Page 1 of The Mafia's Property

Freya

I’VE NEVER SEEN so many women want to be someone else’s property so bad. The room was abuzz and packed with barely dressed women, all in a frenzy to make themselves look pretty. Well, if we want to be concise; sexy. They were preening and pruning themselves, hoping to attract the attention of two of the most cruel and violent men I’ve ever known. And I was one of those girls.

We were all vying to become one of the most coveted women in town. Property of the Morelli brothers. A woman who gets that badge gets to date one of the wealthiest men in the world. And if she played her cards right, she would be set for life.

When I learned the Morellis were hosting their annual property auction, yeah, that’s what they call it, a property auction, I knew I had to get an invitation. My stupid ass thought that part would be simple. A matter of walking into one of their clubs and putting your name in a register. Holy fuck, was I wrong. The hostess I approached literally laughed at me. But when I blinked back, clueless, she took pity on me and informed me of the entire process. After I learned what I have to go through, she was right to laugh. You don’t just walk in, present your body, and announce yourself as a candidate. There was an entire process to it. An excruciating, drawn-out process. And you needed an in. You didn’t just write your name on a sheet and get a callback.

Luckily, I had one, and I got that precious invite. Turns out that was the easy part. After leaving my details and a picture, I later got a call and was told to go to a hotel for a meeting. It was hardly a meeting. It was an interview. I had to do a personality interview, as they called it, in front of two women and one man in a cavernous hotel conference room. The man looked familiar, but was quiet. He never said anything but let the two women conduct the interview. They asked me what I liked. Languages I spoke. Places I’ve been to. My current job, if I had any, and what I liked to do in my spare time. You know, stuff they would ask you if you wanted a job except they wanted to know more about you. I thought they would throw me out after they learned I was a stripper. The hostess had said the brothers weren’t into ‘sluts,’ but no, they barely batted an eyelash.

Then came the audition portion. Or at least that’s what I called it. It felt like I was auditioning to be a Rockette if they were more risqué. I had to do a few acrobatics for them. Splits, cartwheels, start jumps and some pole dancing. It was the pole dancing part that made me realize why they didn’t say anything about my stripper profession. They were probably looking for one. So when I was invited to the final portion, I thought I might have this in the bag. Becoming the property of the Morelli brothers would not be so hard after all. Until I saw my competition.

The last audition, which was the one being held at this moment, was the first time I’ve seen all the other candidates and all of them were beautiful sexy women who would not look out of place on the cover of a magazine or next to a movie star. I counted at least twenty. All model thin, all nothing like my petite, big hips, big boobs body. And that wasn’t all. They were smart as hell. Definitely smarter than me if the girl next to me was anything to go by. We had gotten to chatting when I sat next to her on the bus earlier. Did I mention they bussed us to an undisclosed, country-club-looking location? Yeah. My somewhat new friend’s name was Blake, and Blake can speak multiple languages, four to be exact, has a private education and was currently working as a flight attendant. When I asked her what a rich girl like her was doing here, she told me it was because her father gambled all of their money in some crypto venture and had made their family penniless… and fatherless. Her dad killed himself, and she was now the sole breadwinner of her siblings. Blake had to get a spot, I thought and was likely to get it. She’s hotter and smarter than anyone I know.

The other girls weren’t that dissimilar in terms of qualifications. They were all either college-educated or fashion models or both. There was even a pre-med student and a former Olympic gymnast. The high-quality breed I am amongst made me regret blurting out my extremely humble profession to Blake when she asked. If I had known I would be surrounded by Ivy League students who moonlit as high fashion models, I would not have told her I was a goddamn stripper.

“They will like you,” she said later as we were getting ready for the final audition and I finally got nervous enough to divulge my insecurities to her. “Otherwise, why have a pole dancing section, and why make us dress like this?” She pointed at her black bikini. I look down at mine and adjust the strap. “What if they made a mistake? Maybe I’m in someone else’s spot?” My bikini was a tad too small, even though it was their biggest one. Another thing that was making me wonder. The Morelli brothers have a type; tall, thin, blonde, and I am not it. “Look around us,” I said.

