by Soraya Naomi
“That’s impossible!” James waves his hands around, obviously distraught by the current state of affairs because he rarely raises his voice.
I swallow the last bite of my sandwich, motioning for them to join me in the kitchen, and address Damian, “It’s disconcerting how people keep escaping our grasp—”
“Either she’s out of the country or living inside somewhere and never leaving the house,” Damian interrupts.
“She hasn’t left the country.” I just know she hasn’t. She’s nearby.
“Or she’s dead,” Damian expresses and is seized by his collar by James.
He knocks him against the wall, right next to my high-end speakers, with his arm blocking Damian’s throat. “Shut up!”
Don’t mess up my furniture...Although I wouldn’t mind James punching Damian once...
“Calmare.” Calm Down. I place my hand on James’s shoulder, and he steps back.
Well, if Damian didn’t realize Cam is important to our boss, he certainly knows now.
James’s face still exudes anger.
“I apologize.” Damian actually looks regretful.
“She’s good at hiding,” I explain. “We need to lure her out. We need to dig deeper, Damian. I’ve told you this is top priority.”
James stalks off to the kitchen.
“Check her card records again,” I order in a clipped tone and dismiss him.
Damian leaves, and I turn to my Capo crimine. I’ve never seen him this emotional. He’s usually cool and collected. This situation with Cam – who doesn’t even know she’s his daughter – is affecting him severely.
“Make sure he keeps his mouth shut about my outburst,” James instructs me.
“I’ll take care of him. He won’t speak a word.”
“We’ve got nothing after all these months. I’m...Dammit! I’m worried about her.” He exhales a heavy breath and avoids my eyes as I take a seat on the stool next to him.
“Me too,” I disclose and rub a hand down my jaw. “We have no leads. I’m not sure where we go from here.”
“Let’s talk to Henry one more time. Maybe he can be of help.”
Henry’s the Syndicate’s hacker. He’s a computer geek who works officially for the government and unofficially for us.
I nod and fish my phone out of my pocket, and the reminder for the board meeting displays on the screen. Luca and I are owners of a security software company, Security Simplicity, that’s managed by three directors and thirty employees. It was a thriving business for a while, which made it easy to launder our Syndicate money through our own company, but competition is fierce in this division of the software market nowadays, making it difficult to fake numbers when there’s decreasing profit. The cash we earn with the drug dealings in Chicago needs to be legitimized. It’s invested into our company, and we appear to be successful, hardworking entrepreneurs. All our finances are being handled by the Finance Director of the company, Jeffrey. Along with Consigliere Salvatore, who handles the finances of the Syndicate, they manage to whitewash Syndicate money through Security Simplicity. Apart from Security Simplicity, we also use another company that’s owned by James and Salvatore for money laundering.
Therefore, we’re never under investigation because we seem legit. And the Syndicate’s power and influence reaches far beyond the mafia. We have associates working for us in every government body, including the police, the FBI, and the DEA.
I pocket my phone and inform James, “I have a meeting at Security Simplicity. Can I meet you at headquarters later? I’ve got to attend this meeting since Luca’s not here, and we’ve had some issues during the last week, so I want a status report.”
“Anything serious? Luca hasn’t mentioned it to me,” James says.
“It wasn’t anything serious as far as we could tell, but the meeting must mean there’s an update.”
“Fine. I’ll call Henry on my way out. Meet us at headquarters as soon as you’re done at Security Simplicity,” James commands before we disband, his demeanor just as rigid as when he came in.
***
My assistant, Janey, hands me a cup of steaming coffee just as I’m about to exit my office for the board meeting.
“You’re fantastic, Janey.” Throwing her a wink, I reach for the cup to take it with me.
I undo the top button of my black dress shirt and enter the boardroom.
“Gentlemen.” I extend my hand to our three directors and claim my seat in the leather chair at the head of the rectangular cherry table.
“Adriano, we called this urgent meeting to discuss the financial health of this company,” the Finance Director, Jeffrey, who’s sitting on my left, begins. “I’m afraid we’ve had a decline in profits.”
“Meaning?” I ask, grabbing a napkin and a vanilla muffin from the tray in front of me.
“I can’t find ways to methodically flow cash into the company if the actual numbers are close to stagnant. And now they’re even declining.”
I quickly chew the muffin while different scenarios blaze across my mind. “Can’t you conjure a new investor?”
He shakes his head in denial. “No, not in this economy, and with the current state of SS, it would put us on the radar and raise unwanted questions.”
The directors’ gazes clash for a second. This is not good.
“There’s another issue,” he continues when I stay quiet. “Money has been disappearing.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know exactly. Accounting and IT are looking into it as we speak.”
“Ballpark?” I question, my voice tight.
Jeffrey sighs before answering, “Over one million.”
“How’s this possible?” I grit my teeth as I fling the muffin on the table.
“My guess is...that we have a thief on the inside. Someone who’s been intelligently covering moving millions out of the company.”
“There are only thirty people on this staff. Thirty people who’ve been carefully screened,” I fire back, disbelieving his theory.
“It’s also a possibility that there’s been an oversight in accounting.”
