Chapter 8

It was the same thing every time the occasional customer left Lucia's Kitchen. Armando watched the girl nearly coming down the steps again, then changing her mind and going back up to the sidewalk. At first, he was suspicious - who wouldn't be. She might be some screwed up junkie or a crazy - or just plain crooked like most of this neighborhood. Only there was something about her that reminded Armando of an emaciated urchin from the gutters of Rome so long ago. That urchin had gone on to be his wife of nearly forty-eight years - until she was cruelly stolen bit-by-bit by the cancer that finally killed her. Hey, Lucia - ya watching over this kid? If there was a heaven and Lucia wasn't there then it wasn't worth going to. Armando sighed, pulled open the door and called over. "Hey lady - ya gonna stay out there all night or what? No, don't be scared." Poor kid looked frozen and lost. "I gotta close up soon so if ya want inside..." The shivering girl hesitated, then slowly descended the steps and carefully avoided his gaze. She followed him to the counter and just stood there looking at the floor. "So ... what's it gonna be?"

She was barely audible and kept a wary distance. "P-please Sir, can I-I have something to eat?"

"Lady, this ain't no welfare kitchen. How ya gonna pay?" Armando Forte's eyes nearly popped out when she pulled a roll of notes out of her jacket pocket and laid at least ten $100 bills on his counter. "Jesu-Maria! Put that wad away - ya tryin' to get mugged?"

"I-I'm very sorry Sir." The girl looked near to tears.

"Okay - s'okay lady." He sighed - there was no way he could change a hundred-dollar bill. So Lucia, ya testing me by sending down one of your sister-angels? "Look, ya can have something on the house." He smiled and shrugged. "Ya pay me next time. Now, what ya want eat?"

"Th-thank you sir. I-I don't know..."

"Hey, less of the 'Sir' - nobody calls Armando Forte 'Signore' lady. And whadya mean ya don't know? Jeez lady, hows about a good, warming Minestrone? Now ya know my name - ya gonna tell me yours?"

"Alexa..." She managed a weak smile at the old man who was showing her such kindness. Somehow, she didn't feel so terribly alone.

"That it? Just 'Alexa'?"

"I-I'm m-master's..."

"So, 'Alexa Masters' - a pretty name for a pretty lady." He put a steaming bowl under her nose; "Ya eat this now. My Lucia's own recipe - she was famous for her soup."

He busied himself clearing dishes while the young woman sat huddled over the dish. She seemed to be weeping while she ate. Armando moved closer and watched silently as this 'Alexa Masters' cried her eyes out. His heart ached when her tears fell into the soup but she continued to spoon it hungrily into her mouth. Hey Lucia, why ya sending me this lost soul? Can't an old man live out his remaining time without being bothered by a waif from the night? He smiled and murmured, "Is not bad soup, eh? Ya want more?"

"Uh, its lovely! Ohh, s-sorry for umm crying like this ... y-yes please sir - s-sorry, I mean Armando..." She couldn't stop weeping. It was too much; his kindness was too hard to bear!

The owner of Lucia's Kitchen sat and listened to the aching sobs while the girl struggled to regain her composure. She was small, slim and pleasantly attractive though not stunning. Her thick hair was light brown and reached right down her back. She didn't have any possessions - not even a bag. He couldn't place her accent - and her voice was weak and croaky. It was as if she had suddenly appeared from nowhere in the middle of New York. Armando Forte could not have known how near he was to the truth...

The autopsy made grim reading. The French slave called Nadine had died from massive heart failure, apparently consistent with the high levels of hormonal supplements given to a slave. However, a tiny trace of digitalis had been found on hair fibers behind her ear. Master Charles put down the report. She had been executed by injection but who on earth had killed an owned slave without her master's consent? There were too many sudden deaths happening in the Organization. That last slave in London - too late for an autopsy, as she would have been cremated by now. There was a pattern but he couldn't figure it out. He had a sudden, sickening thought. Could there be a killer on loose - a rogue master or, even worse, one of the staff? Maybe it was just as well that Alexa was out of the way. He wondered how she was coping on her own - would she come back or 'slip her collar' forever. Perhaps he was a fool to test her. Then again, he had been behaving totally out of character ever since he had seen her fighting for her life. Damn the girl - I can't think straight! He closed the report and stood up. Anyway, there was a new girl to break - a young cheerleader who had been earmarked since being spotted in high school. She had been harvested a few hours earlier and should be coming round from the anesthetic just about now...