Blake’s huge green doe-eye gaze darts around the half-naked girls and came back to me. She doesn’t say anything but I could hear her thoughts. You don’t fit. I’m about to embarrass myself, I thought. And as that singular doubt creeps in, more flood through. What if I’m not chosen? Statistically, I have a one in ten chance. Extremely low odds. I need to outshine this group. Unlike most, I’m not here to have fun dating a mob guy with peculiar tastes or set myself up for a cushy life. My motives run deeper than that and if I fail, there’s no other way for me to get close to them again, ever. This is it. My dramatic makeup might help. But was it dramatic or trashy? Blake’s was more natural and understated and made her high cheekbones pop. Even the other girl sitting on my other side has a more natural look. I was going to fail; I thought. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A loud voice called out a name and cut into my insecure thoughts. Peering through the door, a woman scanned the area, eyes searching for the person she called. A waif-looking skinny woman with platinum hair and fair skin, small enough that even I could lift her, stood up. The woman who called out beckons the girl to come over. My heart skips a beat. The auditions had started. There were only two doors in the dressing room. The one we came through, and the other door they were now going through. The waif girl was the pre-med student. Great. She was probably going to knock it out of the park and make the rest of us irrelevant. But after five minutes, another girl got called. “She’s used to model for,” Blake named a famous fashion brand as the girl glided across the room.

“My chances went from one in ten to one in a hundred,” I said to Blake.

“One in ten?”

“There’s twenty of us and only two will get chosen.”

“Two? I’m pretty sure they choose one,” Blake said.

“I thought it was two brothers or something,” I said, as if I was casually familiar with the details. However, I had done a little background research into them. Nicolo and Enrico were at the center of the Morelli mafia family. They owned and controlled a majority of the clubs in this city, as well as the ones in Chicago. Their empire was just clubs but the entire nightlife scene. They also owned casinos, hotels, and some real estate in New York. While the twins weren’t the head of the organization, the head was their older brother, Dante. They still held considerable influence in the business.

“Yeah, but they like to share, so it’s only going to be one of us that gets chosen.”

“Sorry. Share?” I knew nothing about that part.

Blake frowned. “Weren’t you aware?”

No. I shook my head. Clearly, I hadn’t done enough research into them. Great. Just great. I don’t know what worried me more. The lowered odds or that if I ‘get chosen’ I would be ‘shared’. Heat creeped up my loins as an image of two men kissing me flashed through my mind. Instead of being disgusted, I found it hot.

Another girl got called. And another. And another. They were all disappearing in five-minute intervals. Sometimes one. “What do you think is happening in there?” I ask Blake. She shrugs. “They don’t seem satisfied, if you ask me.” She leans in and whispers, “Apparently they’re in there. Since this is the final stage, they get to decide, or at least that’s what I heard.”

Within a brief space of time, it was only Blake, and I left. Blake got called. “Good luck,” I said to her. “Maybe this time they won’t share.”

She chuckled and blew me a kiss as she made her way out of the room, leaving me alone. After two minutes, the woman pops her head out. “Freya. You’re next.”

My legs wobble as I get up from my seat. My hands were clammy and I flex them to keep from shaking. She leads me through a fabric-walled dark corridor. The air con was cooler in this part of the building and made my tits stiffen from the cold. A couple of minutes later, she opens a door, stands aside, and motions for me to walk through.

The immediate banging of the door startled me, as I was sure she was coming in. Instead, I entered the room alone. It took me a while to get my bearings straight. The room looked like a small twenty-seat theater. Empty but for two men sitting on a couch in front of the makeshift stage I’ve just walked onto. The harsh light on the stage, contrasted with the low light of the rest of the theater, made it difficult to see their faces, but I’m sure it was Niccolo and Enrico. They were of similar build. One sitting casually with an arm extended lazily on the couch and the other was leaning forward.

“Freya,” the one leaning forward said, “Step onto the spotlight won’t you.”

I did as he said, hoping I won’t trip and fall. With the light on me and them in the shadows, it’s even harder to see them.

All I heard was a voice saying, “Show us what you got.”

There’s a pole and a chair on stage. “Show us what you got,” could only mean one thing. Dance.

“Do I get music?” I asked into the dark void.

---