraw," the old man stammered. He sounded angry but restrained it. His pain made me silently happy—to know that he couldn't hurt me now.

"The bet is still on, Butcher. You haven't made the p*****t. I don't see any sign of your claim on that young girl. However, if you have anything to add ahead of my bidding, go ahead. Make your bid. Just know that I will still winno matter how high you go." My angel calmly concluded intelligently, amusing me.

"I wanted the blonde." The old man grumbled. "Do you have another blonde like her?" He asks Gianna.

"No sir. But we do have pretty brunettes."

"What part of I want blondes did you not understand? I do not want brunettes. So this is what y'all do here? Bring up stupid bitches to scam us—" The man continued to fight.

"Butcher stop ranting, don't choke yourself." My savior mocked when Gianna pulled me off the stage and to a door, distancing away from the displeased crowd noises.