"Hey, hey - you eat too much too quick! Slow down will ya - that's your THIRD bowl!" She must have been starving. Armando noticed with relief that her tears had stopped. She was wolfing down the minestrone and she was smiling. Such a beautiful smile! "So, Alexa - I call ya 'Lexie' - okay? Ya can call me 'Uncle Armando' - everyone calls me that." She nodded and looked trustingly up into his face. Such deep blue eyes - like you could see right down into her heart.

"Umm, uncle Armando ... please - I must pay you for this wonderful soup. Is this money no good?"

It was Armando's turn to look away. "Look Lexie, ya gotta understand I got no change for a hundred. I ... don't get much customers in here lately and - well, I don't do so well these days." He looked round the run-down cafe with its faded tablecloths, peeling paint and dusty window ledges. Lucia would have screamed at him for letting it go like this.

He felt a gentle touch on his hand. "I-I can clean. I used to work in a cafe - please can I repay you by working?"

"Lexie, ya sure? Ya gonna do this for Uncle Armando?"

She stood and looked up into his eyes, beaming. "I would be very honored."

He shrugged, followed her into the kitchen and watched her stacking grimy dishes and cutlery. She was smiling as she worked. Armando's eyes felt wet - the last woman who had stood at that sink was his beloved Lucia. He busied himself at the counter so Alexa would not see his face...

"She hasn't cried out yet? Is she still drugged?" Master Charles watched the monitor. It showed the curled up form of a young girl lying on the bare floor of a cell. She was still dressed in tight jeans, pale pink T-shirt and white sneakers. Her mouth had been ball-gagged, she was ankle-cuffed, and her wrists were cuffed together behind her back.

"I reckon she's awake - just lying quiet." The guard grinned. "Know what I think? This bitch's turned on by all of this - see her rapid breathing? And she keeps rubbing her thighs together too." He turned to look at the Head of Security. "How are you going to break this one - hard and fast, or slower and more subtle?" The guard was intensely aware of master Charles' skills - he was reputed to have induced a new girl to collar herself by persuasion alone!

Master Charles pondered the various options. Some girls were best shocked into total submission by rapid, brutal violation followed by a harsh regime of control. Others were more responsive to a gradual destruction of their willpower and spirit - they would crawl willingly to the collar. The guard had rightly sensed this girl might be a natural submissive, as she was obviously excited despite being terrified by her captivity. She would require careful handling to transform her from a self-assured, ill-mannered typical North American female into a pliant, obedient pleasure-slave. "Has the customer any special requirements?"

"Err ... single ring through clit hood, pubic shave, no branding, no tattoo ... oh yeah, she wants the whole thing taped."

"She?"

The guard shrugged and smirked. "Its Lady Lin-wu. You know these Orientals, sir - it's going to be a 50th birthday gift for her husband. She wants to play with an all-American girl while her hubby gets to watch. Only thing is, she's very destructive with her toys!"

Master Charles nodded. He was fully aware of how ruthless the Chinese ambassador's wife could be - and of how valuable her continuing support was during these sensitive trade negotiations. Yes, Stacey would be serving her country and the global economy by her selfless sacrifice. "Well then Leroy, shall we?" The guard smiled and held open the door for master Charles. "Ohhh, and Leroy?"

"Sir?"

"You can take over the breaking once she is ready. We shall employ the 'gentle then severe' method tonight. She may be ready to submit freely but she will be a better slave if you break her as harshly as possible!" He found it very difficult not to say any more. Master Charles had personally nominated Leroy for elevation to master and the Board had unanimously ratified his proposal. Leroy would be given the title at a surprise ceremony next day. He looked at the young black guard and grinned as he recalled his own promotion to master - it had been the proudest moment of his life. And Leroy was a natural - he worked with a girl's mind as well as her body. Such a pity that Miller would never make the grade. Miller was far too extreme in his approach and showed no subtlety where slaves were concerned. The fool was too violent and had never grasped that true slavery required seduction as well as forceful submission.

When they entered the cell together, master Charles knelt by the trembling girl's head. She didn't make a sound but stared at him with wide eyes. "Well now, Jennifer..."