Collateral To A Mafia King

Chapter 2 : I Became The Price

CHAPTER 2 — I became the price

Rhee Sinclair POV

“You’ll regret this.” The words escape my lips before I can stop them, sharp and cold, carrying every ounce of my anger and defiance.

Sebastian’s smile widens in the darkness of the car.

“We’ll see,” he says. I turn slowly to the window, my eyes following the city lights as they blur past in streaks, reflecting faintly on the glass. My own reflection stares back at me—pale skin, grey eyes burning with controlled fury, blonde hair falling loosely over my shoulder, framing a face that looks calm but is anything but.

I look calm. I am not calm. I am fury wrapped in skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Two nights ago, I switched the money. It took me three months to find the right contact. Someone who could make perfect counterfeits. Someone my father would never know existed. I did it carefully. Methodically. The way my father taught me when I was fourteen. He showed me how to move money. How to hide it. How to make blood look like profit on paper. He thought he was teaching me to help him. He never imagined I’d use those same skills to destroy him.

I replaced every bill in that briefcase with fakes. Perfect ones. Ones that would pass every casual inspection but fail under Sebastian Vitale’s scrutiny. Because I wanted this. I wanted Sebastian to find the fake money. I wanted him to pull that gun. I wanted him to pull the trigger.

My father killed my mother when I was nine. I remember the night clearly. The way the room smelled of alcohol and anger. The way my mother’s voice broke when she begged. The way I hid behind the curtains, too afraid to scream. He strangled her with his hands. After, he told his men to clean it up. He didn’t even look at her body. Just stepped over it like it was an inconvenience. She never mattered to him. Neither did I. And he never paid for what he did. Tonight was supposed to be justice. Sebastian Vitale does not forgive betrayal. Everyone knows that. In our world, his name means endings—final, absolute.

My father was supposed to die tonight. And I was supposed to walk away, finally free.

Until my father did the one thing I never expected. He offered me instead, as if he could trade me like a pawn on a board.

The car glides through the dark streets, smooth and silent, carrying us toward a future I never wanted. I feel Sebastian’s eyes on me, weighing me, studying every subtle movement, every blink, every breath. I do not look at him. My hands rest folded neatly in my lap, perfectly still, but beneath the surface, my nails dig into my palms hard enough to draw blood. Pain is grounding. Rage burns like fire through my veins—not at Sebastian, but at my father, at a world where men treat women as currency, at every mafia bastard who thinks possession equals power.

I’ve hated mafia men my entire life. I’ve watched them destroy everything they touch. Watched them take, take, take, until only broken bodies and silence remain in their wake. My mother was one of those broken bodies. And now, I am supposed to belong to another? No. I will not be owned. I will not be collateral. I will not become another casualty swallowed whole by a man’s shadow.

The engine quiets. The car rolls to a stop. I do not move. I keep staring out the window into the darkness.

“Out,” Sebastian says. Not cruel. Just matter-of-fact. Like I’m cargo he’s unloading.

I hear his door open and close. His footsteps circle the car. My door swings open. Cool night air rushes in.

I finally look. And my breath catches despite myself. We’re in front of gates. Not just gates—fortress walls disguised as elegance. Iron bars twisted into decorative patterns that can’t hide their true purpose: to keep people in. Or out. Beyond them spreads wealth I’ve only seen in magazines. Manicured gardens that probably cost more to maintain than most people earn in a year. Fountains that serve no purpose except to show he can afford to waste water. Lights everywhere, bright enough to eliminate every shadow, every hiding place. And guards. So many guards. My chest tightens. This isn’t a home. It’s a cage wrapped in luxury.

I force myself to step out. My heels strike the stone loudly in the quiet night, echoing off the walls. Sebastian stands nearby, adjusting his jacket with the ease of a man who has never doubted his right to own what he wants.

“Sebastian!” A voice cuts through the night. Young. Energetic. A man strides toward us. Younger than Sebastian, dressed like he just walked out of a nightclub. Everything about him screams excess—too much cologne, too much confidence, too much smile. He slaps Sebastian’s shoulder like they’re equals.

They’re not. Even I can see the difference. Sebastian stands still, controlled, dangerous in a way that doesn’t need noise. The man’s eyes slide over me, slow and open, measuring, calculating.

I walk past them toward the entrance, my steps steady, my spine straight. Behind me, the other man goes silent. Good. Let him see I’m not some trembling girl who’ll wait for scraps of attention. Let Sebastian see it too.

At the door, a guard steps in front of me. “Miss, you can’t—”

The message is clear. Sebastian lifts his hand slightly. The guard steps aside immediately.

I push the door open and walk inside. The entrance hall is massive. Marble floors, towering columns, walls stretching higher than the eye can see. Chandeliers hang so high they make me feel small. Everything here is designed to remind you who is powerful—and who is not. I climb the stairs without asking. If I don’t know the plan anymore, I’ll make one. Learn this place. Learn Sebastian. Find weakness. Survive.

At the top of the stairs, a long hallway stretches before me. Doors on either side.

A large bed dominates the space. Heavy curtains block the outside world. Sebastian’s room.

I do not leave. If I am trapped here, I need to understand the man who trapped me. I close the door.

I unzip my dress. My hands shake, but I force them steady. If he is going to take what he believes he owns, then I will decide when. I will decide how. The dress slides to the floor. I fold it neatly and place it on a chair.

Small choices in a life where everything else has been stolen. I stand in the center of the room. Naked. Exposed. But still mine. My heart slams against my ribs. Every instinct screams to cover myself, to run, to fight. I ignore them all. I lift my chin. This is survival. This is what women in my world do. We make impossible choices—and live with them.

I did not trap my father. I walked straight into the lion’s den, knowing full well the claws were waiting, and yet every step was mine to choose.

Because as I stand there, fully exposed, a cold realization hits me. The contact I trusted to create the counterfeit bills… works for Sebastian Vitale. All along, I had handed the plan directly into the man’s hands.