I Paid A Mafia Boss For Our Night

Chapter 6 I Am A Prostitute Now?

I Was Kidnapped!

Just as I was about to scream for help, one of the men covered my mouth.

"Mmm... mmm!" My muffled curses were stuck in my throat, unable to escape as they dragged me by the arms toward a dark van.

The pain was unbearable, the fear overwhelming. In desperation, I bit down hard on the hand over my mouth, and a disgusting taste of blood filled my mouth.

"Ah!" The man cried out in pain and withdrew his hand.

Spitting out the bloody saliva, I kicked and thrashed. "Who are you? Why are you doing this? Let me go, let me go!"

"Bastards!"

"Hold her tight, don't let go!"

They hadn't anticipated my fierce struggle. Losing their grip, I managed to break free momentarily.

They cursed and yelled as they chased after me, but I couldn't outrun them and was dragged back into the van.

"You dirty whore, run then, run!" The man I had bitten twisted my arm viciously behind my back. I felt it might snap.

"Bastards!" I screamed in pain, my legs kicking, my upper body twisting under their control, sweating profusely from the struggle. My hands were tied behind my back, and my eyes blindfolded. With my sight blocked, my other senses sharpened. I heard the loud slam of the van door, and the driver starting the engine. The van then pulled away, taking me and my captors with it.

Breathing heavily, strands of my hair clung to the side of my neck, tickling me. A gnawing fear made my heart race.

"Is it Nico? Or Livia? Did they send you?" I curled up, trying to ignore the men seated beside me.

I couldn't help but fear the worst.

"No matter who sent you, you're obviously doing this for money." I tried to remain calm, attempting to negotiate, "How much do you want? I'll pay, just let me go."

The men shared a look and scoffed, "You can pay? How much can you pay?"

I bit my lip. I couldn't.

Though my family was once affluent enough to afford a two-story mansion in the wealthiest district, that was before my father became addicted to gambling. Since then, our financial situation had plummeted. My tuition fees were often overdue until I could start working part-time and earn scholarships to somewhat ease our burdens.

Over the years, most of my earnings went towards Nico and my studies, leaving little left.

But I couldn't let them sense my desperation, so I bluffed, "Yes, I have money, l-ah, it hurts! Let me go, it hurts so much!"

Enraged by my lie, one man grabbed my hair, forcing my head back, "If you had money, would your father be willing to sell you?" "Actually, Vince looks pretty decent, and his daughter turned out pretty with these big breasts and a nice ass. She'd fetch a good price."

The man groped me, and I shuddered, my eyes wide beneath the blindfold. Who sold me? My father? My father sold me?

My mind was tense, each passing second a torment, and it felt like an eternity before the speeding van finally stopped.

The driver slammed the door, came around to the back, and dragged me out, handing me over to another person.

A pungent smell of cheap perfume hit my nostrils, and I sneezed twice before hearing the driver say, "Get her cleaned up, treat her wounds, change her into clean clothes, and take her to room number three." Sensing danger, my body instinctively crouched. "I won't go, I won't! This is kidnapping, a crime! Let me go, I don't want to go!"

I screamed and fought back madly, biting anyone who tried to pull me along. Perhaps tired of my noise, a woman drenched in cheap perfume slapped me and said, "What nonsense is that? Now that you're in Pink Island, do you think you're still some good girl? A crime? What's that!?"

"What is this Pink Island Club? I don't know this place, I don't know, I was kidnapped, I don't want to be here, let me go!"

"Your name is Sienna Corsetti, Vince Corsetti is your father, right?" The woman lifted my chin, blowing smoke in my face.

Choked by the strong nicotine smell, tears streamed down my face as I coughed, refusing to answer her.

I couldn't bear to think what my father, Vince, might have done to get involved with these people.

Kidnapping, Pink Island, human trafficking!

One possibility struck me. Oh God, were they the mafia?

"Your father owes our boss money," the woman persisted, revealing a staggering figure, "80 million dollars."

I gasped. Eighty million dollars?

An astronomical sum that even selling me wouldn't cover!

"Impossible, I don't believe it!" I yelled, my soul screaming inside me. I couldn't possibly acknowledge such an enormous debt.

Lies, all lies. They were traffickers, and they must all be lying to me!

"Liar, you're all liars!" I shouted in disbelief, "I won't believe a word from traffickers and rapists. You better let me go soon, or I'll call the police, I definitely will!"

"Call the police?" The woman laughed as if she heard a joke, covering her mouth playfully. She yanked off the blindfold covering my eyes and slapped a note in front of me, "Look, your father wrote this, and we have even his signature and thumbprint!"

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I strained against the discomfort, reading each word on the note, my body trembling with each line until my gaze landed on the last part of the note.

The name Vince Corsetti was overlaid with a vivid red thumbprint, a scar cleaving almost entirely across the pad, leaving a distinct gap in the fingerprint pattern.

I knew what that was. It was the scar on my father's right thumb, from many years ago.