The air in the brothel was thick with smoke and cheap perfume. Laughter and moans echoed from the rooms upstairs, but in the backroom, the mood was cold and tense.
Rosa paced the cracked tile floor, arms folded tightly. Her face was tired, makeup smudged from the long night.
"You said five thousand," she snapped at the man sitting across from her. "She's worth more than that."
The man wore all black. A small scar ran across his cheek. He leaned back in the chair, unfazed. "You're lucky Luciano's even interested. He doesn't take girls off the street. He wants silence, loyalty. No attitude."
"She's quiet," Rosa insisted. "Obedient. She won't be a problem."
In the hallway, just beyond the door, Isla stood frozen. She held a tray with half-filled glasses and a dirty ashtray. Her name. She had heard her name.
She stepped closer to the door.
"She's still untouched, right?" the man asked.
Rosa's voice was cold. "Of course. She's clean."
Isla's stomach turned. Her heart pounded against her chest. She stepped back, bumping into the wall, knocking over a broom. The sound echoed through the hallway.
The door creaked open.
Rosa's eyes narrowed when she saw her.
"Isla," her mother said sharply. "What are you doing here?"
Isla stepped into the room slowly, confused, afraid. "Mama… what are you talking about? Why are they asking about me?"
Rosa glanced at the man, then looked away. "It's nothing. Go back to your chores."
"No." Isla shook her head. Her voice trembled. "You said I didn't have to work upstairs. You promised—"
The man stood. He looked Isla up and down, like he was sizing up meat in a butcher's shop. "She'll do," he muttered.
"Mama," Isla whispered, her voice cracking. "Please... what's going on?"
Rosa looked at her daughter, but there was no softness in her eyes. Only exhaustion.
"You'll be better off with him, girl," she said flatly. "He can feed you. I can't."
Isla's lips parted, but no words came out.
She felt like the floor had dropped beneath her.
The man turned away, walking to the side door. "He's waiting."
The door opened wider, and Luciano stepped inside.
He was tall, dressed in a black suit with no tie. His coat hung open, his hands in his pockets. His face was clean-shaven, sharp, dangerous. Eyes like polished stone locked onto Isla.
Silence fell in the room.
Luciano stepped closer. He said nothing at first. Just looked at her.
"Name?" he asked finally.
Isla swallowed. "Isla."
He tilted his head slightly. "Age?"
"Seventeen," Rosa said quickly.
Luciano raised an eyebrow. "Looks older."
"She's mature for her age," Rosa added.
Luciano took a slow step toward Isla. She backed away instinctively, but he stopped in front of her. He reached out, gently tilted her chin up with one finger.
"No scars. No attitude." His voice was smooth, but cold. "You'll learn."
He turned to Rosa. "We're done here."
A thick envelope hit the table with a dull thud.
Rosa picked it up without hesitation.
Isla's eyes widened. "You sold me...?"
Rosa didn't answer. She turned her back, pocketing the money.
Luciano gave Isla one last look before nodding to his man. "Take her."
As rough hands grabbed her arm, Isla struggled. "Mama, don't let them take me! Mama!"
But Rosa didn't turn around.
She just lit a cigarette with shaking hands.
And let the door close behind her.
***********************************
The car door slammed shut behind Isla before she could even look back.
She sat pressed against the door, eyes wide, her hands shaking in her lap. The leather seats were soft, too soft. The air inside smelled like cologne and expensive silence.
The man from earlier—Luciano's right hand—sat beside her. He didn't speak right away. He just looked ahead, sunglasses still on though the sun was fading outside.
"I'm not a thing," Isla said finally, voice low. "You can't just take people."
He turned to her slowly. "You are now."
Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.
"My name's Enzo," he added, flatly. "Luciano's second. You listen to me, you stay alive. You disobey? You suffer."
Isla looked at the tinted window. The streets passed by, familiar at first, then cleaner… richer. It made her sick.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To your new home."
"I don't want it," she snapped.
Enzo shrugged. "Doesn't matter what you want anymore. You belong to him."
She clenched her fists. "He can't own people. That's not how the world works."
He chuckled darkly. "In his world? It is."
They drove in silence for a few minutes.
Isla looked down at her clothes—cheap jeans, a faded t-shirt. Her shoes had holes. She didn't belong in this car, in this world.
Her thoughts drifted.
A memory flashed—
She was ten. Sitting on the floor of the brothel kitchen, hungry, waiting for her mother to come back from upstairs.
She never came.
A stranger gave her a piece of bread and said, "Your mama's busy. Be quiet."
She blinked fast, shaking the thought away.
"Why me?" she whispered.
Enzo didn't answer right away. Then: "Luciano saw your picture. Said you had a face that could be molded. Obedient eyes."
"I'm not obedient," she muttered.
"Don't lie to yourself. You were raised to survive, not fight. And now… you'll learn how to be useful."
Isla's throat tightened. "I won't sleep with him."
Enzo laughed, cruel and loud. "You think that's your choice?"
Tears burned her eyes, but she looked straight ahead.
"I'll bite his damn hand off."
Enzo smirked. "Careful. He likes a challenge. The last girl who said that… let's just say she doesn't talk much anymore."
The car slowed.
They turned down a long, private road lined with tall black trees. At the end stood a massive iron gate, opening slowly.
Isla's heart dropped.
Behind the gate, an estate rose like a dark castle—stone walls, tall windows, guards with guns at the front steps.
The car stopped.
Enzo got out first. He opened her door but didn't help her out.
"Come."
She stepped out slowly, legs weak.
A woman in a black dress waited near the front door. Her eyes were cold and sharp.
"She's smaller than I expected," the woman said.
"She'll grow," Enzo replied.
The woman pulled something from a velvet pouch.
A leather collar.
Isla stepped back. "No. No, you're not—"
Two guards grabbed her arms.
She kicked, struggled. "Don't touch me! Get off!"
The woman didn't flinch. She walked up, held the collar open.
"You don't put it on, we'll do it the hard way."
Isla looked at the gate behind her, at the trees, at the men with guns.
She stopped fighting.
The collar slid around her neck. Tight. Cold. Final.
"She'll answer to 'Belle' now," the woman said. "Luciano's orders."
Isla's heart cracked. "That's not my name."
"It is now."
The doors opened behind them.
And Isla—no, Belle—was pushed inside.