Owned by Mr Mafia

Chapter Three: First Morning in The Mansion

Isabella woke with a start, heart racing, the sheets twisted around her legs. For a moment, she lay still, swallowing hard, blaming herself for letting exhaustion claim her. She had fallen asleep in a mansion ruled by a man who could control life and death, surrounded by shadows and silence. How could she be so careless?

Her eyes flicked to the bedroom door. It was closed. Relief surged through her in a fragile wave. The door wasn’t open. For now, she was alone.

She forced herself upright, every muscle stiff from the night before. Her feet barely made a sound against the polished floor as she crept toward the window, hoping for even a small distraction from her racing thoughts.

Then came a voice that made her freeze mid-step.

“Good morning, princess,” Master Morreti’s deep, controlled voice echoed through the room.

Isabella’s stomach lurched. Her heart jumped violently, and she instinctively pressed herself against the corner of the room. She dared not breathe too loudly, afraid he would appear and claim her attention immediately.

He stepped into the room, his dark eyes sweeping over her. His expression was calm, unreadable, but there was a subtle smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth. His presence alone filled the space like a shadow, suffocating and inescapable.

“You should take a bath,” he said softly, almost teasingly. “Being stuck in that one outfit doesn’t suit a Moretti queen.”

Isabella didn’t reply. She hugged herself tighter, body trembling. Words would only draw him closer.

“And I’ll take you shopping this afternoon,” he continued, voice even, controlled. “Get dressed and come down for breakfast. Someone will be here any minute.”

She wanted to protest, to say something, anything, but no sound came out. He stepped closer, and her body recoiled instinctively. His gaze locked on hers, dark and measured, and he leaned slightly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Running from me won’t help, princess,” he murmured. “Sooner or later, you will need me.”

A shiver ran down her spine as he straightened and left the room. The air seemed heavier once he was gone.

Isabella exhaled shakily, trying to calm her pounding heart. She had been holding her breath without realizing it. Just as she was about to sink onto the bed, a knock came at the door.

A young maid stepped inside, carrying a bundle of neatly folded clothes and fresh towels.

“Ma’am, I’ve brought your things,” the girl said softly, bowing respectfully. “I hope I haven’t startled you.”

Isabella managed a small smile. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

The maid placed the items on the bed, gave a small nod, and quietly left. Alone, Isabella looked at the clothes laid out before her. She chose a long, light summer gown modest, flowing, enough to cover her body entirely. For the first time, she allowed herself a deep, trembling breath.

She stepped into the bathroom and let the warm water wash away the exhaustion, fear, and tension from the night before. Steam filled the room, wrapping her in a cocoon that made her feel almost safe. She scrubbed herself clean, each splash of water against her skin both comforting and terrifying a reminder that she was still alive, but trapped in this new, frightening world.

When she stepped out, she dressed carefully, smoothing the gown down over her legs and shoulders. She paused in front of the mirror. Pale, wide-eyed, and trembling, that was the girl staring back at her. Yet, there was still something in her gaze: determination. She might be trapped, but she was not broken.

Just as she fastened the final clasp, a knock echoed at the door.

“Ma’am, Master is waiting for breakfast,” the maid called politely.

Isabella’s stomach lurched. She had forgotten about food in the whirlwind of fear and exhaustion. Hunger clawed at her relentlessly. She swallowed hard and nodded, following the maid down the hallway.

The dining room was vast and dimly lit, yet orderly. At the head of the long table sat Master Morreti, dark suit immaculate, posture rigid and commanding. The moment their eyes met, Isabella felt small, fragile, exposed. Her hands folded tightly in her lap, and she lowered her gaze, ashamed of her trembling hands.

She approached cautiously, and the maid guided her to the chair across from him. Each step felt like a test, each heartbeat echoing painfully in her chest. She sat, still avoiding his gaze, trying not to make a sound.

They ate in silence. She nibbled at the food, her appetite weak, fear keeping her hands tight around the fork. Master Morreti sipped his coffee methodically, eyes occasionally flicking to her, measuring her, assessing her, holding control over her with nothing more than a glance.

Breakfast passed slowly, painfully. No words, no reassurances, only the quiet weight of his presence. Isabella felt the mansion’s walls pressing closer, suffocating her in the oppressive silence.

When the meal ended, Master Morreti set down his cup. His eyes lingered on her, dark, unreadable, like he could see into every thought she tried to hide.

“After breakfast, we go shopping. Afternoon,” he said, voice calm, precise.

He rose, straightening his jacket, and added, “I have business to attend to. You’ll wait here.”

And with that, he left. The silence settled like a heavy blanket, almost tangible. Isabella exhaled slowly, her legs weak beneath her, chest tight with a mix of fear and exhaustion. The mansion seemed alive around her, every shadow stretching longer, every hallway a whispering threat.

She wandered back toward her bedroom, touching the furniture, the walls, trying to convince herself she still existed, still mattered, still had control over even a small piece of her life.

Her thoughts drifted again to Diego warm, soft, a life that had been promised to her, now cruelly stolen. Could he even begin to understand what had happened? Could he try to save her, or had her father’s betrayal doomed them both to lives of regret and loss?

Hours passed slowly. She pressed herself to the window, staring out at the dark stone walls and massive iron gates. Even with the morning light spilling across the courtyard, the mansion felt cold, indifferent, and impenetrable.

Alone, Isabella realized her only weapon was patience. Observation. Survival. Every sound, every shadow, every creak in the floorboards could be a clue, a warning, or a test.

She sat by the window for what felt like hours, body curled into herself, lost in thought. Her mind replayed every moment of yesterday the wedding, the priest, the gunmen, the cruel smiles of her stepmother and stepsister. She relived the sensation of being dragged across the mansion halls, the suffocating presence of Master Morreti, his dark eyes marking her like property.

And yet… despite the fear, a small spark of determination grew. She would endure. She would watch. She would learn the rules of this world, and when the time came, she would reclaim even a sliver of herself.