The words “sex slave” are spinning around my head.
Oh, God. Please don’t let it be that.
Maybe he’ll want me to do something menial, like cleaning or office work, I try to convince myself.
Yeah, right, Nikki.Working off three million dollars as a cleaner? I’ll be on my hands and knees scrubbing for the rest of my life and still not make a dent in it. My best chance of earning my keep without being on my back would probably be as a drug mule or something illegal.
Oh, Jesus…what if that’s it?Maybe the guy is some sort of petty criminal. It’s not unlikely, considering my father’s circle of “associates.”
By 9.15 a.m. I’m such a bundle of nerves that I’m sure I’m going to throw up. I walk down to my little Ford Focus and head into the mid-morning traffic. The address isn’t familiar. But as I draw near, I realize it’s not far from the hotel I spent the night in with the stranger. Not just close, but almost adjoining. Seeing the sweeping towers of the luxury hotel makes my heart race.
“Get it together, dammit,” I mutter to myself as I look up at the building housing the office I’m about to visit. I straighten my demure gray pencil skirt and make sure my crisp cotton shirt is smoothly tucked in. I figure if I look like an office administrator, there’s more chance they’ll see me as a desk jockey.
When I arrive at the sleek offices of Caraldi & Co., I’m surprised at how civilized it all looks. I announce my arrival to a surprisingly respectable woman behind the reception desk, then perch on a seat while I wait to go through. It’s 10 a.m. precisely. I hope my punctuality will stand me in good stead. Until I see the towering figure of a man walking down the hallway toward me and swallow hard. Despite the expensive suit, this guy looks brutal.
Tall, well-built, with dark hair and hawkish features…I’m reminded of my nameless lover. This one is different, though. Coolly impersonal, he appraises me briefly with liquid brown eyes before extending a hand.
“Ms. Love?” he asks. A raised eyebrow gives me the impression he thinks my name is made up. It’s not. It’s my mother’s. After years of bailing my father out of shit, I’ve rejected his family name. He loves telling people that Benedetti is a good Northern Italian surname, the reason for his sandy hair and blue eyes. Mine too, perhaps, though my mother was also fair-haired, which is probably why I’m ash-blonde. My father clung to his Italian heritage, which always seemed odd to me. He’s been estranged from his family for longer than I can remember.
“Ms. Love,” the man says again, and I rise awkwardly, taking his hand.
“Yes, sir,” I answer. Overly formal, but I don’t know how else to address him. He’s huge. Looming over me in a way that makes me tilt my head back to look into his face.
“Mateo Ricci,” he introduces himself. “You’re Joey Benedetti’s girl?” he asks. Probably still doesn’t believe it.
“Yes, sir. I’m Nicola Love,” I say more firmly. He finally nods and turns, gesturing for me to follow him. When we walk into a boardroom decked out in glass and chrome, I’m surprised there isn’t anyone waiting for us.
“Mr. Caraldi will join us shortly,” he says, indicating a seat at a boardroom table piled with several folders. I sit down and set my purse beside me. Bizarrely, this all feels like some sort of job interview. I’m relieved but still anxious.
He sits across from me, then reaches for a folder and slides it toward me.
“You will find your contract in there,” he says. I open the file. There’s a wad of papers thick enough to make my eyes water. “These are the terms of your debt and expectations regarding your indenture,” he tells me.
Indenture?The only time I’ve heard that word used was when it was followed by the word “slave” – indentured slave. I clear my throat and make a show of flipping through the pages. Words blur in a flurry of legalese I barely understand.
“Um… What does it mean?” I finally gather the courage to ask. Maybe I can have a lawyer look over it.
“It means we own you, Ms. Love,” he says simply. I suck in a breath. “For the duration of the contract, you will do what we say when we tell you to do it.”
“I… I… Um, is that legal?” I stutter. Surely it’s a human rights violation? “Should I have an attorney review it?”
“I wouldn’t advise that,” he answers. “You know what’s at stake here.”
I swallow hard. Yes, I know. My whole world. My father’s, too. Though he can drop dead for all I care. It’s Sophie I’m truly worried about. I’ll do everything I can to keep her out of this.
“This will be your first assignment,” Mateo says, sliding another folder to me. My hands shake as I open it. The details are printed out on a letterhead with a logo that’s glaringly familiar. It’s from the hotel next door. The Diamond Elite. I read through the details and frown.
“You want me to work at the hotel?” I ask.
“To begin with, yes,” he says. “We believe you will be of value at the tables. With your assets,” he drops his eyes to my chest, “this would suit us.”
So I’m supposed to be some sort of hostess at the casino? I chew my lip. It seems a little troubling but not terrifying. Unless they expect me to entertain guests in more ways than one.
“And…um…my job? How will I keep working?” I have to ask it. I’m pretty sure they’re not going to be paying me.
“You’ll work shifts at the hotel,” he says. “Fit your job around them.”
I nod slowly. It’s not like I have a choice.
