Father

Vittoria 

The next days are a living hell. My bruises start healing slowly as I don’t get beaten up anymore, but still, I keep throwing up at the amount of food they make me eat. 

At least they don’t make me clean it up. 

Or have me swallow it back up as a punishment. 

“Please, I can’t!” I whisper as a woman with a kind face stuffs another spoonful of food into my mouth. “The longer it takes, the more money it will cost your family.”  

Her high-pitched voice makes me close my eyes as I swallow down the bite she just made me take. 

In the few days I spent here, I just got insulted. And even if they want to sell me, they treat me like a beast rather than a precious good. 

But maybe this is because I’m not supposed to be a virgin anymore. 

I also don’t like the looks I get from the pigman when he shows me to clients. He often ‘checks in on me’ but every day more, I get the impression he is planning something bad. 

Between the stuffing and the visits, I barely manage to get some sleep, and I’m so sick to my stomach that it hurts. 

I actually can’t wait to die and pray for God to just end my suffering. 

But as much as I pray and plead, the agony just doesn’t stop. 

I’m fearing my new owners more than death, and as the preparation for the auction is getting closer and the buyers visiting me are getting shadier, I begin to feel nothing but panic. 

“That would be enough,” a gentle voice says, having us look up at the old man, who seems to have appeared out of thin air, wide-eyed. 

His smile is as gentle as his voice as he leans onto his walking stick. “Hello, little one.” 

I gulp, wiping my mouth as I stare up at him incredulously. “Hello.” 

He is dressed elegantly, and even if his voice matches his warm smile, something about it feels unsettling. 

And not only because of his walking stick decor consisting of a shiny little skull. 

Even with his fragile-looking frame, he has a dangerous aura, and still, I feel like I could tell him everything. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, making some kind of movement with his hand, shooing my stuffer away. 

I look after her with a panicky feeling as he gets me to look back at him by tapping my shoulder gently. “Don’t be afraid. Conversations are usually more pleasurable if there are just two people involved in it.” 

I stare at him incredulously without realizing that he is waiting patiently for my answer. 

And patience surely is a luxury no one ever granted me with. 

“Vittoria,” I say lowly, clearing my throat. 

He nods, shifting on his feet, his hands resting on a little silver skull. “That’s a wonderful name. I am Ambrogio, and I’m very pleased to meet you.” 

*** 

I gulp down my gasp painfully as we drive through a huge steel gate. The gravel crunches beneath the tyres of the driveway, and as it makes a turn around a beautiful fountain with sculptures of angels and nymphes, I stare up in awe at the facade of the big mansion. 

The entire drive to my new home, as Ambrosio put it, was quiet and peaceful. I got to sit in the backseat next to him while a driver in a black suit drove us around the city. 

He had introduced himself as Franky, and he nearly made me giggle as he got into the car with his long legs, looking like a clumsy stork. 

I was surprised at how comfortable I felt and was happy about the fact that the old man did not once try to touch me inappropriately. The only interaction we had was when he would tap on my shoulder, and interrupt my admiring of the changing landscape around us to show me something on his side. 

My heart beats loudly in my chest as I get out of the car, and I flinch as the gravel stings my bare feet. 

“Franky!” Ambrosio says simply, and the tall man hurries towards me to pick me up as if I weighed nothing. 

And maybe I do. 

I push down a squeal as I claw myself at Franky’s lapel and Ambrosio chuckles. “We will get you something to wear right away. The seamstress is already on her way.” 

My eyes widen and meet the amused gaze of Franky who carries me up the marble stairs and into the house through massive wing doors. 

I nearly get my head to rotate from my head as I take in the luxurious interior of the mansion, and Franky sits me down in a large velvet armchair. My feet dangle freely as I stare agape at the high ceiling decorated in gold, framing paintings of religious representations. 

A petite woman dressed in a maid costume appears out of nowhere, and brings both men an espresso, before serving me an orange juice. I look at her with big eyes as she leaves the room with a smile. “Thank you,” I whisper, convinced that there was no way she could have heard me. 

Ambrosio sits down in the armchair next to me, and with a deep sigh, he scoots to turn himself to me. “Tell me, Vittoria. How old are you?” 

“Seventeen,” I whisper, and he holds his hand to his ear, signalling to me that he can’t hear me. Gulping, I look between Franky standing in front of us and Ambrosio. 

Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat and try to enhance my voice, even though I don’t know when the last time was that I did that. “Seventeen.” 

Ambrosio nods with a smile, my throat hurting at pushing out my hoarse voice. “We will get that melodic voice of yours back, don’t worry.” 

Just as my gaze wanders back to look back at Franky with his hands in his pockets, a feeble knocking comes from the door before a woman with ruffled hair and her arms full of clothes barges in through the doors. “I got here the fastest I could.” 

She walks swiftly through the room and comes to a halt next to Franky. “Who do we have here?” 

“This is Vittoria,” Ambrosio says proudly, laying a hand between my shoulder blades. “She is going to stay with us from now on.” 

“Oh, how wonderful,” the woman says lovingly. “I’m Beatrice.” 

Beatrice crouches down, her bag falling off her shoulders with a loud thud. “Would you stand up for me please, and get out that nasty nightdress they made you wear.” 

I’m more shocked about her asking me this nicely than the fact that I’m about to undress in front of two grown men. Gulping down the lump in my throat, I don’t argue against it, despite my embarrassment. 

I’m surely used to humiliation, so that would be the easiest thing to do. 

Just as the nightdress is about to fall down my shoulders, she clears her throat, making the men turn around. I nearly choke on my spit and I hurry to get out of my clothes and underwear to stand in front of her naked. 

“Oh, poor little thing,” she clicks her tongue as she pulls out a measuring tape. “I’ll do it as quickly as possible.” 

And to my surprise, she really keeps her promise and gets herself my measurements without inflicting any pain or further humiliation. 

What am I doing here? 

As she finishes, she flashes me a smile and hands me a pair of fresh panties to wear before pulling a red sundress over my head. “Done, thank you for your patience.” 

I stare at her with big eyes as she stands up, wiping her palms onto her shirt. 

“I will be back as soon as possible with her new wardrobe,” she says as she collects everything she let fall on the floor and straightens back up. “Will someone have a look at her scars and bruises?” 

“Yes,” Ambrosio answers as he turns back around to face her. “I will take her to the Angels of Death tomorrow. And get her a full scan.” 

My panic rises as I hear him saying that but as I see Beatrice nod happily at it, I calm down. “Good.”

Beatrice waves for a last time before she disappears out of the door, and Ambrosio gets up from his seat with a groan. “Well then, let me show you around your new home.” 

I jump out of the chair and follow him up the stairs slowly. As we reach the second floor, I keep myself from staring too much at the sculptures and paintings adorning the luxurious hallway. Ambrosio walks down the entire hallway and halts at the last door at the end of it. He smiles warmly as he puts a finger on his mouth and opens the door slowly, revealing a large room with a boyish design. “Alessio, come and say hello to your little sister.” 

A young man about my age, stands up from his desk, pulling his headphones off his ears. His tousled black locks accentuate his deep blue eyes. 

He doesn’t look like his father at all. 

Ambrosio puts a hand on my back, pushing me slightly as he smiles brightly. “This is your brother, Alessio.” 

“Brother?” I ask in a whisper, gulping anew. 

“Yes,” he nods happily, gesturing to Alessio to come closer and greet me. “And please feel free to call me papà from now on.”

I nod, feeling a strange tugging on the side of my mouth. 

“Papà,” I repeat lowly, as my lips form into a smile painfully.