sold to the mafia don

chapter four

Morning came quietly, as if the house itself was pretending nothing had happened.

I woke to the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway and the distant clink of dishes. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then the weight in my chest returned, heavy and familiar.

I was still here.

The mansion didn’t sleep like normal houses. It only paused.

Juno was already up, tying her apron with practiced speed. She glanced at me, her expression softening when she noticed my pale face.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t,” I replied.

She didn’t ask why. In this place, questions were dangerous. Instead, she handed me an apron.

“Come on. Morning duties wait for no one.”

We moved through the halls with our heads down, blending into the rhythm of the house. I watched how the older servants walked—quick, quiet, invisible. I copied them, memorizing every turn, every rule that wasn’t spoken aloud.

In the kitchen, Victor was already there, carefully arranging plates. His cheek still bore a faint mark from the night before. When our eyes met, he gave me a small nod. It wasn’t a smile, but it meant something.

I’m still here, it said.

As I worked, my thoughts drifted back to the side room. To Dmitri’s voice. His warning.

Keep your nose out of everything.

I intended to.

The dining hall filled slowly. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as the Don and his sons took their seats. I kept my eyes fixed on the tablecloth, my hands steady despite the tremor in my chest.

“Seraphina.”

The Don’s voice cut through the room.

I froze.

“Yes, sir,” I answered, stepping forward.

“You’ll be assisting upstairs today,” he said

casually, as if he were talking about the weather. “Marco will give you instructions.”

I nodded, forcing my voice to stay calm. “Understood.”

As I turned to leave, I felt it—that familiar weight. Someone watching.

I didn’t look up, but I knew. Maxim’s presence was unmistakable, heavy and unreadable, like a storm waiting to break.

The doors closed behind me as I followed Marco up the stairs.

Each step felt like crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.

Whatever yesterday had been, today felt worse.

Because now, they were paying attention.

And in this house, being noticed was the most dangerous thing of all.

Marco walked ahead of me, his presence silent but heavy. We climbed higher, past floors I hadn’t seen before, where the walls were darker and the carpets thicker, swallowing sound. This part of the house felt different—quieter, colder. As if even the walls were listening.

“You don’t speak unless spoken to,” Marco said without turning back. “You don’t touch anything that isn’t assigned to you. And you don’t wander.”

“I understand,” I replied quickly.

He stopped in front of a wide corridor lined with closed doors.

“You’ll be cleaning here today. Slowly. Properly. Any mistake reflects on you.”

On me. Always on me.

He handed me a set of cloths and cleaning supplies, then left without another word. His footsteps faded, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the hum of the mansion.

He handed me a set of cloths and cleaning supplies, then left without another word. His footsteps faded, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the hum of the mansion.

I started with the nearest door, wiping carefully, my hands steady even though my chest felt tight. Every sound made me flinch—a distant door closing, footsteps above, a low murmur of voices I couldn’t place.

As I worked, I realized something unsettling.

This floor wasn’t just private.

It was controlled.

Nothing here felt lived in. Everything was arranged perfectly, untouched, like a display. Power didn’t need comfort—it demanded order.

I paused at a window, sunlight spilling faintly through the heavy curtains. Outside, the world looked normal. Trees. Sky. Freedom. It felt cruel, seeing it so close and yet so unreachable.

I tightened my grip on the cloth.

Don’t think about it, I told myself. Thinking leads to hoping. Hoping gets you broken.

By noon, my hands were already raw.

Work in this house didn’t come in hours—it came in orders. Endless, overlapping, impossible to finish fast enough. Clean the corridor. Polish the frames. Rewash what had already been washed. Carry trays heavier than my arms could handle. Move without sound. Breathe without being noticed.

I learned quickly that rest was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

I was dusting a display shelf in one of the private rooms when it happened.

My elbow brushed the edge of a crystal ornament. It tipped. For half a second, I reached for it—hopeful, desperate.

Too late.

It shattered against the floor.

The sound was small. Sharp. Final.

Silence followed.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Marco appeared almost immediately, as if the house itself had summoned him.

His eyes moved from the broken pieces to my face, unreadable.

“I—I can clean it,” I said quickly, kneeling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t mean anything here,” he interrupted calmly.

He didn’t shout. That was worse.

“You’ll be punished.”

The word echoed in my head all afternoon.

Punishment wasn’t pain—not like I’d feared. It was exhaustion.

I scrubbed floors long after they were already clean. I was made to redo tasks over and over until my arms trembled. Dinner passed without me eating. Water came only when someone remembered.

By evening, my body felt hollow.

At one point, Dmitri passed through the hallway. He paused when he saw me kneeling, cloth in hand, sweat on my temples.

“That’s enough,” he said lightly, glancing at Marco. “You’ll break her before she learns.”

Marco hesitated, then nodded once.

As Dmitri walked past me, he lowered his voice.

“You’re not invisible,” he said. “Just… misplaced.”

Then, almost casually, he added, “And before you misunderstand—don’t look at me like a savior. I don’t like girls. Or trouble. Or this house any more than you do.”

It surprised me—not because of what he said, but because of how plainly he said it. No threat. No edge.

Just truth.

By the time night fell, I could barely stand.

I returned to the room Juno and I shared and collapsed onto the bed. My muscles screamed. My stomach burned with hunger. Juno whispered my name, concern in her eyes, but I shook my head.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

She knew better. But she didn’t push.

When the lights went out and her breathing evened, I stared at the ceiling, every inch of my body aching.

This wasn’t living.

This was waiting to disappear.

And I wouldn’t.

I sat up slowly, careful not to wake her, and looked at the door. The hallway beyond it. The stairs. The world outside these walls.

I didn’t know the guards’ schedules. I didn’t know the exits. I didn’t know how far I’d get.

But I knew one thing with certainty.

If I stayed, I would break.

I pressed my fingers into the thin mattress, grounding myself.

Tomorrow, I decided silently.

I start watching.

Learning.

Planning.

Because mistakes here had costs.

And escape—no matter how impossible—was the only thing that felt like hope.