Fake Destiny

Chapter 2: The Wicked Young Master

THE YOUNG MASTER POV

I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight, as I observe the city skyline through the expansive glass window of my office. The night is calm, serene even, but beneath it all, there’s a storm brewing in the underworld I control. The mafia world. My world.

The five powerful mafia organizations that run this city, that control its dark heart, are all under my command. I am the one who holds the strings, the one who orchestrates the chaos that keeps the city in line. And it’s not just this city. No. I control territories, businesses, criminal enterprises that stretch far beyond this concrete jungle. The DeLuca name means power, it means fear, it means respect.

I wasn’t born into this position. I took it. I earned it with blood and violence. My father might have been a Don, but I am the one who runs the show. I am the one who makes the calls, who does whatever is necessary to keep our empire thriving.

The mafia world is not a place for softness. It's a place of ruthlessness, manipulation, and dominance. It's a world where power is the only thing that matters, and I have it in spades. People fear me. They fear the DeLuca name. They fear me because I am the one who brings retribution, who holds people's lives in the palm of my hand. And that fear? That power? It feels f*****g good. It feels like it should.

But there’s something else that has been gnawing at me lately. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

It’s her.

That slave, I call dummy. The one I keep locked in my private chambers, the one who dances for me, strips for me, does everything I demand of her. But there’s something... different about her. I don’t know her name, I never bothered to ask. She’s just another toy, another piece in my collection of women, the ones I use to satisfy my desires. She’s no different than the others.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

I buy young girls. It’s part of the deal. It’s how it works in this world. Young, beautiful women who are either willing to sell themselves for a better life or are forced into it by the debts of their families. They come to me for protection, for a place to stay, and in return, they work for me. They run my dirty errands, deliver messages, engage in illegal dealings, and, when the mood strikes me, they satisfy my darker needs.

I’m not proud of it, but it’s the way the game is played. Women like her, they are disposable. They are nothing more than bodies to use, to bend to my will. I can have any woman I want, whenever I want.

But her? She’s different.

I can't figure it out, but something about her gets under my skin. I don't even know her name, but I don't want anyone else touching her. I don't want anyone else near her.

When she dances for me, stripped of everything, I feel an unfamiliar heat in my chest, an unsettling possessiveness. The more I watch her, the more I feel like I can't let her go. I don't care if she's just a slave, just another one of my many women. I want her for myself, and I don’t know why.

It’s not love. I don’t believe in love. I’ve never had the time to believe in it. Love is weakness. Love is an illusion that weak men cling to, and I’m not weak. I’ve never been weak.

I’ve seen men in my world fall for the wrong women, let their guard down, let their emotions take over. And where did it get them? Dead. Betrayed. Left in pieces.

No. I don’t do love. I don’t need love. I only need control. Power and now obsession is getting involved.

And that’s exactly what she is. She’s an obsession. I don't care about her mind, her past, or her soul. I don’t even care that she hates me. Hell, she should hate me. I hate her, too. She’s nothing but a body to me. An object. She is here to serve my needs, to bend to my will and my whims, just like the others.

But there’s something about her that f***s with me.

She resists me, and it infuriates me. Most of the girls I bring in fall into line quickly, knowing their place. They know what’s expected of them. But dummy? She doesn’t care. She pushes back. She cries, she begs, but still, she never fully submits. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to be here, as if she has some sort of pride left inside her, some shred of dignity.

I watch her sometimes, her soft brown eyes filled with fear and defiance, and I want to break her. I want to see her kneel, to do exactly as I say, without hesitation. But there’s something in the way she looks at me, something that makes me want to protect her.

I hate it.

I don’t know why I care, but I do.

I don’t want to share her with anyone. Not with other men. Not with anyone, ever. I don’t want to see her touch anyone else. I want her body, her soul, all to myself. And yet… I can’t make her obey. I can’t make her submit.

She’s my slave, and I should be able to control her with a snap of my fingers. But instead, she stands there, in front of me, trembling, looking like she could break at any second, yet never giving in completely.

It frustrates me.

I’m not used to this. I’m used to power, to domination. I’m used to bending people to my will with ease. But not her. Not dummy.

She doesn’t even have the decency to acknowledge her place. She’s stubborn, and it pisses me off.

She doesn’t care that I’m the Young Master, the ruler of this city. She doesn’t care that I could destroy her in an instant. She doesn’t care about anything but her own pride.

And that’s what makes her so… interesting.

She’s a puzzle, and I can’t stop trying to solve her. I keep telling myself that it’s just the challenge that draws me in. It’s just the fact that she’s resistant, that she doesn’t fall to her knees when I tell her to. I don’t want her for love. I don’t want her for anything other than her body.

But I can’t get her out of my mind.

I want her to beg for me, to cry for me. I want her to say my name like it’s the only thing that matters. But she doesn’t. She won’t.

And that makes her even more infuriatingly irresistible.

I don’t want her to go.

I don’t want anyone else to touch her.

She’s mine.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.