AUCTIONED TO THE WRONG MAFIA

ELISABETTA My n****e was buried in his warm wet mouth as his hand is buried in between my legs i can literally hear the sound of his heartbeat and his warm breath on my chest I know I shouldn't be doing this but at the moment I can't help myself my soft hands was on his thick erected d**k fully charged and ready to devour. I can feel the wetness of the bed already I was at another state at this point or should I call it cloud 9. He was about inserting the dick.Th e weightless drift between pleasure and guilt. Then the sound came. “Lizzy! Lizzy!” My eyes flew open. The room was half-lit, curtains dancing with the early sunlight. My heart pounded, still caught between the dream and the waking world. “Lizzy, are you home?” That voice — deep, stern, unmistakable. Dad. I cursed under my breath, rubbing my temples as the remnants of my dream fled like smoke. What was wrong with me? Of all the things to dream about… of him. My pulse quickened again at the thought, and I hated myself for it. Some feelings were sins before they were even spoken. I pulled a robe over my nightdress and hurried downstairs. Father was already in the study, a glass of whiskey resting beside a half-open file. The air smelled faintly of cedar and tobacco — his scent, the scent of power. He didn’t look up when I entered. “You’re awake,” he said simply. “Yes, Papa. I thought you weren’t due back until tomorrow.” “I changed my mind.” His tone was clipped, the kind he used when something serious was about to unfold. My father, Don Roberto, ruled five territories in this city — five veins of power, all pulsing with his command. People called him a monster, but to me he was just… my father. A man who had survived betrayal, rebuilt his empire from ash, and learned never to trust love again. Even as he lifted his gaze to me, I could see that weight behind his eyes. “You know everything I do is for the family, right?” A strange chill crept through me. “Yes, Papa. But why do I feel like you’re about to make me nervous?” He exhaled slowly and reached for the whiskey. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. Then he said, “You’ll be getting married, Elisabetta.” The words fell like cold metal. “Married?” I repeated. “To whom?” “To Vinnie ‘The Bull’ LaRosa.” For a second, I thought I’d misheard. The Bull. The name alone was poison. He was a brutal man with a smile like a knife. “You can’t be serious,” I said. “I’m deadly serious.” “Papa, please— you know what kind of man he is.” He turned the glass in his hand, watching the ice melt. “Power, Lizzy. Power is always dangerous. It corrupts the best and attracts the worst. But without it, we’re nothing. This alliance will secure our future.” My throat tightened. I wanted to scream that I didn’t care about alliances or power or whatever debts he was trying to bury beneath this marriage. But his face — that calm, unreadable expression — told me it was useless. His mind was already made. “When?” I whispered. “In two weeks.” It felt like the ground had opened beneath me. Two weeks to lose myself. Two weeks before I became the property of a man I despised. I wanted to run — to call Romero, the man who loved me before all this chaos. Sweet, loyal Romero, who promised me freedom. But even as I thought of him, another image crept in: my brother. My stepbrother. The one I shouldn’t think about this way. The one whose touch had once brushed my hand too long in the hallway, whose eyes seemed to see through my soul. Every time he visited, the air in the house changed — denser, darker, charged with something unspoken. I hated that my mind reached for him now, in this moment of desperation. I hated that I’d dreamed of him at all. Father’s phone rang, saving me from my thoughts. He answered sharply, murmured a few words, and stood. “I have to take this. Be ready tonight. You’re meeting Vinnie for dinner.” And just like that, he was gone — leaving me standing in the silence of our grand, lonely house, with my pulse echoing in my ears. --- It was seven in the evening when the message arrived. Pizzeria Brandi. 8 PM. Don’t be late. A pizzeria? My laugh was bitter. Of all places to meet the devil, he chose a restaurant that smelled of melted cheese and regret. I almost didn’t go. Almost. But disobedience wasn’t an option — not when my father’s orders carried the weight of a thousand guns behind them. I arrived ten minutes early. The city outside was restless, its neon veins pulsing with life. Inside, the pizzeria was dimly lit, the low hum of jazz blending with the sound of clinking glasses. I waited. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Thirty. My patience burned away. Then headlights cut across the street — a black Bentley, gleaming beneath the amber light. He stepped out like a shadow given form. Vinnie “The Bull” LaRosa. I’d heard stories about him — how he broke men without raising his voice, how he smiled while pulling the trigger. And yet, seeing him in person was… disorienting. His presence was magnetic, dangerous, beautiful in a way that felt cruel. He didn’t apologize for being late. He didn’t even look at me at first — just walked past, sat, and gestured for me to do the same. I forced a smirk, though my heart trembled. “Were you not taught how to treat a lady?” His eyes lifted then — cold, sharp, assessing. “Are you the girl I’m supposed to marry?” he asked. “The daughter offered as payment for her father’s debts?” The words sliced through me. “How dare you—” “Relax,” he interrupted, leaning back. “I don’t care for pretty speeches. This isn’t romance, sweetheart. It’s business.” I wanted to throw my drink at him, to remind him I wasn’t some transaction carved into a contract. But before I could speak, his father approached our table. “Enough,” the elder LaRosa said. His voice carried authority, the kind that silenced rooms. “You two can sort your quarrels later. Tonight is about alliance. Elisabetta, I trust your father explained everything?” I nodded faintly. “There’s no turning back,” he continued. “Your family’s protection depends on this marriage. Refuse, and… well, let’s just say the world can be unkind to the uncooperative.” A chill ran through me. “What about Romero?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. The Bull’s gaze hardened. “He’s been taken care of.” The words landed like a blow to my chest. “What do you mean?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes told me everything. I sat frozen, breath shallow, staring at the man who would soon wear my name like a collar. Around us, the world carried on — glasses clinking, waiters laughing, life pretending not to notice the quiet destruction at our table. In that moment, I understood the cruel irony of my father’s words. Power was dangerous. It corrupted, it consumed, and it never came without sacrifice. And I — I was the price. --- That night, as I drove home, the city blurred past like ghosts. My reflection in the car window looked unfamiliar — a girl with hollow eyes and trembling lips, already haunted by the future she couldn’t escape. At the mansion, the halls were empty, but I could feel his presence — my stepbrother’s. His voice echoed faintly from upstairs, and my heart stuttered. I didn’t go to him. I couldn’t. Instead, I stood in the dark corridor, gripping the banister until my knuckles went white, fighting the memories that burned like fire beneath my skin. The dream that morning had been a lie — or maybe a warning. Either way, it had already come true. Because some dreams don’t fade when you wake. Some dreams burn. And mine was only just the beginning