Owned by Mr Mafia

Chapter Six: Betrayal And Control

Morning light streamed into the mansion, bright and relentless, casting long golden rays across the marble floors. Isabella stirred under the covers, her body still tense from the nightmares that haunted her sleep. The events of the previous night, the knife, the trembling pleas, Luca’s cold presence lingered in her mind, refusing to loosen their grip. Her heart still raced, and her hands shook as she swung her legs over the bed.

Today, she had decided she would see Diego. She couldn’t bear another day without knowing how he felt, without trying to explain what had happened or at least to see his face, even if it brought pain.

Quietly, she moved through her room, taking a bath in the warm morning water, letting it wash away some of the lingering tension, though her mind was far from clean. She dressed in something simple but elegant: a soft pastel dress, knee-length, flowing lightly over her frame. The dress had delicate embroidery at the hem and a gentle ribbon at the waist. Her hair she let fall in loose waves over her shoulders, unstyled but neat, giving her an innocent, fragile appearance.

As she descended the stairs, the scent of freshly polished floors and faint traces of Luca’s cologne filled her senses. And there he was sitting in the living room, eyes fixed somewhere far away, as if the world existed only in his mind. The sight made her heart tremble. She hesitated, taking a small step forward, then another, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I… I want to… see my father,” she stammered, words catching in her throat.

Luca’s eyes lifted slowly, locking onto hers. The intensity in his gaze made her knees weak, but she forced herself to stand taller. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and commanding:

“Go. You have one hour. If I don’t see you in one hour, my men will comb the city for you.”

She swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “O-okay,” she murmured, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. She turned to leave, but a hand stopped her mid-step.

“Take a driver,” Luca said simply.

“I… I can—” she began, but before she could protest, one of his drivers appeared, waiting silently. She had no choice but to accept, realizing resistance was futile.

During the drive, her mind spiraled. What would Diego say when he saw her? Would he hate her? Did he even want to see her after what had happened? She clutched the edge of the seat, trying to steady her breathing, as the city blurred past the window.

The car stopped in front of a modest home, Diego's residence. Isabella’s hand hovered over the doorbell, hesitant, heart pounding. She raised her hand and knocked softly. The door opened slightly,pushing past her nerves, she stepped inside. The house looked ordinary, safe, but as she moved through the rooms, scattered clothes and strange moans filled the air. Her stomach churned in confusion and dread.

She followed the sound and, to her horror, saw Diego, the man she loved, having s*x on the bed with her stepsister. Her legs buckled, and she stumbled backward, tears blinding her vision. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She turned and fled, ignoring the driver’s calls, her body shaking as she ran through the streets, unsure of where she was going, only driven by the raw pain in her chest.

By evening, the mansion was quiet again, but Luca’s expression was dark, his jaw tight. He had waited, and when Isabella had not returned within the hour, he instructed his men to comb the city.

Hours passed. They searched alleyways, abandoned buildings, and empty streets, but there was no trace of her. Just as the men were about to give up, a call came in. She had been spotted at a deserted train station, her dress torn, eyes puffy from crying, her body shivering.

Luca’s car moved like a shadow through the night, and when he arrived, he didn’t speak. He bent down, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. She shivered violently, her tears staining his chest. His hands were steady, strong, unyielding. The driver opened the car door, and Luca carried her inside without a word.

She leaned into him, almost instinctively, placing her head on his chest. He allowed it but did not embrace her. His presence was firm and cold, yet there was a strange safety in it, a contradiction that made her heart pound faster.

By the time they arrived back at the mansion, Luca finally spoke. “Water,” he said simply, gesturing toward a maid. She brought him a cup, and he instructed her quietly to add a few pills. Isabella had no idea. The water was handed to her; she drank obediently, her trembling fingers brushing the rim of the glass.

Within minutes, her body sagged into sleep, her exhaustion overwhelming her. Luca watched for a moment, his face darkening inexplicably. He gently tucked her into bed, pulling the covers around her fragile form.

Then he left, cold and unfeeling on the outside, but his mind racing with questions. He summoned Cole, one of his trusted men. “What happened?” he asked, his voice low and controlled.

“And bring the driver here,” he added, his jaw tight, eyes narrowing.

Alone in the bed, Isabella slept, unaware of the careful, calculating gaze that followed her from the doorway.