Page 2 of I Would Die For You

I never knew there’s a difference between crime lords and Mafia bosses. The Mafia, for all their violence and darkness and ruthlessness, still operate, usually, according to a certain code of conduct and honor. Don Rossi couldn’t release us girls—we couldn’t become losses—but he gave us a choice: we could all work off what we owed across his many businesses. Some girls went to work as cleaners, others as dancers.

A few, me included, stayed back and worked in his brothels. We’d earn more on our backs or knees servicing johns than as cleaning crew, and I couldn’t wait to be done with my indenture and released. I would put up with it if it meant I could get back home to the US more quickly. I grew up in Portland, Oregon and while it doesn't have much to offer me, it's familiar and comforting grounds.

When I was picked up by Don Rossi's men, I was twenty-one, with a paltry high school education and just a few years’ experience as a diner waitress under my belt. The few times I’d had sex, I’d enjoyed it—there were worse jobs out there than being paid for something I liked. Don Rossi’s brothels were manned day and night by reliable security who kept the girls safe and weeded out the deranged perverts from the regular johns.

And us girls, we bonded. Many were grateful to Don Rossi for having freed them from under the Albanian’s twisted thumb. Little by little, despite me being the youngest in their lot, I became something like a big sister. They listened to me when I told them to approach Don Rossi’s trusted soldiers and tell them what they knew about the Albanian’s operations.

Which has brought me here tonight, apparently. Where it would’ve taken me a couple of years at least to work off what I owed, I’m almost off the hook just eleven months later. I got here in late August last year, and it’s now mid-July. When Don Rossi plucked me from the brothels and made me hostess here just after the new year, I’d thought that would be my biggest break.

“Don’t be so stunned,” he says, breaking through the haze around me. “I take care of my own.”

I’m not one to smile often, yet the grin on my face can’t be restrained. “I know, Don Giacomo. And thank you.”

“You are a good girl, Kaya.”

Funny, that’s also what my dad said. Look where that got me, and a niggling feeling starts dancing at the base of my spine. Men don’t usually praise without needing something in return…

“Your debt is almost paid,” he starts.

By now, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. A diffused buzzing has started in my ears. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like the sound of what’s coming.

“But before I can let you go, I need you to do something for me.”

There it is. Will it be the shoe that drops, or will it be one of those Acme iron anvils like in the old Looney Tunes cartoons I loved to watch as a kid back home in Portland, Oregon?

“Yes, Don Giacomo?”

My words are as much a question as my capitulation. Whatever he asks of me, I’ll do. I’ve made the most of my circumstances so far, but this isn’t a life I would’ve chosen for myself at any point, much less in a country where I knew not a soul, let alone a whiff of the language when I first landed in it.

Freedom’s sweetness is practically palpable on my tongue. I will bear whatever I need to in order to taste it fully asap.

“Look at me when I talk to you, Kaya.”

There’s no ignoring the steel in his tone, so I lift my head up and face him.

“Stefano Beccario is my godson,” he says, eyes narrowed slightly on me.

My heart rate picks up at the small pause he effects after saying those words.

“Don Giacomo?” I ask quietly.

“He’s coming here to see me tonight. After we’re done, I need you to look after him for me.”

I’m a working girl, I must not forget. Being at this club, even being Don Rossi’s protegee, my luck wasn’t going to last.

What else can I do but acquiesce? My freedom dangles at the end of this line he’s thrown at me.

“Yes, Don Giacomo. It will be done.”

“Good. I knew I could count on you, Kaya.”

I know a dismissal when I hear one, so I nod and get to my feet. My legs wobble a little under me as I stand and make my way to the door. I’d forgotten my pussy, mouth, hands, and ass are on offer to any man who wants it in the few months I’ve been posted at this club. The wake up call is like a bucket of ice-cold water thrown all over me, the chill extending even to my bones.

As I take the stairs leading back down, something draws my eye to the entrance of the club. Even in the dim lighting, it’s impossible to miss the sight of what’s happening at those doors.

A tall man has stopped to talk to the bouncer manning the entryway tonight. In the striped white and dark grey Juventus FC jersey molding to his broad shoulders and well-developed pecs, his long dark blond hair combed back and brushing the collar of his shirt, he could pass for a top-notch star soccer player from the renowned local team coming over after a match and freshly showered, his hair still wet.

His face, as if carved from rock, bears rough-hewn features proclaiming he’s a man’s man. But the sensuous mouth with the full lower lip softens this animalistic edge just enough to make a woman think of the way this full lip would caress her skin rendered super-sensitive under the touch of his big hands with the elegant fingers. And everyone knows big hands equals big…

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