Owned By The Mafia King

The room smelled of money and danger. Gold chandeliers hung above the crowded hall, their light reflecting off glasses of expensive wine. Men in black suits sat in leather chairs, whispering about women as if they were talking about cars or jewelry.

I didn't belong here.

I sat in the corner, my wrists tied together with a thin silver chain. My heart raced as I looked at the stage where a man with a scarred face was shouting numbers. Girls were being sold to the highest bidder.

I was next.

"Name?" the scarred man barked at me, yanking me toward the stage.

"Isabella Romano," I whispered, my voice shaking.

Laughter filled the hall.

"Romano? Oh, that's rich," one man said. "Isn't that the family who owes half the mafia their lives?"

I bit my lip hard, holding back tears. This was my father's fault. He lost everything in a bad deal with the wrong people, and now they were using me to pay his debt.

The scarred man grabbed my chin, forcing me to face the crowd. "Twenty years old. Untouched. Daughter of a man who couldn't pay his debts. Starting bid-one million."

The crowd came alive.

"One million."

"One-point-five."

"Two million!"

The numbers rose fast, and my chest tightened with panic.

Then, a deep voice cut through the chaos.

"Ten million."

The room went silent.

I turned my head, and that's when I saw him.

He sat in the back row, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit. His hair was dark, his jaw sharp, and his eyes-God, his eyes-were cold and dangerous. He didn't look like the other men. He looked like he owned them.

The scarred man stammered. "Ten million? A-Are you serious, Mr. Moretti?"

Moretti.

I had heard that name before. Dante Moretti. The ruthless billionaire who ran half of New York's underground. People whispered his name like it was a curse.

"Yes," Dante said calmly, not even looking at anyone else. "And no one will outbid me."

No one dared.

The scarred man grinned nervously. "Sold! To Mr. Moretti."

My knees weakened as the chain was removed. Two men in black suits pushed me toward him.

I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. But something about the way he looked at me froze me in place.

I stood in front of him, my head down, my heart pounding so loud I thought he could hear it.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice deep and commanding.

I looked up, meeting his dark eyes.

"Do you know who I am?"

I nodded, my lips trembling. "Dante Moretti."

"Good. Then you know what happens when you try to run from me."

I swallowed hard, saying nothing.

He leaned closer, his scent a mix of expensive cologne and danger. "You're mine now, Isabella. From this moment on, you belong to me."

My stomach twisted. "I'm not a thing you can buy-"

Before I could finish, he grabbed my chin, his touch firm but not painful.

"Don't test me, little dove," he murmured. "I paid ten million to keep you alive. You should thank me."

"Alive?" I whispered.

His lips curled into a cold smile. "The man you owed was going to sell you to the Russians. Trust me, they don't treat women well."

I froze. My anger faded, replaced by fear.

Dante stood, towering over me. "Follow me."

He led me outside to a sleek black car waiting by the curb. His driver opened the door, and Dante motioned for me to get in.

I hesitated.