“That would be a huge oversight then,” I comment dryly.
This could cause major problems for us. Since the Syndicate runs all drug traffic in Chicago, we have significant amounts of cash to launder. We need profitable companies in order to keep forging documents.
“What’s our course of action?” Probably a new assignment for Henry.
“Waiting for news from Accounting or IT,” Jeffrey replies.
“When did you demand to have an update by?” I ask, because we need answers fast.
“End of the day.”
“Contact me as soon as you’ve heard from them.” I rake a hand through my hair, realizing that I need to go meet James and Henry now. “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. I’ll call you as soon as I know more,” Jeffrey answers.
Nodding, I say my goodbyes and depart for the Syndicate’s headquarters.
Usually, issues arise within mafia organizations or between mafia organizations. Soldiers or Capi wanting to move up in rank, causing death and violence. Underworld fighting underworld. Those issues can be resolved quickly and without a trace by the police we have in our pockets. But, in this case, it could also be that an outsider is targeting us. I’m not convinced it’s someone on my staff. If an outside party is involved, I don’t know how to protect us. We have influential people and power on the state level, but not on the national level. On the other hand, I’m not sure this is actually an attack from the outside. The only thing I am sure of is that Luca and I need to stay under the radar and remain known as two regular, successful businessmen.
We work with criminals and must never forget that. I trust no one but the holy four: James, Luca, Salvatore, and myself. We’re the core and the power of the Chicago Syndicate.
Now, for my plan of action: first, Luca needs to be informed and return to Chicago as soon as possible. Second, I bri
ng James and Salvatore up to date and let Salvatore primarily handle the monetary problem of Security Simplicity. And third, I focus on locating Cam.
While speeding alongside the Chicago River – making the same trip Cam and I traveled together often – I’m not worrying about money; I’m obsessing about how to find Cam.
CHAPTER 4
Camilla
The soft breeze of the wind hits my cheek when I venture outside for the first time in weeks. I’m cornered with nowhere to go but back to the Loop. I’m withdrawing money to await my fate.
This is not a life, and I’m tired of running. My options aren’t limited anymore; they’re nonexistent. It’s either wither away in reclusion or let Fat Sal or the Syndicate find me, and then I’ll figure out how to fight back.
Tears sting my eyes as I reminisce on my way to the ATM.
*
Two years and ten months ago
The Dungeon is what the insiders call it. It’s a secretive fight and BDSM club. This isn’t a club with a referee during a fight or safe words during S&M sex. Everything is allowed. It’s a fetish club.
Fat Sal is a human trafficker, and I’m his new slave. Or so I’m told in his office the night I’m caught in the fight club after witnessing a man slicing a woman to death and getting off on it. Sal’s bodyguard, who has his hair tied up in a bun, takes me to him and leaves us alone.
Trembling on my feet in this bleak, windowless room, I remain upright while an overweight, balding Italian in a crisp white shirt with sun kissed skin and pearly white teeth spits fire at me.
Fifteen minutes later, his bodyguard returns with my purse. I can hear them whispering heatedly back and forth behind Sal’s desk: no friends, no living relatives.
Sal checks my driver’s license and traces a finger down my cheek as I stand with dread skulking over my skin.
“What did you see?” he asks calmly.
“Nothing,” I murmur, fear causing me to break out in a sweat.
His mouth curls into a malicious smile. “You saw everything. And you’re beautiful, Camilla Guillermo.” He pauses and grasps my chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look at him. “I own you now. You’ll work in this club. You have nowhere to go, no family. And you witnessed something I should murder you for. But such a pretty face.” He jerks my chin in mock presentation to his guard. “It would be a waste.”
I’m in an acute state of shock. Not fully understanding what’s happening.
“Take her to the other women, Santino.”
What I didn’t know at the time is that I wouldn’t see the outside world again for five months.
Santino shuffles me through the maze of passageways and into a beige room where he throws me onto an empty bed with white cotton sheets. My skintight, sleeveless uniform mini dress has ridden up my hips, and Santino gawks at my legs.
I try to get my wits about me, but there’s no time for me to let everything sink in because Santino jumps on me, pushing me back on the bed.
“Get off!” I yell, waving my arms, but he catches them and pins them next to my head.
With his entire weight pressing on me, he handcuffs me to the bedframe as I choke under his chest, kicking and screaming.
Santino unbuckles his belt and slides it off to put it around my arm. He tightens it roughly, making me grimace, and I see a spoon and syringe on the nightstand.
“No drugs, please,” I beg as the first tear streams out.
He stops his preparation and glances at me without expression. Then, he continues while I struggle miserably.
I’m held in the deep, dark underground along with five other women, all of them spaced out on their beds, doped up on heroin. The tiny hairs on my arms rise from the cold down here.
Santino taps my vein, and the tip of the syringe punctures my skin. I watch him push the liquid into my blood.
My fighting stops, and my body goes weak. It feels so good. I’m becoming lighter and lighter. Until, until I’m flying. I’m flying. It feels so effortless. Let me close my eyes and enjoy it more. Yet I lose consciousness...
