Kidnapped By The Italian Mafia

"Oh my god, I think it is!" Moira leaned forward a bit and cupped her hands around her eyes to take a better look. "What on earth is he doing here?"

"Auctioning, clearly." Connor didn't seem surprised at all, which was suspicious. He just kept looking forward, bored with his arms crossed. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Connor McBride, did you know my cousin was auctioning off people?" Supposedly, in theory, nobody in my close family circle was supposed to be dealing in human trafficking. We didn't even aid in the selling of the people. If my father found out about this, it would be a betrayal and retribution would be given, for sure.

"He might have mentioned something to me. Nothing concrete, though."

"Unbelieveable. All the men around me are liars."

"Except Henri," Moira reminded me. She was right, Henri wouldn't lie to me. Not unless he absolutely had to, of course. "Why isn't he here with us, anyway?"

"It would be suspicious," I explained quickly, still looking at my cousin. "If the manager of a nightclub in England had a bodyguard."

"He's your butler, not your bodyguard."

"Even more suspicious," I snapped at Connor, motioning at him to quiet down. There was a parade of people strutting out onto the stage, all shackled in line by their necks, hands, and feet. Their limited movement range made it basically impossible for one of them to run away without dragging all the others down with them. It was strange seeing such a spectacle in person. I had heard of it, but not lived it. Usually whenever I wanted to buy someone to set them free, I sent someone else to do the transactions for me.

This lineup was of tall men and women, slender, all of them. They were looking down at the ground and they looked so sad. For sure, all of them had been abducted from their homes, probably worried sick about seeing their family members again. I was sure none of them was sober.

"How's the club doing?" I had never actually been there so I didn't really know. All the knowledge of it that was available to me was the numbers on paper of the revenue I made. "How many people do we need?"

"Maybe fifteen for the strip club level," Connor responded curtly, eyes trained on the stage with supreme concentration. I looked as well, and took a second good look at the lineup of people. I'd have to get at least two people from here to work in the catering department.

The auction went on, with each person stepping up looking more terrified than the last. When I finally saw someone I was sure of buying, I held up my paddle once a price limit was set, and kept it up in order to keep pushing the price just out of some people's range. A woman, tall, lean, she looked like she did yoga. My purchase was secured, just as the lineup was pulled back behind the stage and the second lineup of people came.

This one was a lineup of only men. Muscular mean, but they were severely drugged, to the point where they weren't even blinking. It wasn't a pretty sight, and I had to swallow the bile that had risen up in my throat. Was this what Marco did all the time?

It was no secret that the Italians had a fist smashed through the trafficking pie, almost all the way through the tin. Being in Marco's home confirmed it, from what I was able to hear. What did he do with those people? Did he sell them into s.e.x slavery? Was he ruthless and cruel? Did any of them work in his home? So many questions left unanswered, I kind of regretting dashing before I could pressure him into answering them.

For goodness sake, I had a gun to his schnoz, I could have made him do or say anything!

Then again, Marco DiBiancci was a very proud man. I doubted he would've let anything slip, even with his life on the line. He would've been a quality human being if he wasn't such a miserable d.i.c.k. Maybe we could have even been friends? We had proven that we were capable of being cordial, at least. Surely friendship wasn't too farfetched, right?

"Aren't you going to bet on this one?" Moira nudged me with her elbow. "He's perfect for the club."

My eyes snapped back into focus as I took in the man on the stage, a perfect mix between lean and muscular, handsome face… what was a guy like him doing here? What had happened to him? With all the questions I had, though, I raised my paddle and kept it up until the auctioneer—also known as my cousin declared him as sold. Great, that's done.

A few other people bought some of the others lined up, but I couldn't help but wonder what would happen to the ones that weren't sold. Logic dictated that they would just be taken somehwere else and put up for sale again, but what happened before then? Would they be beaten? Tortured?

People didn't really want to buy ugly slaves, so I doubted these people would be subjected to anything that would leave a severe mark, but that didn't take away from the severity of the situation. I felt increasingly guilty about just standing there, watching them be sold off to different people, but there was nothing I could do for now. At least there were no children here. I was thankful for that.

The night progressed, and by the time I was lead deeper into the building to give my payment, I'd bought more than fifteen people and spent over five million euros. Between the three of us combined, we'd spent a little over nine million euros.

I didn't think twice about whipping out a few stacks of cash to place them on the table and cover the bill. The accountant, or whatever the person who received the money was called, looked at me, bored, and printed a receipt for me, then repeated the process for Connor and Moira.

"Proceed to block five and present this receipt to recieve your purchases, thank you."

If I hadn't been within the context, I would've thought this was a regular business transaction, but of course not. Instead, I was walking towards a 'block' to finalise my purchase of about eighteen people and a weaponising home security system. My reasoning for buying a Mockingbird was to catch the attention of an auctioneer, and to have another reason to just sit in the auction room. If I only wanted the people part, I would've skipped the first one.

My cousin was at block five when we arrived, and he bro hugged with Connor before trying to make hands at Moira.

