Kidnapped By The Italian Mafia

"Are you f.u.c.k.i.n.g joking me? Who the hell left their coke bag here?!" One of my fingers pointed toward the tiny square bag with white substance in it from a safe distance, because I sure as hell wasn't about to touch it. Just seeing the slight sheen of moisture on the outer layer of it had me cringing with disgust and fighting back the urge to vomit. "Come get your shit!"

"Whoops, that was me! Sorry, boss." One of the girls in a more conservative bikini came stomping over to retrieve her bag of drugs, plucking it from the vanity surface and stuffing it between her enormous b.r.e.a.s.ts. I had nice ones but hers were unreal. No wonder that bag was sweaty. "A little extra for one of my private clients." She winked at me and stomped away, amazing me because she managed to not tumble over her feet and break every single bone in her body.

Lord knows that if I dared dare wear eight inch heels like that, I'd be toast.

"Do we give our clients cocaine in the private session rooms?" I turned to Moira with an incredulous look on my face, completely not believing the state that the club was in. "Is that a thing that actually happens here? Tell me this is a lie."

"They usually have to bring their own drugs but yeah, sometimes." My best friend shrugged as if this was something that was totally normal. Moira had grown up around luxury, she knew me in and out. Literally. This was appalling.

"Moira when I said that I wanted to open a club to launder my money, I meant a respectable establishment. Like a brothel where each whore costs upwards of a thousand euros per hour." My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's not that the place was seedy and gross, it was actually far from it, but that was only up front. Backstage? The locker area reminded me of a middle school gym locker room and there was a distinct smell of mold coming from somewhere, probably the vents.

My nose had become numb to it and if not only because of the constant thought that there was mold in my place of business, I would have forgotten it.

"Listen, I have tried time and again to make this place better but our manager keeps f.u.c.k.i.n.g with me and faking shit. I can't be here all the time, I don't know if things are actually improving. Ever since you 'died' I've been back and forth between here and the colonies!"

"Okay, I understand that, I really do, and now that I'm back we can finally get things in order, okay?" Then something clicked. "What f.u.c.k.i.n.g manager? I never knew about this."

"You literally hired the f.u.c.ker," Moira deadpanned with a flat face, glaring at me. "Against my advice."

"Did I do that?" It must have slipped my memory because I had absolutely no recollection. "Oh. Well at least we have the second level! We haven't seen that yet."

"By the way I was thinking we should maybe distribute our bricks here. High end customers could come and buy from us here. Extra money, you know? Tight situations and all that."

"Extra mo— oh god, nevermind." Lowered expectations. Severely lowered expectations. "We have to do something about the second level, then."

"Why don't we turn it into a gentlemen's club? The second level is bigger than this one so it might work. It'll be a good place for the 'new employees' to work, and we won't have to hide the fact that they're slaves!" Moira looked very pleased with herself, and I just wanted to smack her.

"They are not slaves. But you're right. Let's go up there." I stepped over a feather boa that was strewn on the floor. "Where's Con?"

"Out with Henri to the port."

The port? "Is it time already to get these people here? We haven't even finished preparing their jobs yet."

"Well obviously not but they'll need training before they start to work," Moira helpfully pointed out, a fact that I had completely neglected. "The house downtown will be theirs."

"Isn't that a bit risky? Putting literal victims of human trafficking in a house in the literal middle of a city?"

"I don't know Katarina," Moira sighed, exasperated, and threw her hands in the air. "You're the boss. Think of something."

Crickets. I could see dust bunnies in my brain. This was so embarrassing.

"Downtown it is, then."

— (Marco) —

"Good news, we located Moira Willoughby and Connor McBride." My informant basically skipped into the room with a printed report in hand, probably glad that he could finally get my mood swings off his back once and for all now that we have a lead on Katarina. "They were in France a few days ago."

"What are the odds?" I reached out my hand to take the report from him. From the moment I had heard that slimy bitch crossed into France, I knew it was a matter of time before she got someone to come help her. She couldn't do a single thing by herself and it was pathetic. I don't know how she thought that she could outrun me.

"They entered the country a few weeks after Katarina supposedly crossed over. It might be a coincidence." My informant shrugged, taking a seat on the sofa in front of me to await further orders. The sea crashed against the shore in the background rhythmically. I felt very much at peace.

"If it has the Montenegro name on it, there's never a coincidence." Katarina thought she was smart, but not smart enough. "It says here they were in Paris before they went south and returned to Paris again. What were they doing south?"

"I was told Moira Willoughby was seen at an art show with two French women and a man. Here is a photograph." He handed me a glossy sheet of paper where Moira was clearly seen holding a small sculpture, as well as a man holding another sculpture. Beside them, two women grimace at each other. "The man is Jean-Louis Bordeaux, a famous artist."

"She looks familiar." I pointed to the woman with short brown curls and red dress.

"Claudette Monterre. French supermodel." My informant let me know. That explained a bit more of why she looked familiar. The other woman with the short red hair and black jumpsuit had a hand on Moira's arm and her body was turned toward the Englishwoman. Who was she?

"Who is this other woman with Moira?"

"I do not know yet but she has been seen with Moira Willoughby throughout Saint‐Étienne and even in Paris." My informant shifted uncomfortably. "Her background check comes back clean."

"Clean as in nothing suspicious or clean as in empty?"

"Clean as in limited information. There are sealed records of hers that I was not granted access to. Government records."

The back of my neck tingled. Could she have a connection to Katarina? Everyone had some government records that were sealed to the general public but could be seen with private access or special clearance. This wasn't any different.

"What I did find out is that she is with travel influencer with a massive following. She left the country with Moira Willoughby and Connor McBride recently. I was not able to get her name."

"What were they doing in Paris?" Something told me they were there to help Katarina. Paris was the place people went to if they wanted to disappear or anything of the like.

"Attending a black market auction."

I looked at my informant with sneaking suspicion. He was able to find all that out but he wasn't able to find out this mystery woman's name? What the hell?

"What's the name of her page?" My phone was already in my hands by the time the last of the question was out and I was pulling up my social media.

"Haute, dot, spirit, underscore, travels." He placed an ankle on one of his knees. "I searched her up, there's no mention of her name anywhere."

"It says it right here." I held up my phone to show him the screen, where the bloggers name was written on the contact information panel. "Isabella VanBurren."

My informant looked at the screen for a solid minute before he pulled out his own phone and began to type, presumably to search her up himself. I rolled my eyes. If this wasn't progress I would have shot him already.

"Anyway, we're already in France so might as well make a pit stop to Saint-Étienne before heading up to Paris, right?"

There was just something about the women in the photo that drew my eyes… I couldn't put my finger on it but I was desperate to find out.