The Mafia King Bought Me at Auction

"Elena? Did you get it?" Margaret’s voice rattled from the bedroom, followed by a wet, heavy cough.

I pushed open the door to our cramped South Boston apartment. The stench of stale whiskey and damp drywall hit my nose instantly.

"I'm back, Mom," I called out.

On the sagging porch couch, my father, Frank, snored loudly. An empty liquor bottle slipped from his slack fingers and clattered against the linoleum.

I kicked the bottle away. It spun across the floor, hitting the baseboard with a dull thud.

"Frank, wake up," I muttered, shoving his shoulder.

He merely grunted, turning his face into the stained cushion.

"Did you get the pills?" Margaret asked. Her voice sounded weaker than yesterday.

I walked into her room. She lay under a thin quilt, her skin pale and damp with sweat.

"The pharmacy was closed," I lied.

I pulled out my phone and checked my banking app. Forty-seven dollars. Not even enough for a half-refill. She hadn't taken her medication in three days.

My fingers brushed the folded paper in my jacket pocket. The nursing school dismissal notice. I crushed the paper in my fist.

"Frank drank the grocery money again," Margaret wheezed. "We have nothing."

"I know," I said, smoothing her blanket. "I'll fix it."

"How?"

"I'm going out to find work," I announced. "Real work. Tonight."

"Don't do anything stupid," my mother whispered.

"I never do."

Three blocks down, neon lights buzzed above a dive bar near the harbor. The bass from the jukebox vibrated through the floorboards.

"You want to bartend?" Slim asked.

The bald manager leaned back in his office chair, dragging a toothpick between his teeth. He sized me up, his eyes lingering on my face.

"I learn fast," I said, keeping my chin high. "And I need the night shifts."

"Got any experience?"

"I know how to pour a beer. I know how to count change."

Slim chuckled, a dry, scraping sound. "You don't need to mix drinks, sweetheart."

"I applied for the bartender position."

"You're too pretty to deal with drunk sailors," he said. "I have a better offer."

"I'm not looking for anything illegal."

"Relax. It's a private club. You serve drinks to VIPs. High-end clients only."

"What's the pay?"

"Triple the bartender rate. Plus tips."

Triple pay meant Margaret’s medication. It meant keeping the lights on. It meant dragging Frank out of his debt hole.

"What's the catch?" I asked.

He slid a single sheet of paper across the sticky table.

"No catch. Sign here. Standard non-disclosure."

"I need to read it first."

"Suit yourself," Slim said, tossing a pen next to the paper. "But the shift starts in an hour. You want the money or not?"

I glanced at the text. Most of it was legal jargon about confidentiality. My eyes caught the numbers. Three times my usual hourly rate.

"Where is this club?" I asked, grabbing the pen.

Slim tossed a bundled black dress onto the table. "Change into this later. Address is on the card. Be there by ten."

I scrawled *Elena Hayes* on the dotted line.

The address on the card led to a rusted, converted warehouse right on the edge of Boston Harbor.

No neon signs. No valet. Just a heavy steel door and an iron staircase leading down into the dark.

"You the new girl?" a voice rumbled from the shadows.

Two men stepped into the dim light. Necks as thick as tree trunks. Both wore dark suits that barely contained their bulk.

"I'm here to serve drinks," I said, holding up the card Slim gave me.

The taller man snatched my purse.

"Hey! Give that back!"

He dumped the contents onto a metal barrel. Lipstick, keys, and loose change scattered across the lid. He pocketed my phone and my ID.

"Phone stays with us. Company policy."

"I changed my mind," I snapped. "Give me my things. I'm leaving."

I turned on my heel, bolting for the street.

The tall man caught me by the hair, yanking me backward.

"Let go!" I screamed, thrashing wildly.

He clamped a massive hand over my mouth. "Scream again, and I break your jaw."

The second man blocked the top of the staircase. He pulled a folded copy of my signed agreement from his jacket and flipped it over.

"Read the fine print, Miss Hayes."

I squinted in the gloom. The microscopic text on the back of the page blurred together.

*Two-year exclusive service contract. Early termination penalty: 200% of the guarantor's outstanding debt.*

"My father's debt?" My voice cracked. "Slim said this was a waitress job."

"Slim says a lot of things," the tall man sneered. "Get downstairs."

They grabbed my arms. I shoved back, kicking at the taller man's shin.

"Don't touch me!"

He twisted my wrist, forcing a sharp gasp from my throat.

"Walk," he commanded. "Or I carry you."

I stumbled down the iron steps, the cold metal biting through my thin shoes. The air grew colder with every step, smelling of damp earth and bleach.

They shoved me into a windowless room. The heavy steel door slammed shut behind me.

I caught my balance. Seven other women huddled on the concrete floor. Some wept into their hands. Others stared blankly at the wall.

"Take off the clothes," a sharp voice ordered.

A middle-aged woman stood in the center of the room. A silver badge gleamed on her lapel. She held a clipboard and a pen.

She threw a white silk gown at my feet.

"I'm not wearing that," I said, crossing my arms.

She stepped closer. Her eyes were dead, empty of any pity.

"You wear the merchandise uniform, or the guards come back and put it on you."

"I was hired to serve drinks."

"You signed the paper. You belong to the house now."

My stomach churned.

I stripped off my jeans and shirt, pulling the cold silk over my head. It clung to my skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.

"Listen up, ladies," the woman announced to the room. Her voice cut through the muffled sobbing. "The manifest is locked."

A blonde girl in the corner looked up, mascara running down her cheeks. "Please. My family has money. Just let me call them."

"Quiet," the woman snapped. "The auction begins in twenty minutes."

"Auction?" I repeated, the word tasting like dirt in my mouth.

"Starting bid for each of you is fifty thousand dollars," she continued, ignoring me. "Do not speak unless spoken to by a buyer. Do not make eye contact. Do you understand?"

Fifty thousand dollars.

Slim wasn't a bar manager. He was a flesh peddler.

My hands shook. I balled them into fists, driving my nails into my palms until the pain grounded me.

I didn't cry. Crying wouldn't save me.

The blonde girl grabbed my arm. "Did you see a way out? Is there a phone up there?"

"They took everything," I whispered.

"Oh god," she sobbed. "We're going to die here."

"We're not dying," I said fiercely. "Stop crying. Look around."

"Talking is forbidden!" the woman with the badge shouted. She marched over and slapped the blonde girl across the face.

The crack echoed in the small room. The girl crumpled to the floor.

"Hey!" I stepped in front of the girl. "Back off."

The woman raised her hand again, but I caught her wrist.

"I said, back off."

She yanked her arm away, her face flushing red. "You'll be the first one on the block, Hayes."

"Line up against the wall!" she ordered the rest of the room.

The other girls scrambled to obey. I moved slowly, scanning the room.

Concrete block walls. One heavy steel door.

And in the far corner, a faint red glow.

*EXIT*.

A ventilation grate sat just above the sign, bolted to the wall. If I could stack those metal chairs, I could reach it.

I shuffled forward, keeping my eyes on that red light. I needed a distraction. Just five seconds of chaos.

"Stand straight," the woman barked, tapping her clipboard against my shoulder.

"Don't touch me," I warned, my voice dropping an octave.

She laughed dryly. "Feisty. They pay extra for that."

My hands shook violently now, but my eyes remained dry.

I stared at the exit sign, measuring the distance. Four steps. A quick jump.

"Get ready," the woman called out, checking her watch. "The first buyer is coming down the stairs."

The heavy steel door groaned. Heavy footsteps echoed from the corridor outside.

My muscles tensed, ready to sprint.

Then, the lock clicked.