Her Father Sold Her to the Deaf Mafia Boss for $50 — Until She Pulled a Blinking Red Tracker From His Ear

The heavy crystal water glass suddenly shattered violently against the polished marble floor.

I jumped out of my chair. Vincent Moretti, the thirty-eight-year-old apex predator of Chicago’s underworld, completely collapsed against the edge of the dining table. The broad-shouldered, terrifying mafia boss gripped his skull, his face contorted in absolute, excruciating agony. Thick, dark blood began to trickle slowly from his swollen right ear, dripping onto his crisp white shirt.

He didn't scream. He couldn't. He was almost completely deaf.

I didn't run away. I grabbed my phone and quickly shone its bright flashlight directly toward the side of his head. Deep inside the swollen ear canal, something black glistened wetly beneath the light.

Then, it moved.

My stomach violently lurched. It wasn't blood. It wasn't an infection.

I rushed toward the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol, clean tweezers, and a small porcelain bowl. When I returned, Vincent was watching me with wide, frightened eyes—an expression no one in the city had ever seen on the ruthless boss.

As I reached out with the tweezers, his massive hand suddenly shot out, clamping around my wrist with a desperate, terrifying grip.

Dangerous, he quickly typed on his phone with his free hand, showing me the screen.

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. I typed back: It's dangerous to leave it there. Do you trust me?

For several agonizing seconds, Vincent stared at me. Then, the most feared man in Chicago slowly nodded and released my wrist.

I carefully inserted the tweezers. I felt them scrape against something strangely solid and metallic. Vincent gripped the table so hard the wood groaned as I pulled.

Suddenly, it broke free.