As Frankie barked out orders, a cruel smirk played on his lips. "Scar her face. Let's see if she still dares to call herself the don's daughter after that!"

A couple of thugs moved toward me with wicked grins, one flipping open a switchblade that gleamed ominously under the dim ceiling light. My hands and feet were tightly bound, the rough rope biting into my skin. Panic surged through me, my breathing quick and shallow as I struggled in vain to free myself. The scent of stale alcohol and cheap cologne from the men around me made my stomach churn.

"I really am Giovanni's daughter!" I shrieked, my voice hoarse with desperation. "If you dare lay a finger on me, he won't let you go!"

The tension in the room was palpable, but my words only seemed to amuse them. With a menacing chuckle, one of them yanked at my dress, tearing the fabric with a loud rip. A cold draft hit my exposed skin and a wave of despair washed over me.

"How dare you fool us? You'd better start praying, though I doubt it'll do you any good!" Frankie sneered, clearly enjoying my helplessness.

Tears pricked at my eyes, but I forced them back. I couldn't show weakness. Just as I braced myself for whatever horror they had planned, a loud knock echoed through the room.

"Boss! The don is here!" someone shouted from outside. "He said he's picking a private room for a birthday party and is looking for you!"

Frankie's expression changed instantly, lighting up with a mix of excitement and respect. "The don? Really? This must be for the missus then!"

He turned to his men, his earlier malice replaced by urgency. "Get rid of this wench quickly! Don't let the don see her and ruin his mood!"

I barely had time to process what was happening before several of the thugs grabbed me. My heart pounded wildly in my chest as they wrapped a dirty cloth around my head, blocking my vision. My breaths came in short gasps, the fabric pressing against my nose and mouth making it harder to breathe.

With rough hands gripping my arms, they began dragging me out of the room. I knew this was my only chance. If I didn't act now, I might never get another opportunity. Desperation gave me courage and summoning every ounce of strength I had, I lashed out blindly with my foot.

My kick landed squarely on one of the thugs' crotch. He let out a strangled groan, immediately releasing his grip on me. Seizing the brief moment of freedom, I stumbled forward, tearing the cloth from my face and running as fast as I could.

The hallway stretched out before me, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights. I had no idea where I was going, my mind racing in a frenzy of fear and adrenaline.

"Get her!" someone roared behind me, heavy footsteps pounding against the floor as they gave chase.

I spotted a staircase at the end of the hall and dashed toward it, my heart thudding in my chest. But as I reached the top step, my foot caught on the edge of the carpet. Time seemed to slow as I lost my balance, tumbling down the stairs.

Pain exploded through my body as I hit each step, my vision blurring with each impact. By the time I reached the bottom, I was dazed and disoriented, struggling to even lift my head.

Before I could gather my senses, a heavy blow struck the back of my head, sending fresh waves of dizziness through me. "You little bitch! Dare to kick me? I'll beat you to death!" a furious voice snarled.

Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, but just before I lost consciousness, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar figure at the end of the hallway—broad shoulders, a commanding presence. Was it... my dad?

The next thing I knew, I was being dragged by my arms across a cold, tiled floor. I tried to resist, but my limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. My head throbbed painfully and my vision swam in and out of focus.

When I finally came to, I was tied up in a dimly lit storage room. The faint smell of dust and mildew hung in the air, mingling with the metallic scent of old, rusted tools scattered around. Tape covered my mouth, muffling my breathing. I glanced down at myself and breathed a small sigh of relief—my clothes were intact. They hadn't done anything to me.

Could it be that they were too busy to greet my dad? If my dad was still here, then there was still hope!

Wasting no time, I quickly shuffled over to a corner, the rough floor scraping against my knees. Desperation fueled my movements as I began rubbing the ropes around my wrists against the jagged edge of a broken shelf. The fibers bit into my skin, but I ignored the pain, focusing solely on getting free.

Just then, faint voices filtered in from outside the door. I froze, straining to hear the conversation.

"Did you get the money yet? Hurry up and give me my share!" a familiar voice hissed.

I felt my heart drop into my stomach. Vincent.

