“It started,” she said, “the way it always does. Cards after meetings. Dice to celebrate a win. Nights that stretched too long. Promises that tomorrow would fix everything.”
Tomorrow never came.
Her father had gambled it all—again and again. First, his own money, then money he borrowed, hoping to invest it wisely. But he lost it all to gambling and the syndicate he had borrowed from.
When the syndicate came calling, they didn’t want him dead—at least, not yet. They wanted leverage.
And so he offered her—his daughter. Anna—as collateral.
By the time her mother realized what had happened, she tried to save Anna—but it was too late.
Ana had told me this part with her face turned away, fingers clawing at dirt.
That was how Ana came to inhabit this life—this prison—in the most brutal, inhumane Albanian cell, a fate born entirely from the reckless choices of her parents.
Anna had poured everything she had left into our secret tunnel of escape—hope, rage, love, guilt—scraping at the earth with bleeding fingers, urging us on when despair pressed heavy against our chests.
She was the one who whispered, We will make it, when the dirt threatened to collapse, who counted inches like prayers.
She believed freedom was possible because the alternative was unbearable.
And now... she would not be here to witness it.
“You will be my wife,” the brother declared.
The word wife sounded obscene on his tongue.
His free hand slid down Ana’s body with ownership, fingers biting into flesh.
She flinched despite herself, a broken sound escaping before she could swallow it.
My vision tunneled.
He pulled his hand away slowly, studying the red staining his fingers with detached curiosity.
Then he laughed—low, guttural, pleased.
“I will enjoy this one,” he said to his brother in thick, deliberate English.
The younger brother studied Ana like an object with potential flaws. “How sure are you?” he asked coolly. “Test it.”
The elder laughed again, deeper, richer. “You are right.”
His gaze returned to Ana, voice dropping into something intimate and lethal. “I should know what I am buying.”
Ana’s knees trembled, just barely.
Her chin lifted in reflexive defiance, but her eyes betrayed her—wide, glassy, pleading without words.
“Bend over,” he ordered.
The command cracked through the yard like a whip.
I felt Bianca’s hand tighten against mine, nails biting skin.
Around us, the others stood frozen, terror rooted deep.
We all knew the rules here. Defiance didn’t bring mercy. It brought examples. It brought nights that never ended.