TRAPPED BY THE MAFIA
I don’t want to think about her, or how I’m still here, trapped in this place with no way out.
The door opens, and two men enter. One gestures for me to follow, his face unreadable. I can’t help but hesitate, but I get up anyway. My body is weak, aching, but I keep moving. There’s nothing else I can do.
They lead me down the hall, the lights overhead flickering. The smell of food hits me, and my stomach twists. It’s not hunger. It’s fear.
When we reach the dining room, I freeze. The table is set with every kind of food you can imagine—meat, bread, fruits—everything you’d think would be a gift. But I know better. Nothing here is a gift. Not from him.
Bab Populer