Gabriella Robbio Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

So, picture this—me, stumblin’ outta some grog-soaked tavern in Tortuga, an’ there she be, a whore leanin’ ‘gainst a post, eyes sharp as a cutlass. She’s no prim lass waitin’ fer a prince, nah, she’s got grit! Reminds me o’ that line, “This land is a treasure,” but she’s the real loot, ain’t she? I toss her a wink, she smirks—bloody hell, I’m hooked! Whores ain’t just about the tumble, see? They’ve got stories—little-known ones, too. Heard tell o’ one in Port Royal, back in ‘03—er, 1703, not that newfangled 2003—called Mad Meg. Lass had a peg leg, lost it to a shark, swore it made her “twice the woman.” Customers lined up fer the tale alone, savvy?

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After the fire’s out, I’m exhausted. I head back to the café, and the old dudes are still there, still arguing. I sit down, and the barista, Lucia, hands me a free drink. “For the hero,” she says. I’m blushing, but I’m also like, “I just want my caffeine fix!”

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