Chapter 2: Recall
1596 Words
Chapter 2: Recall
(Flashback)
(Sophia's POV)
The memory of my father's face haunts me still. Not his rage-filled final moments, but the face I grew up with—eyes glazed from substances, mouth twisted in disappointment.
I was born in Detroit's slums, where survival was day-to-day. My father, Robert Reed, was an addict who saw family as assets to use.
"Get up, you lazy b***h!" His voice cut through our tiny apartment as he yanked me awake. "I found someone willing to pay good money for you."
I was eighteen, working three jobs—waitressing, cleaning offices, and stocking shelves overnight. Every dollar went into a tin box hidden beneath a loose floorboard.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said firmly.
His laugh was empty. "You think you have a choice?"
The stench of whiskey and cigarettes surrounded him as he grabbed my arm. For weeks he'd threatened to sell me to men who trafficked girls across state lines.
"Mom!" I screamed desperately.
My mother appeared, pale and drawn. Years of abuse had hollowed her once-beautiful face.
"Robert, please," she begged. "She's your daughter."
"Shut up!" He hit her hard, sending her against the wall.
Something in me snapped. I grabbed the baseball bat beside my bed.
"Don't touch her again," I warned, voice steadier than I felt.
He lunged. I swung.
The bat cracked against his skull. He staggered but didn't fall. His face twisted with hate.
"You're dead," he snarled, reaching for me.
I swung again. And again. Until he stopped moving.
My mother screamed. Robert Reed lay motionless, blood pooling beneath his head.
"What have you done?" she whispered, horrified.
I dropped the bat, hands shaking. "I didn't mean to... he was going to sell me..."
She moved quickly, wiping down the bat. "Listen to me. I did this. You understand? I killed him."
"Mom, no—"
"Yes." Her eyes locked with mine. "You have a future. I've already lost mine."
But I couldn't let her take the blame. I told the police everything when they arrived.
They took me to the station in handcuffs, my mother's sobs following me out.
Hours later, a man entered the interrogation room. Tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes.
"Sophia Reed? I'm Detective Harrison Burke, FBI." He placed a folder between us. "I've been reviewing your case."
"Am I going to prison?" My voice sounded small.
He studied me. "That depends. I might have an alternative."
"What kind of alternative?"
"Redemption," he said. "A chance to make things right."
He explained he needed someone young who could blend in without suspicion. Someone desperate enough to take risks.
"I can arrange for you to work at a nightclub," he said. "If you do well, someone will approach you."
"What's the catch?" I asked.
His smile was cold. "Just do as you're told. Keep everything confidential."
What choice did I have? "I'll do it," I said.
Three months later, I was working at The Velvet Room, serving drinks to wealthy clients.
Then Johnny appeared—designer suit, gold watch, perfect smile. "You're wasting your talents here. My boss is looking for someone like you."
"I'm not interested," I replied.
"Ten grand a week," he said. "Just to accompany my boss to some events in Mexico."
I froze. "Mexico?"
"Border town. Beautiful place. Think about it—more in a week than six months here."
I shook my head. "I know what happens at the border. Drug deals. I hate drugs."
Johnny leaned closer. "You'll never save enough for college tuition at this rate."
College tuition—the exact phrase Harrison used during his check-ins. It couldn't be coincidence.
"When would we leave?" I asked, heart racing.
"Tomorrow night."
The border town shimmered with heat when we arrived. Johnny drove me to an upscale restaurant.
"Mr. Moretti is waiting," he said, leading me to a private room.
Vincent Moretti sat at the head of the table, a man near forty with a scar from eye to jaw. His cold eyes assessed me.
"Sit," he commanded.
The smell of cocaine clung to him—that chemical odor I knew from my father's worst days. My stomach turned.
Halfway through dinner, the door opened.
The man who entered commanded attention—tall, perfectly dressed, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes. He radiated refined danger.
"Alessandro," Vincent nodded. "Didn't expect you until tomorrow."
Alessandro Moretti—Vincent's half-brother—took a seat across from us. They spoke in rapid Italian.
I caught fragments: "...è maggiorenne?" (Is she of age?)
Vincent laughed. "Sì, fratello. Non sono stupido." (Yes, brother. I'm not stupid.)
Alessandro's gray eyes shifted to me. Something electric passed between us.
After dinner, Johnny pressed a hotel key card into my palm.
"Room 2808. Mr. Moretti wants you to wait for him there."