"You've got some nerve!" another man snapped irritably. "That girl only has a hundred thousand in her account. Pretending to be the don's daughter? She's got a death wish! But I gotta admit, she's pretty good-looking."

"Check her bag for anything valuable," the man continued. "I'll sneak in for some fun with that bitch. When I'm done, I'll give you your share!"

A tense silence followed, broken only by Vincent's disgusted reply. "Be my guest. I don't want any part of it. That little bitch wouldn't even let me touch her, acting all high and mighty. Turns out she's someone else's mistress, huh?"

"But she must have money," he added. "She drives a car worth over a hundred and fifty grand. How could she not afford a hundred thousand dollars?"

I clenched my jaw, fury and heartbreak warring within me. I had thought Vincent was being coerced into betraying me. But this—this was the real him. The man I'd trusted, the man I'd planned to introduce to my family, had sold me out for cash.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I forced them back. I couldn't afford to break down now. Just as the last of the rope came loose, I heard the metallic click of the door lock turning.

My pulse spiked as I frantically scanned the room. The windows were sealed shut—there was no escape. Clutching the frayed rope in my trembling hands, I darted toward the wall, leaning against it as though I had just woken up.

The door creaked open, revealing a burly man with rough stubble and a malicious gleam in his eyes. His presence filled the room, oppressive and suffocating. He leaned against the doorframe, flashing a lecherous grin that made my skin crawl.

"Wench, you'd better not try to run. There's no escape," he said, his voice oily with false charm. "How about this—be a good girl and let me have some fun with you. In return, you can be my mistress. Forget about those one thousand dollars altogether. What do you think?"

His tone was laced with entitlement, as though he expected me to be grateful for such a vile offer. My pulse quickened with both fear and anger, but I forced myself to stay calm.

As he spoke, he moved closer, his eyes gleaming with lust as his hand reached toward my waist. His breath reeked of stale tobacco, the stench making my stomach twist in disgust.

I rolled my eyes, masking my fear with defiance and moved away swiftly. "I wouldn't even sleep with a mafia don and you think I'd stoop to taking some lackey? If you're looking for a prostitute, try the streets! You shameless, disgusting—"

Before I could finish, his expression darkened, and in a flash, he clamped his thick hand around my neck. The pressure was immediate and suffocating, cutting off my air. Panic surged through me as I clawed at his hand, but his grip was unyielding.

"I'll give you one last chance," he growled, his face inches from mine, his foul breath making me gag. "Think carefully before you speak!"

I struggled desperately, but his grip only tightened. Realizing I couldn't break free by force, I choked out, "Let's... talk this out..."

He loosened his hold slightly, a smug grin spreading across his face as he released me. I stumbled back, coughing violently, the air rushing into my lungs in ragged gasps.

"So, you're saying you're willing to have a little fun, huh?" he said, his voice dripping with triumph.

Before I could respond, I caught a glimpse of movement behind him. A middle-aged woman had entered the room unnoticed. Her sharp eyes locked onto the scene and I could sense the rising storm.

An idea formed in my mind and I decided to play along. Masking my trembling hands, I straightened up and sneered, "Don't you have a wife? Why are you even thinking about sleeping with me? Aren't you afraid she'll find out?"

The man's expression twisted with annoyance and his voice grew louder. "Don't mention her! She's as fat as a pig!" He spat on the floor in disgust. "If you want to be my mistress, I'll shower you with gold and jewels—"

Before he could finish, a loud smack echoed through the room as the woman behind him slapped the back of his head with surprising force.

"You lecherous old creep! How dare you mess around right under my nose? I'll kill you today!" she shrieked, fury evident in her voice.

The man whipped around, startled. "You crazy hag! Don't you dare lay a hand on me!"

Their argument escalated rapidly, voices overlapping in a chaotic mess of shouting and insults. Seeing the opportunity, I decided to fan the flames further. "If you can beat your wife, maybe I'll consider being your mistress. But if you can't even handle her, what kind of man are you?"

The man's face turned an alarming shade of red and with a roar of frustration, he shoved the woman, who retaliated immediately. They were soon locked in a fierce scuffle, oblivious to everything around them.

