The Mafia's Addiction

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Chapter 1: Desperation

I rushed through the crowded streets, my heels clicking on the wet pavement. Another late night, another shift at the diner. My uncle's debt was suffocating us, and I was running out of options.

"Ari, you're late again," Martha, my coworker, said as I burst through the diner's door.

"Sorry, Martha. Traffic," I lied, grabbing my apron.

The night blurred together—endless orders, tired smiles, and pocket change tips. As the clock struck midnight, I counted my meagre earnings. Not enough. Never enough.

With no choice—there never was a choice, I walked home, the city's neon lights reflected off the rain-soaked streets like a twisted mirror. I quickened my pace, hoping to leave the deserted streets and get home.

Not that it was any good, but it was a million times better than being caught in the street at odd hours.

I shuddered, thinking of the criminal cases that have been heard of. Still, what choice does a girl have? 

Uncle Jackson’s words echoed in my mind; "Ari, I'll pay them off, I promise." But the creditors' threats grew louder, and his promises emptier like his bank account.

I turned onto our street, noticing a sleek black car parked outside our dilapidated apartment building and halted as a chill ran down my spine.

Several thoughts raced through my mind and before I knew it, I bolted right for the door, calling, "Uncle Jackson!" and pushing open the door.

As soon as I entered, the dim light made me squint. Uncle Jackson sat on the couch, surrounded by empty bottles and scattered papers. His eyes, once bright, now seemed sunken. 

That wasn’t my problem. My eyes scanned the stenchy parlour, in search of the owner of that car but found no one. 

I had stupidly run, thinking he was in danger. The only danger he was in was himself.

He lifted his eyes slowly, the second they caught me, a wide-toothed grin formed on his lips, showing his yellowish teeth as his stenchy breath oozed out. 

Fuck!

Hope flared in his red eyes. "Ari, I... I did it," he slurred, holding up a crumpled contract.

My heart sank at his sorry state. He used to be better than this in the past. After losing my parents at the age of eight, Uncle Jackson was all I had left. He took me in, but six years later, his wife died in an accident, and the culprit was released on bail. 

He lost it since then. "What did you do, Uncle Jackson?"

He handed me the paper, his hand shaking. "I got us out of debt. Finally!” My heart and hopes were quickly elated, but his next words dropped everything down like a bomb. “You'll be working at Arthdal Strike."

My heart felt like it’d burst out of my chest any second now as my gaze trailed from his face to the paper he held. My eyes widened as I read the contract. "A strip club? Uncle Jackson, no!"

He grasped my arm, his grip tight as he stood up. "It's the only way, Ari. They'll pay off half of our debts, and you'll be set for life from the huge tips you get after eight months or a year."

A fucking year?! 

I jerked free, horror creeping up my throat. "You can't sell me to pay off your debts!"

Uncle Jackson's eyes darted around the room, his pupils constricting as if searching for an escape. His hands trembled, the contract crumpling in his grasp. 

I raised a brow, waiting for his sorry excuse. My bad.

“We'll lose everything if I don't pay them,” his words tumbled out, but as soon as it came, his expression morphed into something hopeful. “It’s not a bad deal,” he said, looking me in the eye. “You’ll still get to be doing what you do best, serving tables.”

I scoffed, completely awed at how low he’d gotten. “If you love the job so well, why didn’t you take it? After all, it’s your debt and not mine.” 

His eyes flared in rage. “You ungrateful bitch!” His words were followed by a quick slap I hadn’t seen coming, sending my head to the side as my cheeks burned in response. 

My eyes blurred as the familiar hot liquid rushed to the surface, but I forced it back down and straightened. “That’s it. I’m not going.” 

As soon as he saw the glare in my eyes, his mood switched. "I'm sorry, Ari. I have no choice."

Was he a chameleon or what?

A knock at the door interrupted us. Uncle Jackson’s eyes locked onto mine, filled with a warning that I dare not escape. 

Before I could react, the door creaked open and two men entered. Their presence filled the room, each of them towering over my uncle like shadows come to life. 

One of them, broad-shouldered with a scar slashing across his cheek, suited up and piercing blue eyes, stepped forward.

"Arianna Draco?" he asked, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. When I swallowed, he continued, "I'm here to collect you. You start tonight."

I glanced at my uncle, his face pale, lips trembling. He said nothing, just stared at the floor like a coward. My chest tightened with fury and fear, my pulse quickening.

"I’m not going anywhere with you," I spat, backing away instinctively.

The other man, taller and leaner, smirked. "You don't have a choice. You've already been paid for."

In an instant, my world shrank to that single sentence. Paid for. 

Like I was property. Like I was nothing. 

My mind raced seeking escape, panic clawing at my throat, but before I could form a plan, Scarface lunged forward, grabbing my arm with a steel grip. I twisted, pulling back, but it was useless.

"No!" I yelled, thrashing against him, my heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe. "Let me go!"

Uncle Jackson didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, watching with dead eyes, as though he wasn’t sending me off to hell.

"Enough of this," Scarface growled, tightening his hold until my arm burned. "Get her in the car, now!"