Mafia's Doll

CHAPTER ONE

Maybelline

"Girl!" My stepfather yelled from downstairs, "Get down here!"

I startled awake. I shoved the blankets off of me, rushing out of bed and pulling on some clothes from the wardrobe. My mornings were normally chaotic – wake up, make breakfast for my stepparents and older brother, and finish all the morning chores before going to work.

I pulled a comb through my hair a couple times, the pale strands tickling the space under my ribs. Most mornings I could wake up early enough to get breakfast ready before I got yelled at, but I'd worked a later shift last night and gotten home late.

"Hurry up before I come up there and beat you out of bed!" Vincent yelled again. I threw the brush down on my bedside table, yanking on a pair of sneakers on my way out of my bedroom.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and was heading toward the kitchen when harsh hands shoved me backwards, slamming my body into the wall. I slumped down into the fetal position.

Just breathe and take it.

My stepfather stood over me, pressing one boot into my bicep to keep me pinned to the ground.

My stepfather always had extremely high standards for me; I had to bring in money, keep the house clean, keep him fed.

"Next time, you little bitch," His gravelly voice nearly shouted down at me, "You'd better be down here with food ready before I'm awake."

I twisted slightly, attempting to subtly shift my arm away from the sharp edge of his leather shoes.

"Don't fucking cry, either." He released me, pressing slightly harder for half a moment before marching off to the kitchen.

I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my aching arm. I couldn't help but feel slightly relieved, though, because usually it would be a lot worse than that. He wasn't lying when he said he'd beat me.

"Go put on a skirt or something. We're going out." He called out from the living room and my brows furrowed. He rarely went anywhere, sending me to run his errands instead.

But I knew better than to question him, so I clambered to my feet and returned upstairs to rummage through the wardrobe in search of a skirt.

Half an hour later, I was standing in a navy skirt and a beige sweater, the wind ruffling my hair and clothes. Vincent stood next to me, and though I ached to ask him what we were doing standing in front of a sketchy black building at the edge of town, I would never dare to question him.

I jumped when the door to the building opened, metal hinges squeaking.

A big, muscled man with scars marring his face stepped out, holding the door open behind him but blocking the inside from our view.

I shivered when he looked me up and down.

"Maybelline Rowa?" He questioned in a deep, rusty voice with a thick accent. Russian, maybe? He looked over to my stepfather.

"Yes," My father said, his shorter, fatter frame looking pathetic in comparison to this intimidating mountain of a man. "The email said to drop her here."

The man grunted. "She a virgin?" My eyes widened.

"Yup. But I've trained her right. She's obedient." Vincent responded, and I tensed my legs to stop myself from taking a step backward. I thought my whole frame was shivering in terror. What the hell was this?

The man grunted again. "A'ight. Come 'ere, darlin'. I don't bite." He grinned at me, but his teeth were yellowed and cracked.

I looked frantically over to Vincent in fear. "Wait, what?" I jolted when the man grabbed my forearm, tugging slightly. "N-no! Sir, please!" I called after my stepfather, but he was already walking away.

The man yanked me fully through the door, revealing a dimly lit corridor. I looked around, taking it in. The walls were painted a dark grey, yellow lights every few feet in the centre of the ceiling. Panic settled and clustered in my chest, my breathing erratic and heart rate through the roof.

The scarred man still holding my forearm marched quickly down the hall, and I hurried to keep up with him, my significantly shorter legs taking two or three strides to match each one of his.

He opened another door at the end of the corridor, shoving me through without him and closing the door behind me. It looked like... backstage? Or something?

My brows furrowed, fingers twisting in front of me. My confusion had overridden my panic, for the moment, so that was something. Numerous young women were rushing around the wide space, racks of underwear and clothes cluttered up, along with changing stalls and mirrors. An older lady with a clipboard under one arm rushed over to me. Her greying hair was coiled just under her ears, and her rounded, wrinkled face held few emotions.

"Name?" She asked briskly, flicking out a pen and hovering it over her clipboard.

"Um, c-can you tell me what's going on?" I asked hesitantly.

"You're at an auction. Now give me your name." She raised an eyebrow behind her glasses.

An auction? What on earth?

"Maybelline Rowa. But what do you mean by auction-"

"An auction. I'm just in charge of getting you dressed up so that you sell well." She led me over to a dressing room that contained three racks of clothes and two full-body mirrors.

Oh my god. They're selling women. I'm going to get sold.

"No! I don't want to get sold! Please-"

"No one does, and yet here you all are." She placed her clipboard on the ground and rummaged around in the racks of clothing. She halted abruptly and turned to appraise me.

"We should showcase your hair. I don't think many of the other girls have golden hair. Yours is thick, too." She hummed, seeming to think. "My papers say you're a virgin, so red won't do." She turned back to the clothing rack, leafing through the different items. "White. Yes." She tugged something off the rack, holding it out for me to see.

I thought it would be a dress or something simple.

But no.

It was lingerie.