Maman Margot had seen a lot in her long time working in those conditions, and she was treated like dirt more often than not.
It just so happened that one night, the two of us crossed paths. She saved me, and later I returned the favor.
I was thirteen when my father initiated me into our world. I took an oath, and my spilled blood served as a promise toalwaysput the famiglia first. Rocco took great care to explain the entire business to me, the restaurants that serve as fronts for a wider network—human trafficking. I don't think I entirely grasped what human trafficking entailed until my father took me to his club for the first time.
I was still struggling with my newly found maturity, and puberty was slowly turning me from a child into a man.
"I'm proud of you, son," my father had patted me on the back, showing me inside a private room full of made men—men who'd killed and maimed for the famiglia.
And I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be seen as more than just a pretty face. I was a man through and through.
Except I wasn't.
Everyone had quickly joined in on the celebration, regaling me with different stories from their time in the mob, how they'd escaped the cops or how they'd perfected their killing techniques. The anecdotes captivated me, and I listened attentively to every word, soaking in the apparent wisdom of my elders. Because that's exactly what I wanted to be like—feared, so no one else could ever harm me again.
I may have been born in the mob, but I embraced the life wholeheartedly when I learned that the world is not always colorful and that shades of gray can vacillate between white and black. Too bad for me that they'd leaned a little too much toward the dark side.
And so, faced with the people I idolized, I sought nothing else but to make them like me. Alcohol was flowing freely, and the elders liked nothing better than to make me try the different varieties, laughing when I'd try hard not to barf at the taste.
That was the night I'd had my first cigarette too, choking on the smoke and adding to the overall amusement.
But soon, everyone had become a little too sloshed. The stories had degenerated into lewd talk, and before long, the words had become reality.
I'd been barely awake when the women had come in at my father's special request. They'd quickly mingled among the guests, each finding a man, and the true debauchery had started.
Except when it did, I wanted to be anywhere but there.
"Wow," someone had whispered in my ear, and the smell of cheap perfume had clogged my nostrils. "You can't be real." More shuffling, and a woman had come a little too close to my personal space. "I don't think I've ever seen someone as handsome as you. How old are you?" she'd asked, stroking my arm up and down suggestively.
I couldn't even answer. The alcohol had hit my bloodstream, and the room started to move. So I'd stood up and headed for the exit, hoping some fresh air would help me recover. I don't know exactly what had happened, but one minute I'd been in the hallway, the next I'd been in a foreign room, the feel of a soft bed under my body.
I'd closed my eyes briefly, the room still spinning with me. A moment later, or maybe aneternitylater—I hadn't exactly been aware of time—I felt hands on my body. The haze that covered my mind made it hard to get a sense of what was happening, so I'd swatted my hands against the invasive touches, hoping to stop whoever was bothering me.
The hands had stopped, momentarily. The next thing I knew, my shirt was being lifted off my body, my pants unzipped. My movements were sluggish and uncoordinated as I tried to stop whoever was touching me, my hands pushing at shoulders.
It hadn't worked.
My underwear followed, and suddenly I found myself completely bare. Something must have clicked in my mind, and I don't know if it was the cold air brushing against my skin or the chilly fingers stroking my flesh, but I'd let out a strangled moan, the wordnotumbling from my mouth.
"Stop." The sound had come out quiet at first, but as I felt more unwanted touches, I started squirming, using my legs to kick around.
My eyes were glazed and a thick mist still covered my sight, but I could somehow make out a couple of girls looking down at me, satisfied smiles on their faces.
"I'll go first." I remember hearing the words, and as a wet mouth covered my skin, I lost it. Somehow, in the deep recesses of my mind, I'd managed to realize their intentions, and the idea of it happening again had spurred me into action.
I'd struggled to put myself in a seating position and throwthe woman off my body, but in the process, I'd fallen too, my face hitting the hard floor, my forehead taking the brunt of the fall.
"It seems I'm first then." I don't know if my mind was playing tricks on me, but the second voice had been male, and immediately after, calloused hands had touched my ass, moving, probing.
"I told you I'd find you a pretty boy," someone had commented, and a new type of pain assaulted me as I felt a finger push into my body. Only a strangled noise came out, but I started struggling in earnest, even though my limbs would not obey me.
A weight had settled over me, and my mouth could only form two words.
"Help me."
I don't know if I managed to get the words out loud or not, but out of nowhere, the weight had disappeared, and raised voices had hinted at a fight. Suddenly, a sheet had been draped over my body, and a gentle voice had whispered words of comfort in my ear.
"It's okay, you're safe now." That's whatmamanMargot had said to me the first time. When I'd sobered up and clarity had returned, she'd stood to the side, avoiding the direct light that would emphasize her scars.
