The mafia kings surrogate

## DARK CONTENT AHEAD ##

This isn’t your sweet fairytale.

It contains twisted love, raw lust, broken minds, graphic sexual content, explicit language,brutal men, and dangerous obsession.

If you're sensitive to violence, non-consent, trauma, or dark psychological themes — proceed with caution.

You’ve been warned.

Katarina POV

In the Club

The moment I stepped into that club, I knew something was wrong. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and sin.

My skin prickled. My throat closed. I could barely breathe. The music didn’t just pound—it thundered in my chest like a warning. Too loud. Too hot. Too many hands brushing too close.

"Kat, you good?" Selena’s voice cut through the bass, barely. She was all glitter and giggles, lost in the party haze. I wasn’t.

“Yeah. Just need some air,” I lied. Every eye on my body felt like a hand, and my skin couldn’t take another second of it.

Selena caught the look on my face and nodded. “Take five. I’ll be fine.”

I didn’t look back.

I slipped through the rear exit and into the hallway, where the music turned to muffled thumps. Cool air kissed my neck. I exhaled—finally.

I pushed open a random door at the end of the hallway. I didn’t ask where it led. I just wanted quiet.

It clicked shut behind me.

Then I heard the voice.

“You’re late.”

The voice cracked like a whip.

A man stood at the far end—dark hair, sharper jaw, sharper eyes. And the way he looked at me? Like I’d just signed my own death warrant.

“I—I…”

The words died on my tongue. My heart kicked against my ribs.

He was already moving.

“You don’t keep the Don waiting.”

The slap came before I could blink. Heat exploded across my cheek, and the room spun sideways.

I stumbled back, the sting on my cheek blooming like fire.

“What…?”

His voice dropped like ice water.

“You’re late. And the Don hates waiting.”

What was this? Why was he looking at me like I belonged here?

The door was behind me—but the room felt like a trap. My mind scrambled for exits.

There were none.

Behind him, a row of girls sat like statues.

Lips painted, legs crossed, barely covered in skin-tight fabric.

They didn’t speak.

They just watched—like vultures sizing up the next carcass.

He stepped closer. That’s when I saw the gun in his belt.

My breath caught mid-throat.

This wasn’t just a mistake. This was danger.

“Don’t play innocent,” he growled. “Come. Show the Don you know how to behave.”

Panic surged.

This wasn’t confusion anymore—it was a nightmare.. I was in the wrong place. II needed to run.

But my legs refused when he gestured to the chair where he sat.

The Don.

He didn’t need to move.

He just sat there, watching.

Chilling green eyes. Slicked-back hair. A face carved from power.

Two bodyguards flanked him—guns visible.

He wasn’t a man.

He was danger

He watched me with those predator eyes—green, gleaming, unreadable.

No words at first. Just silence.

Then, he spoke.

“Kneel.”

One word. Smooth. Dangerous. Like oil over a blade.

My knees buckled. I dropped. Not from obedience—fear did that for me.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. Eyes still on me like I was a thing to be unwrapped.

“Pretty face,” he murmured. “Even better body.”

A pause. A smirk.

“You’ll do.”