"Don't even think about it," she glared, holding up a hand. "I'll skin your shins and make you eat it."

Juan-Carlos hissed in pain, imagining it. "Who's this hot piece of ass?" He eyed me up and down. "Never seen you around these parts before, baby."

Jesus Christ.

"And you probably never will again." I pushed past him to hand the curator of block five my purchase receipt, not really knowing what to expect. It's not like he was just going to give me a leash and let me walk out with all those people right?

"Please wait here." The curator gave me a tight smile and disappeared behind a black door I hadn't even seen in the wall behind him. I leaned against the counter and turned back to my friends with my arms crossed.

"Seriously, who is this chick?" Juan-Carlos shoved an o.b.s.c.e.n.e thumb in my direction. His hands were covered in rings. "And why'd you bring her here?"

"Why are you pimping out slaves, Juan?" Moira raised a defined eyebrow at him, crossing her arms, receipt in hand. "We don't do that, you know this."

"Oh shut up, it's just for some extra cash, okay?" He rolled his eyes. "My old man's threatening to disinherit me, I need to make ends meet."

"What'd you do this time?" The question flew out of my mouth before I could stop it from coming out, and I cussed under my breath for unintentionally blowing my cover. I needed to slip back into Isabella mode, pronto. The dark world was making it hard for me to stick to a made up persona.

"You don't know me, what do you mean 'this time'?" Juan-Carlos narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. "Or maybe you do know me… you look familiar, did we sleep together?"

My god, he really was a whore. "Your reputation precedes you," I responded, mildly disgusted as I crossed my legs at the ankles. "I've heard a lot from these two."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Seriously, who are you?"

"Isabella Van— Venecia," I stuck my hand out, making sure to make note of the minor tweak in the name so I could have someone in Spanish government make it official for me as soon as possible. "Nice to meet you."

I didn't stick out my hand because, as family, I knew a lot about Juan-Carlos and the two rules everyone who personally knew him for longer than a fortnight had were, never shake hands with him, never let him touch you. Why? Because nobody knew where those hands had been.

"Isabella Venecia?" He smirked at me, and it was only then that I realised that my friends were staring at me in surprise. Yeah, the name change was pretty abrupt, but for all they knew it could have been a solid idea. "That sounds like a p.o.r.n star name."

Good Lord, help me not to throttle this man.

"Well I'm not a p.o.r.n star."

"What are you, actually?" He eyed me again, fully this time.

"She's the manager for Club Five. Kat hired her a few weeks before she disappeared." Connor thankfully piped up to verbally rescue me. "We're here on business."

"Kidnapped. Before Kat was kidnapped." Juan-Carlos looked irate. "I'm willing to bet it was those f.u.c.k.i.n.g Italian bastards."

"So am I," I muttered, glaring down at the ground quietly. Yes, this was only the beginning of my mission, but I couldn't help but feel that I should be much farther than this.

"My poor cousin. She was probably being sold in an auction," He looked so guilty that his eyes watered up. "And then she was bought by a cruel person and they killed her."

Was he always such a cry baby?

"Buck up, she wasn't sold in an auction." Moira rolled her eyes. "She probably ran away and died in a shootout."

"I hope so." He sniffled and wiped at his eyes. "She would have wanted that."

No the f.u.c.k I would not.

"You don't know how much Tío Salvador has suffered." He touched his c.h.e.s.t. "It's heartbreaking. He's so angry now."

"Here you are." The curator came back with a receipt with multiple outlined numbers. beside those numbers, were names. "These are your slaves. They will be shipped to you as soon as possible. These are their tracking numbers."

I gasped at the curator, trying to resist the urge to snap that these were people, not things.

"I want them clean and sober by the time they enter the country. Stop giving them whatever shit you're pumping them with." Even though I tried my best to use a managerial voice, I don't think it worked very well because instead of firm and in control, my voice came out clipped, annoyed, angry.

"Yes ma'am. Can I get your name and address?" The curator began typing on the computer on his desk, probably filling in the shipping details like I had bought a pair of lashes online or something.

"Isabella Venecia, Club Five, 46 Oldham Street, Manc.h.e.s.ter A6 3JL, England."

The curator nodded consistently until I'd finished rattling off the address. "Got it! Alrighty, Miss Venecia, your order will be arriving at your doorstep within two weeks. Thank you for your purchase!"

Instead of thanking the curator, I just stepped back and allowed Connor and Moira to do the same thing I had just done. Juan-Carlos was staring at me with his hands shoved into his pockets when I'd finished.

"There's something off about you. I can't put my finger on it but you're not normal." He squinted, then looked at my c.h.e.s.t. "Are your b.r.e.a.s.ts fake?"

"Alright, that does it," I turned around and walked away, heading straight towards the lounge so I could get the hell away from my perv of a cousin. He was never like that around my dad, and never like that towards me, but I had seen him be lecherous to other women, and I felt sorry for them every time.

A shiver ran down my spine in disgust. I'd get Moira to have a talk with him because clearly, as Isabella had only met him once, she couldn't say anything.