The night has passed, and I wake up in an instant, knowing exactly where I am and what happened the previous evening. The drugs knocked me out. I have no sense of time.
Is it morning or afternoon?
Unexpectedly, Santino comes in, undoing the cuffs and jostling me to the neighboring bathroom, and insists, “Shower.”
I quickly shower as he grants me some privacy and am drying off when I notice that my clothes are missing.
Santino returns while I’m drying my hair, staring at my breasts.
I cross my arms over my naked chest. “Where are my clothes?” My voice sounds pitiful and fragile.
“No more clothes, Camilla.”
“What? I can’t wear clothes? What are you going to do to me?”
“Come with me.” He doesn’t touch me and allows me to trail him this time, back to the fight club area.
Before we enter, I can hear the voices of the people.
Santino turns around to me. “You’re not to speak or protest. If you do either, you’ll be punished.”
My eyes were already bursting with tears, and now they overflow. I wipe away the wetness as I hesitantly follow Santino across the threshold and toward the center stage while dozens of people – some clothed, some not – watch my march. The space is dark except for one spotlight on the podium, which I take the steps up to when Santino motions for me to do so.
The light blinds me, giving me some shred of decency; not having to look at these people who are going to bid on me. And then I don’t know what will happen. The part after the bidding is what I fear most.
The auctioneer with the black mask comes up behind me, and he lets a knuckle graze my nipple, causing me to shrink back in terror.
He harshly grips my arm and bends down to whisper, “Behave.” Next, he shouts to the small crowd, “One thousand!”
Different voices yell, “Aye!”
Never have I felt so exposed. I tremble in revulsion when the man’s calloused hand slides down my side, stopping at the flare of my hip.
“Two thousand!”
“Twenty-two!”
“Twenty-five!”
Everything goes so fast while coldness envelops me, and I’m pursing my lips to keep from crying out for help. The spotlight blinding me is now freaking me out. All I see is a white blur, all I hear are scary voices, and I’m so cold.
“Twenty-five going once, twice...Sold!” the auctioneer announces and shunts me to the side.
I barrel into Santino and break down, clutching him to shield my body from others. He stiffens and pushes me away but then grabs my shoulders and rushes me forward.
We careen through the throng. No one touches me while I make myself as small as possible. Acute panic scorches my skin when I’m halted in front of a huge man with bulging muscles and cruel intent blazing in his eyes, standing next to a cross.
“Work starts,” Santino says into my ear.
“Please don’t do this,” I plead, whisper soft.
“You must. You’ll be tied to the St. Andrew’s Cross and take what he gives you. Understand?”
I don’t move an inch.
“Camilla, do it or else...” Santino urges me, but my feet refuse to budge.
“Come here!” the man yells and pulls me to him.
His sweaty hand covers mine, and I’m pressed with my back against the cross.
The crowd is focused on a fight that’s now taking place on the stage. I see blood sprays. I turn my head to my left and am confronted with a woman being beaten while she’s strapped to a similar cross. Not wanting to watch, I look to my right while my ankles are being shackled. I see another woman, also naked, being choked while she’s trapped against the cross. And another woman is just lying on a table with her feet getting licked.
Can this be real? People passing us don’t even glance my way, like what’s happening to me is the most mundane thing in the world.
<
br /> The man who paid for me stands right in front of my face. “Your skin is too flawless.” His finger traces down my cleavage, and I recoil from his touch. “Be still, or I’ll cut you,” he warns, his tone menacing.
My face is wet from tears that I can’t keep in. From fear, from confusion, from disbelief. And then the worst happens. The bite of a whip slashes the bare skin on my thighs, and I scream out in agony. Another crack of the whip makes contact with my stomach. And another one stings across my breasts.
“No!” I cry uncontrollably.
More pain. More slashing of my skin. My own screams echo through my eardrums. Time is a foreign concept as my skin is on fire.
Someone’s untying me, and moments later, I’m lowered onto a mattress. An excruciating prick stings my fingernail, and I zone out...
I wake up after I don’t know how long, feeling empty, and I’m marred with reddish purple welts and cuts. It even hurts too much to move. When my skin pulls tight, silent tears rain down my temples.
This becomes a part of the routine. At night – at least I think it’s nighttime, because I have no idea about time while I’m held captive – I’m auctioned off. And I’m not certain if this happens every night, or not. Then I’m sold and strapped to the St. Andrews Cross to be spanked, whipped, or beaten by these fetishists, who, as far as I remember, never raped me. During several rare moments when my mind is clear enough to think, I learn that every girl is sold to certain fetishists and BDSM practicers. There is also sexual intercourse taking place down here, and not only in the sex club one floor above. I’ve seen some girls being raped while I’m beaten in the fight club. Somewhere, I’m thankful that I’m too intoxicated to have vivid memories.
I get simple food, I sleep, I’m shot up with heroin underneath my fingernails – instead of the inside of my elbow – often, and I’m auctioned; that’s the routine. For the next five months.
My body is damaged deeply. Emotionally, I’m empty. However, I’m also getting mad. Mad at Fat Sal. Mad at myself for accepting it all, for not being able to fight because I’m too drugged up.
*
Two years and five months ago
