Sold To Mafia

The door slammed shut, echoing through the cold, dim room. She flinched at the sound, her heart beating hard against her ribcage as she tried to steady her breathing. She was alone now—at least, she thought she was. Shadows cloaked the far side of the room, but she could feel eyes on her. Watching. Waiting.

She took a step back, instinctively searching for an exit, only to stumble as she realized there was none. The walls were concrete, unyielding, and the air was thick with tension and stale smoke. Her wrists bore the red marks of restraints, her skin still stinging from the rough hands that had pushed her here.

The silence was soon broken by the sound of slow, measured footsteps. Her gaze snapped toward the source, and she could see him now—emerging from the shadows, his silhouette tall and powerful, each step deliberate. His face was partially hidden by the dim light, but his eyes were unmistakable: cold, calculating, and ruthlessly focused on her.

"So," he drawled, his voice a mixture of velvet and steel. "This is the girl they brought me."

She swallowed, her mouth dry as her gaze met his. He was nothing like she’d imagined. There was a refined edge to him, an almost cruel elegance in the way he stood there, his gaze assessing her with a confidence that unnerved her.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, his voice laced with mock amusement. "Or do you have something to say for yourself?"

She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to find her voice. "What…what do you want from me?"

He tilted his head slightly, watching her as if she were an intriguing puzzle. "You’re here because someone decided you were valuable enough to sell. What I want depends on whether you’re worth the price I paid."

His words stung, and she couldn’t help but glare at him, her own defiance flaring to life. "I’m not something to be bought and sold," she snapped, her voice sharper than she’d intended.

For a moment, he looked surprised, but then the corner of his mouth twisted into a dark smile. "You have spirit," he said, his tone cool, detached. "I like that. But let me make one thing clear—your defiance won’t get you very far here."

She clenched her fists, her voice trembling. "I don’t belong to you."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "In this world, everyone belongs to someone." His eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, close enough for her to catch a trace of his cologne—a scent rich and intoxicating, as dangerous as he was. "You’re here now, which means you belong to me."

Her breath hitched as she felt his gaze linger on her, analyzing every flicker of fear and resistance. She could feel her bravado faltering under his scrutiny, but she forced herself to stand her ground, her jaw set stubbornly.

He noticed, and his smile widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Interesting. You’re afraid, but you don’t let it control you. I suppose that could be useful."

"Useful for what?" she demanded, her voice laced with contempt. "To be some… pawn in whatever twisted game you’re playing?"

He shook his head, unfazed by her defiance. "You’ll understand soon enough," he replied, his tone laced with mystery and menace. He extended his hand toward her, gesturing for her to take it. "Come with me."

She stared at his outstretched hand, her stomach twisting. Every instinct screamed at her not to trust him, to fight, to run. But where could she go? This room was a cage, and he held the keys.

Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his, and his fingers wrapped around hers with a grip that was both firm and possessive. His touch sent a shiver through her, though whether from fear or something else, she couldn’t tell.

He led her out of the room, guiding her through a labyrinth of dimly lit hallways. The walls seemed to close in, their shadows stretching ominously, and the silence between them grew thick, weighted with unspoken words.

Finally, they reached another door, larger and more ornate than the others, flanked by two armed guards who stepped aside as they approached. He pushed the door open, revealing a lavish room filled with dark leather furniture, dim lights, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a sprawling city skyline.

He released her hand and gestured toward a leather armchair by the window. "Sit."

She hesitated but complied, perching on the edge of the chair, her eyes darting around the room. It was a stark contrast to the prison-like hallways they’d walked through—a room designed for someone who wielded power and reveled in luxury.

He crossed the room and poured himself a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter, his gaze never leaving her. After a moment, he lifted the glass in a mock toast. "To new beginnings," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise before he took a sip.

"Why am I here?" she demanded, forcing herself to meet his gaze, to show him she wouldn’t be intimidated so easily.

He set his glass down and studied her, as though weighing how much to tell her. "You’re here because I need someone I can trust," he said finally, his voice softer, almost contemplative. "And because I suspect you’ll do anything to survive."

His words sent a chill down her spine, and she felt her hands clench in her lap. "You’re wrong," she said, though her voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

"Am I?" He took a step closer, his gaze piercing. "Tell me, if given the choice, would you rather die, or would you rather live, even if that life meant being tied to me?"

She swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She didn’t know how to answer, and he seemed to relish her silence, his lips curving into a knowing smile.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He moved closer still, until he was standing directly in front of her, his presence overwhelming.

"Tell me your name," he ordered softly, his gaze never wavering.

She hesitated, then looked up, defiance flickering in her eyes. "You’ll learn it when you’ve earned it."

A moment of silence passed, and then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a low, genuine laugh that seemed to surprise even him. "You have courage. But don’t mistake that for power," he said, his voice turning cold once more. "In my world, courage without power is a liability."

"Then maybe I don’t want to be a part of your world," she shot back, though her voice was weaker than before.

"That’s not up to you," he replied, the finality in his tone chilling. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his gaze fierce and unyielding. "You’ll learn, little one. In time, you’ll understand what it means to belong to me."

She felt her heart race as his words sank in, their weight pressing down on her. In that moment, she understood that escape wasn’t an option, that she was trapped in his world—a world that didn’t abide by the rules of freedom or choice.

And as his gaze lingered on her, unrelenting and possessive, she realized one more terrifying truth:

She wasn’t sure she’d ever want to leave.