This is the mafia. Girl!

A knock on the steel door interrupted the guard before he could press the knife any deeper into Sherry's skin. His blade had already grazed her cheek, a shallow line of blood trailing down her face. "What?" he growled, his voice a guttural snarl as another knock echoed through the cold, dimly lit room.

As strong as she tried to be, Sherry was terrified. She knew her position here—bound by ropes in the mafia's underground trafficking ring, a pawn in a vicious game of power. Viktor had been sent to "discipline" her, to remind her that rebellion came with consequences. He tugged on the back of her hair, yanking her head up so that her tear-filled eyes met his. "I haven't even started with you, girl," he sneered, breath hot on her skin.

Sherry had hoped her desperate attempts to escape—punching, kicking, screaming—would have bought her some time. But all she got in return was a twisted grin and a cold blade against her cheek.

"Boss, Mr. Gary is here to see you. Says it's urgent." The deep, muffled voice of a guardsman came through the door.

The guard's eyes narrowed. "Tell him to wait. I'm busy."

"He says it's from the base," the guard insisted. The guard clicked his tongue in frustration, clearly displeased by the interruption. He straightened, wiping the blood off his blade with a cloth and shoving Sherry back against the cold, concrete wall. She hit it hard but didn’t dare make a sound.

"Fine," he viscously spat. He stormed to the door, yanking it open. "Put her in the basement. I'll deal with her later."

Sherry's heart raced at the word "basement." She had heard rumors. Whispers among the other captives. The basement was where they broke you. Tortured you until you begged for death. Her mind spun as the guard grabbed her roughly, hauling her to her feet and shoving her out into the hallway. Her wrists were still tied, her body bruised and weak from the earlier struggle.

The guard led her through narrow, dim corridors. The walls were old and damp, the air thick with the stench of mildew and decay. Every step echoed, and with each one, Sherry's dread grew. They passed by several rooms, all locked. She caught glimpses of other captives—young women like her, their eyes hollow, faces gaunt. Some were chained, others sat listlessly in corners, lost in the void of their despair.

Sherry could barely keep up as the guard dragged her down a flight of stairs into an even darker part of the building. The air grew colder, and the faint sounds of distant screams sent chills through her spine. Her legs wobbled beneath her as they reached the bottom, where the basement stretched before her—a maze of cells and chains. The dim glow of a single, flickering bulb lit the narrow corridor.

The guard shoved her into a small, dank cell, the door slamming shut with a loud clang that reverberated through the silence. Sherry stumbled, landing hard on the filthy floor, the scent of rust and blood overwhelming her senses. She gasped, pulling herself into a corner, trying to calm her racing heart.

Her cellmates didn’t look up. Across the hall, a man sat with his head slumped forward, his wrists shackled to the wall. In the cell next to him, a woman lay still, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Both of them looked like they hadn’t seen daylight in weeks.

For hours, Sherry remained silent, shivering in the cold, damp air. Time passed slowly in the basement—there were no windows, no clocks, nothing to tell her how long she had been there. But the darkness began to play tricks on her mind. She could still feel the Lyons hands on her, his hot breath on her skin, and the cold voice he'd used to instruct his crazy guard to deal with her. She still felt the knife that cut across her cheek. Her fingers traced the thin line of blood that had dried, a reminder of how close she had come to a fate far worse.

She tried to hold on to some sliver of hope, something to keep her from completely giving in to the fear that gnawed at her insides. But in the belly of this beast, hope was dangerous.

"Hello?" she finally whispered into the darkness, her voice trembling. "Is anyone there?" She received no answer. Just the cold, echoing silence of the basement.

Her mind began to spiral. She had heard about the trafficking ring that Lyon worked for—one of the most feared mafia organizations in the city. They dealt in drugs, weapons, and women. Sherry had been snatched from her normal life when her aunt May and uncle Larry failed to pay back their debts to them. She had fought at first—kicked, screamed, tried to escape. But here, in the belly of the beast, no one could escape. Not without a price.

Two days passed in the darkness. She had nothing—no food, no water, not even a shred of human interaction. By the third day, the cell door creaked open, and a different guard appeared. He grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet with a grunt. Her legs were weak, barely holding her weight as he dragged her back upstairs.

When they reached the main level, the light was blinding. Sherry squinted, her eyes stinging as they adjusted to the brightness. Around her, she could hear the laughter and murmurs of other women, all dressed in skimpy clothes and staring at her with mocking eyes.

"Look at her," one girl sneered. "Thought she could get away with it. Poor little thing."

"She's new," another one giggled. "Bet Viktor's already had his fun with her."

Sherry felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but she was too weak to respond. She kept her head down as the guard led her back to her assigned cell. She didn’t want to go back to the basement, didn’t want to feel that crushing darkness again.

When they reached her cell, she saw her cellmate—a woman named Raphael—sitting on the floor, looking up at her with a blank expression. Raphael had been here longer, maybe months. She never spoke much, only when necessary. As the guard unlocked the door, Raphael raised an eyebrow at Sherry's limp.

"I told you to keep your head low," Raphael muttered as Sherry staggered inside.

"I did," Sherry whispered, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. "You didn’t tell me I was supposed to strip."

Raphael gave a dry laugh. "Did you think this was some petty scam? This is the mafia, girl. You need to know your place. They don’t care about you. You're just merchandise to them."

Sherry didn’t respond. The air in the cell felt like heaven compared to the suffocating darkness of the basement. She could still feel the nail she had stepped on earlier, a sharp pain radiating from the sole of her foot. The rusty metal had embedded deep, and she had spent hours trying to pull it out in the pitch-black confinement. The blood had dried, but the pain lingered.

"You’re lucky," Raphael said after a moment. "To have made it out of there without Lyon and his macho guard finishing what they started."

"Why does it smell so bad down there?" Sherry asked, her voice barely audible. "What’s in the basement?"

Raphael didn’t answer at first. She looked away, her eyes cold and distant. Outside the cell, a new captive was being dragged in—another girl, fresh meat. Her wide, terrified eyes scanned the room, the reality of her fate sinking in fast.

"How many are brought in here a day?" Sherry asked, changing the subject.

"seven, nine. Sometimes more." Sherry shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. They all end up the same."

"What happens to them?" Sherry pressed.

Raphael's voice turned low, almost a whisper. "Most get sold. The lucky ones. The rest? Well, some don’t make it. Especially if they don’t follow orders."

SHERRY'S stomach twisted at the thought. "Sold? To who?"

Raphael's eyes flickered. "To whoever’s willing to pay. They’re always looking for fresh faces in the underground auctions. Women like us are worth more than gold."

A sickening realization washed over Sherry. Her fate was sealed unless she found a way out. But escaping from the mafia was easier said than done. Every inch of the compound was watched, and the walls that surrounded it were too high to climb. Even if she made it to the top, she'd be spotted before she even reached the ground.

"Is there no way out of this?" Sherry asked, desperation creeping into her voice.

"The next Bluebeard auction is in six days," Raphael said. "If you’re lucky, you’ll be sold to someone who doesn’t hurt you. Or you could try to escape. But if you get caught..." She trailed off, her gaze turning dark. "They’ll make sure you wish you hadn’t."

Sherry mind raced. Six days. Could she come up with a plan in time? Could she really risk it all for a chance at freedom?