Vended to Don Damon

Iris’s POV

I always knew that Mimi Teresa liked me. Not loved, no, no. Just liked me, liked having me around and passing me off like one of her shiny little trinkets. That weird but fascinating thing she owned.

Yes, that's how my godmother always saw me.

Teresa Paulman or Mimi Teresa as I called her, mostly because she didn't want me to call her Mom as she believed she was still too young to be a mom—she’s 53, and I couldn't call her Aunt because, well I just never did. Well, she has been my godmother since I was six years old when my parents decided to abandon me on her doorstep.

I can't remember why as it's been 13 years since then and I've been living with her ever since then. My name is Iris, Iris Paulman, I took Mimi's last name.

Life wasn't always great or horrible either growing up with her. We lived in this fairly large but very old and somewhat empty apartment, in the slightly better part of Harlem. It had three rooms, all of them old and falling apart.

One was mine, one was Mimi's, and the other was a room she kept all her treasures. 80s stuff; old paintings, old flashy clothes, letters, perfume bottles, and a slipping memory of being once famous, that's if the stories she constantly bragged off to me were real.

Mimi wasn't very present in my life, I mean she was there because she had nowhere else to be. Spending her days smoking pot and watching reality TV but she did give me what she could, though I never knew how. Mimi never worked.

I always wondered why but she never told me. Well, today I found out.

You see, living with Mimi was like living with walking bipolar. You couldn't predict what would happen each day, just like today.

I couldn't predict that after living with her as basically my only family for all my life, something like this would happen. I couldn't predict that ever.

“You did….what?”

“Seriously Iris, If you can just understand you'd be able to know why I'm doing this.”

“I can't believe this,” I said. I couldn't. Was this a joke? Did she forget to take her pills again? “You can't be serious.”

“I don't know why you're acting like this—”

“You're selling me off! What…what the hell, Mimi? You can’t do that!”

It was a random and cold afternoon in Harlem, New York. I did not expect to come back from my below-minimum-wage job, tired and hungry only for this always half-drunk woman to tell me that I was…she was…

“Jesus..”

“Don't call him into this, he blessed this decision.”

“Why would you do this?” My eyes were getting itchy at this point.

She just straight-up told me she was selling me off to pay her debt. Not just that, she was selling me off into a mafia.

What mafia? How did she get affiliated with the mafia?

“It's going to favor you if you look at it the right way,” she said, walking over to me, her beads and old jewelry jingling as she came closer, “Imagine turning out to be the mafia lord’s favorite girl. Think of all the good stuff you'll get.”

“Mimi…what are you even saying?” My green gaze traveled to her wrinkled face. I know she wasn't joking, she made the phone call in front of me. Telling a certain ‘Mickey’ that I was ready for pick up.

“Irine…” Her hand traveled to my face as she looked at me. Irine. She sometimes calls me when she's drunk or a little high. Maybe, she was and this was just a misunderstanding—

“You owe me.”

“What?”

“You owe me, Pretty girl.”

“What.. what do you mean—”

“Oh come off it,” her hands went to my hair and the grip became tighter. “I took you in and for all these years, I took care of you.”

She seemed to hold it tighter.

“I gave you food, clothing, and a roof over your pretty head. I asked for nothing in return.

I mean, did you think I was Mother Theresa or something?” She chuckled, “You owe me this, okay?” She was nodding now like she wanted me to follow, to understand that she had a right to do this.

“You're not going to do this to me.” I yanked myself away from her. “You don't want me to do this.”

She shrugged, running her wrinkled hand through her bleached wispy hair. “You wanna run away? Go ahead.” She smirked, “It's the fucking Mafia, sweetie. They know you're my payment for all my debt, they're gonna find you. You're their property now.”

…What?

****

It didn't take up to an hour for me to realize that I wasn't daydreaming and Mimi wasn't high or just joking. An hour later there was a knock on our door, it was sharp, it was abrupt, and just twice.

Mimi hurriedly opened the door and in came two men, dressed in black and with stoic expressions on their handsome faces. They didn't even bother to greet Mimi who was smiling awkwardly.

“Iris Paulman?”

“There she is.” Mimi immediately gestured to me and I stood there, the tears I held in already spilling down my cheeks. I trembled under the gaze of the men as they approached me, they stopped right in front of me, went to my side, and gestured for me to walk out of the house.

I did, not looking back at Mimi, not daring to.

Outside the house was a jet-black SUV already waiting. I gestured inside and they did this without touching me again.

As I settled into the plush seats, the thought of escaping crossed my mind again. I kept thinking about how I could just jump out of the car or trick them or something. Those thoughts however stopped when I looked down in front of me.

Guns. Guns of different sizes Arranged in the back of the driver seats and passenger seats, in front of me.

“Oh..my God..” were they going to kill me?

My heart jumped as the car started moving, the windows closing and the two just sat at my side, not saying anything.

“Where…where are you taking me?”

They didn't answer.

“Are you going to kill me?”

That's when one of them turned. “You're now the property of Don Damon Vyon. If we so much as touch you, we'll be dead.”

I tried to process the words they said, but they sounded distant and muffled. "Property of Don Damon Vyon?" What did that even mean?

Whatever it meant, I didn't like it one bit.

The guns, the silence, the ominous tone, all screamed danger.

As the SUV navigated through the darkening streets, my mind began racing.

I thought of escape plans, but each of them formed in my head dissolved as I noticed each of the windows was tinted, and the doors seemed to be locked from the outside.

One of the men, his face expressionless, turned to me. "We will be arriving soon. I suggest you make peace with whatever demons haunt you. Because your life will never be the same.” He announced.