Bound to the savage mafia Boss

VICTORIA

I twisted and turned beneath the thin, old sheets, feeling a heat building in my stomach. I gasped, my fingers gripping the fabric tightly, and a soft moan slipped out from my lips. Flashing images filled my mind-strong hands gently running across my skin, a warm mouth whispering sweet words against my neck, and that feeling of warmth spreading throughout my body like wildfire. But then I remembered-it was just a dream, a cruel and frustrating dream.

Suddenly, I shot up in bed, a thin layer of sweat covering my skin. "What is wrong with me?" I whispered to myself, pulling the sheets tightly against my chest as if they could offer me some comfort.

I knew what was wrong.

"I'm twenty-three years old, for goodness' sake," I said softly, frustration creeping into my voice. "Twenty-three, and I've never even had a kiss. No boyfriend, no adventures... just a life full of books and four walls in this basement."

The darkness around me felt heavy and familiar, almost suffocating. This room had been my whole world for as long as I could remember. My parents always said it was for my own safety, that the world outside was dangerous. But the only real danger I knew was in my dreams-dreams that left me feeling empty and longing for something more.

Then, out of nowhere, a loud and muffled shout broke the heavy silence that enveloped me. I froze, my heart racing and pounding loudly against my ribs. I could hear voices-angry and desperate.

I quietly got off the bed, trying to keep my steps light, and carefully made my way to the small hole in the wall-it was my only way to see the outside world. I found this hole when I was a child and never had the courage to cover it up. When I peeked through, I was met with a scene of chaos.

I could see my father lying crumpled on the living room floor with blood smeared across his face. Two big men loomed over him, their fists hitting him repeatedly with harsh force. Nearby, my mother was standing with tears streaming down her face, her hands clasped together as she prayed silently.

But it was the third man who took my breath away. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a sharp black suit. He was facing away from me, but the way he stood-calm and composed-sent a chill running down my spine.

"Please! Please, just give him a little more time!" My mother's voice was filled with desperation, almost like a wailing cry.

"Time?" the man replied, sounding smooth, almost as if he found it amusing. "He has already had time. He chose to waste it on gambling. Literally."

I swallowed hard, feeling my nails dig into the rough wooden frame of the hole. My father was a gambler? A liar?

"I'll pay! I promise!" my father whimpered, curling up in on himself as one of the men kicked him again.

"You'll pay? That's the same story you've been telling me for what? Four? Five months? The money doesn't come, and yet you keep gambling and creating more debts. I don't have any more time to give you. It's now or never..."

With that, another hard kick landed on his stomach, making the point clear.

"Please, no more!" my mother pleaded, clutching at the hem of the man's coat, but he shook her off like an annoyance.

"I'm not a charity," he said quietly. "Debt is debt. Promises mean nothing without real action."

My mother dropped to her knees, and I could hear her crying louder and louder. "Okay, fine! You can take anything you want. Actually, take everything! Just please, stop hurting him. I'm begging you!"

The man let out a heavy sigh. He started looking around our house. "Tell me, what do you really have here that is worth the money your foolish husband owes me?"

"Um... um..." my mother stammered, her eyes darting around, trying to think of something.

"I can help you with that answer. The truth is, you have nothing. Absolutely nothing," he said, shaking his head.

"My sewing machine! You can take my sewing machine!" she suggested, hoping to find something he would accept.

The man chuckled in a nasty way as he walked over to the sewing machine. "You mean this old thing?"

He kicked it hard, and it broke apart. The people with him laughed mockingly at us. "Listen here, Mrs..."

"Rebecca," my mother replied, her voice shaking.

"Mrs. Rebecca, I don't have more time to waste. I want my money, and I want it right now, or else..."

He reached into his jacket, and my heart sank when I saw something shiny-a gun.

A chill of fear ran through me. Oh no, no, no...

Before I could even think, my body acted on its own. I grabbed the first thing I could find-a shoe-and rushed out of the basement door.

"Leave them alone!" I yelled, waving the shoe in the air like it was a weapon, trying to protect my mom and dad.

The man turned really fast, and I almost missed it. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist tightly. I stumbled a bit, and my shoe slipped from my fingers, falling to the ground with a loud noise.

I looked up, and everything around me seemed to spin.

Those eyes. They were dark and intense and somehow familiar. In that moment, I saw recognition in his gaze, and it felt like his hard expression broke for just a second.