Seizing my chance, I crouched low and slipped out of the room. The hallway was dimly lit, but I didn't stop to take in my surroundings. I limped toward the staircase, the earlier beating leaving my leg weak and throbbing with pain.

Just as I reached the door leading to the stairs, a shout rang out behind me. They had spotted me. Adrenaline surged through my veins as I pushed forward, ignoring the searing pain in my leg.

From the second-floor railing, I caught sight of my dad in the restaurant lobby below, surrounded by his entourage. He was heading toward the exit, his usual composed demeanor intact. Relief and desperation flooded me in equal measure. This was my last hope.

I opened my mouth to call out, but before I could utter a word, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, dragging me backward.

Panic flared in my chest. I thrashed wildly, but the grip was too strong. Realizing I couldn't break free, I made a split-second decision. Summoning every ounce of strength I had left, I stomped down hard on my assailant's foot and twisted in his grip. He yelped in pain, his hold loosening just enough for me to turn and shove him with all my might.

The force sent him tumbling over the second-floor railing. Time seemed to slow as he flailed in the air before plummeting toward the ground below.

The restaurant lobby had an unusually high ceiling—the second floor was equivalent to a regular third floor. Falling from such a height would almost certainly result in serious injury, if not death.

But I couldn't afford to dwell on it. If I didn't escape now, I'd be as good as dead. I didn't even have time to brace myself as I flung myself over the railing.

A loud splash echoed through the lobby as I landed in the massive fish tank positioned in the center of the room. The glass shattered on impact, sending water, shattered glass and flopping fish scattering across the marble floor.

Pain shot through my body as shards of glass sliced into my skin. Blood dripped from small cuts on my face and arms, pooling beneath me in the growing puddle of water. Though the fish tank had cushioned my fall somewhat, my legs and arms throbbed with pain, leaving me nearly immobile.

A shocked silence fell over the lobby, broken only by the sound of water dripping and the soft gasps of onlookers.

Just as my vision began to blur from the pain, I saw my dad turn his head, alerted by the commotion. His eyes locked onto mine, his expression darkening with a mixture of shock and displeasure.

"What's going on here?" he demanded coldly, his voice carrying an authority that silenced the entire room. His gaze flicked to Frankie, who had rushed over with his men. "Frankie, are you up to something behind my back again?"

For over twenty years, my dad had always been gentle and approachable in front of me. I had never seen him so cold and distant, yet exuding such an intimidating presence. Perhaps he had only ever shown me his most tender side.

My dad didn't recognize me. Of course, he wouldn't. My clothes were torn and stained, my face was smeared with blood and my hair clung in damp strands to my skin. Even if I tried to call out, my voice would be nothing more than a rasp, too weak to carry across the distance. How could he possibly see through this broken, battered figure and realize it was me?

Frankie, drenched in cold sweat, stepped in quickly, trying to smooth things over. His shoulders were tense and he bowed slightly as if to shield himself from the cold, cutting presence emanating from my dad.

"No, no, Boss! I'd never go against your orders!" he stammered, forcing a strained smile. "She's just a new employee. She caused some trouble—I'll handle it right away!"

He shot a quick glance at his men, his eyes sharp with warning. "Hurry up and get her out of here! If she ruins the boss's mood, you'll all be sorry!"

I knew that if they dragged me away now, I wouldn't survive the day. Frankie wouldn't let me leave this place alive—not after everything that had happened. I was running out of time. My dad was turning to leave, his men parting the way for him. Desperation gripped me like a vice.

Summoning every ounce of strength left in my trembling body, I lifted my bloodied arm. Pain shot through me like fire, but I ignored it. My fingers closed around the whistle hanging from my neck. The cool metal felt familiar and grounding, a tiny piece of my past in the chaos of the present.

I brought the whistle to my cracked lips and blew.

A clear, sharp note rang out, piercing through the tense silence of the lobby. The sound cut through the air like a blade, distinct and hauntingly familiar. It wasn't an ordinary whistle—it had a unique pitch, one that couldn't be mistaken.

This whistle wasn't just a trinket. It was a gift from my dad, one tied to a memory I could never forget.