sold to the mafia don

Seraphina pov “I screamed and screamed but to no avail… My parents had sold me to the mafia sons. They were owing a huge amount of money, and the only solution, according to them, was selling me out. How cruel. I couldn’t believe it, but a part of me expected it. My parents had always struggled, always arguing about debts and threats. But never, not in my worst nightmares, did I imagine they would trade me like an object. As they dragged me toward the black tinted car waiting outside, I saw the guilt written on my mother’s face. She wouldn’t look at me, her hands shaking violently. My father’s expression was cold, hardened—like someone who had already buried his emotions. “Please, don’t do this! I’m your daughter!” I cried, voice breaking. No answer. Just silence. The kind that cuts deeper than any scream. The men in black suits shoved me into the back seat. The door slammed shut, locking out the last glimpse of the house I grew up in. Through the glass, I watched my parents step backward, heads lowered. Not a single attempt to save me. Inside the car, my breath trembled. My hands shook uncontrollably. One of the men spoke without turning his head. “Save your energy. You belong to the Don’s sons now.” My body froze. The Don? His sons? I stared at the dark road ahead, every mile taking me farther away from everything I knew. This was the beginning of a life I never asked for. A life I had to survive. At any cost. --- The engine hummed, low and threatening, as the car sped through the night. The city lights blurred past the window like streaks of fading hope. I pressed my back against the leather seat, trying to steady my breath, but everything felt unreal, like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. The man in the front seat adjusted the mirror and stared directly at me. “Rule number one,” he said. “Never raise your voice at the Don. Rule number two—don’t try to escape. We always find those who run.” My throat tightened. I swallowed hard, trying to hide the fear burning in my chest. “Why me?” I whispered. He didn’t blink. “Because your parents are cowards.” Silence. I stared down at my shaking hands, fury and heartbreak twisting inside me. Cowards. The word stung, because part of me knew it was true. My parents gave up instead of fighting. Instead of protecting me. The driver spoke for the first time. “Stop thinking they’ll come back. They won’t.” I turned my head to the window, refusing to let tears fall. I wouldn’t break. Not here. Not in front of them. Minutes later, the car slowed as a massive iron gate came into view, guarded by tall men carrying weapons. The gate opened automatically, revealing a long driveway lined with glowing lights and marble statues. It wasn’t a house. It was a fortress. The mansion rose high above the ground, huge and intimidating, its dark windows staring like empty eyes. Everything about it screamed power and danger. The door opened and a man stepped forward—tall, dressed in black, eyes sharp enough to cut through steel. Marco, I recognized him from the capture. “Welcome,” he said without a smile. “This will be your new home. Try not to die in it.” My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to stand straight. If they expected me to collapse, they would be disappointed. Marco gestured toward the entrance. “Follow me. The Don is waiting.” The words dropped like ice into my stomach. The Don. The man who owned my freedom now. The hallway swallowed us as the door shut behind me with a heavy echo. Chandeliers sparkled above my head, reflecting on polished floors so clean I could see my shaking reflection. At the end of the corridor, two figures waited. Two boys about my age—yet nothing about them felt young. One stood tall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The other leaned casually against the railing, watching me with sharp interest. Marco announced, “She’s the one.” The taller boy stepped forward, eyes cold as stone. “Rule number one,” he said. “You don’t speak unless spoken to.” And with that, he turned his back and walked away. The other boy smirked slightly. “Welcome to hell.” My heart pounded, but I lifted my chin. I refused to be afraid. Not anymore. This was the beginning of a war. And I wasn’t planning to lose. Marco walked beside me, his steps controlled and silent, like someone used to hiding noise. I kept my eyes on the floor, my wrists still sore from the ropes that had been there earlier. I already knew what had happened — I had been sold. Again. The thought was a heavy stone lodged in my chest, but I held myself still. No tears. Not here. We walked down a long hallway, the walls dark and polished, lit by low golden lights that made everything feel colder instead of warm. Men stood along the path, armed, watching, but none of them spoke. Only the sound of our footsteps echoed through the quiet corridor. Marco stopped in front of a large black door carved with the symbol of the mafia—two crossed wolves. He knocked twice, firm and steady, then pushed the door open. Inside, the room was dimly lit, smoke coiling in the air. The scent of expensive perfume and something darker lingered. And then I heard it—soft, breathy moans, coming from deeper inside the room. My body tensed on instinct, fingers curling against my dress as I froze at the doorway. Marco didn’t react. His expression stayed unreadable as he stepped aside and spoke quietly: “Wait here. The Don will see you when he’s ready.” I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my throat. I didn’t dare look up fully, only enough to see a shadowed figure sitting in a large armchair near the window, watching…waiting…not speaking yet. I stood still, trying to breathe, trying not to let the fear show. This was my life now — whether I wanted it or not. --- The room fell silent all at once, like someone pressed a mute button. The soft moans stopped. A faint rustle of fabric followed, and then quiet footsteps. I kept my eyes lowered, staring at the patterned rug beneath my feet. Every instinct in me screamed to disappear, to shrink small enough that no one could see me. But I stood still, hands clasped tightly in front of me. A deep voice finally broke the silence — smooth, dangerous, and calm in a way that made my spine stiffen. “Marco.” “Sir,” Marco replied. “Leave us.” Marco nodded once and stepped out, closing the door behind him. The soft click of the lock made the room feel smaller. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. I could feel the Don watching me, his gaze heavy enough that I felt it even without looking up. Finally, he spoke again, each word slow and deliberate: “Raise your head.” My breath caught, but I did as told, lifting my eyes just enough to see him. He stood a few feet away now, fixing the cuffs of his black shirt, expression unreadable. Strong jaw, dark eyes—eyes that looked like they saw everything and missed nothing. He studied me, not with surprise, but with a cold curiosity, like examining something he already owned. “Seraphina,” he said, tasting the name like it was something new. “They told me you were difficult to break.” My heart jumped, but I said nothing. Silence felt safer. A faint smirk curved at the corner of his mouth, something dangerous behind it. “We’ll see.” He turned away and poured a drink into a glass, the ice clinking softly. “You belong here now. Don’t make me repeat myself.” I swallowed, keeping my voice steady even though my hands trembled. “Yes, sir.” The Don lifted the glass slightly, as if testing my obedience. “Good.” she looked at him as he took a sip of the whiskey. He looked ahead and she swore she saw his red eyes glint under the moonlight "Leave". She didn't dare to argue.