My blood ran cold. "I didn't agree to—"
"One night," Johnny interrupted. "He'll give you $100,000 for college tuition afterward."
College tuition again—the code connecting everything back to Harrison.
I took the key with trembling fingers.
The hotel suite was luxurious. I paced nervously before exhaustion won out. I fell asleep fully clothed, determined to keep my dignity.
A deafening explosion jolted me awake.
Outside, smoke rose against the night sky. Gunfire echoed through streets, followed by more explosions.
This wasn't just a drug deal—it was a war zone. Rival cartels battling for territory.
I needed to get home, even if prison awaited me.
I grabbed my shoes. The border town was erupting in violence, and I wanted nothing more than to get back to Detroit.
The electronic lock beeped suddenly. My heart stopped.
Someone was entering.
I scrambled to hide behind a heavy curtain. The door opened with a soft click.
A tall figure entered. He didn't turn on the main lights, just a small lamp. Not Vincent, but Alessandro.
He loosened his tie, lit a cigarette, and turned on the television. News footage showed the chaos outside.
"Predictable," he muttered.
He walked toward the window and pulled back the curtain, revealing my hiding place.
Our eyes met. His expression remained calm.
"What are you doing here?" I whispered.
"I believe that's my question. This is my room."
"Your room? But Johnny gave me this key card. He said Vincent wanted me to wait here."
Something shifted in Alessandro's expression. His jaw tightened.
"Vincent Moretti," he repeated coldly. "You're quite eager to climb into my brother's bed, aren't you?"
"No!" I protested. "That's not—I didn't come here for that."
"Then why are you here, Miss...?"
"Sophia. Sophia Reed. And I'm here because I didn't have a choice."
Alessandro raised an eyebrow. "Everyone has choices."
His words stung with truth. I could have refused Harrison's offer. I could have chosen prison.
"You don't understand," I said weakly.
"Enlighten me."
Before I could respond, he moved swiftly. His hand closed around my arm, pulling me to my feet.
"Let me go!" I struggled.
He lifted me easily, carrying me to the bed and dropping me on the mattress. I backed up until I hit the headboard.
Alessandro pulled out a small pink pill.
"My brother is nearly forty. His performance isn't what it used to be." He held up the pill. "This helps with that problem."
Horror dawned on me. "I told you, I'm not here for that!"
"No? Then why did Johnny give you the key to my room? Vincent always uses the presidential suite."
Alessandro leaned over me. His expensive cologne filled my senses as he pressed the pill against my lips.
"Open," he commanded.
I kept my mouth shut, turning away.
His hand gripped my jaw, forcing me to face him. "Why give your body to an old man who can't even satisfy you properly?"
His mouth crashed onto mine. The kiss was brutal. I gasped in shock, and he pushed the pill into my mouth.
I tried to spit it out, but his hand covered my lips. He reached for water.
"Swallow," he ordered.
When he removed his hand, I bit his finger hard.
Alessandro hissed but looked more aroused than angry.
"Feisty. I like that."
"Stay away from me," I warned shakily. "I'll scream."
"No one will hear you." He gestured toward the window, where sirens wailed. "They're a bit preoccupied."
"Please," I begged. "Don't do this."
"I'll be gentle," he promised, as if offering kindness.
"Help!" I screamed, grabbing a vase and throwing it at him.
It missed, landing on the carpet without breaking.
Alessandro looked amused. "Are you finished?"
Dizziness suddenly hit me. The room tilted, and heat spread through my body. I must have swallowed some of the pill.
"What's happening?" I whispered, tongue heavy.
"The medicine works quickly," Alessandro said, unbuttoning his shirt. "Don't fight it."
I tried to stand but collapsed back onto the bed. Warmth pooled in my abdomen. Every touch felt intense—the silk sheets against my skin was almost unbearable.
"No," I protested weakly as Alessandro gathered me into his arms.
His bare chest pressed against my cheek. Despite my disgust, my drugged body responded, arching toward him.
"Shh," he murmured, hand sliding beneath my blouse. "Let it happen."
Tears ran down my face as my body betrayed me. The drug was powerful, turning my resistance into distant concern as need overwhelmed me.
Alessandro's fingers traced my skin, each touch sending electricity through me. I bit my lip to keep from making sounds.
"Beautiful," he whispered against my ear.
I closed my eyes, crying as shame and unwanted pleasure battled within me, helpless in Alessandro's arms.
- Writer
