Sold to the Devil's Son

Chapter 2–The Text Message

Viktor

The woman knelt on the cold floor, trembling.

Stealing from me was a mistake—one people often made because they believed power made them untouchable. I had already dealt with her business earlier that evening. Extracted the truth. Made an example. By the time it was over, boredom settled in my bones.

After I was done with all I had to do for today, I decided I deserved pleasure.

I picked up my phone and dialed Tristiano, my security head and one of the few men whose loyalty I never questioned.

“Get me someone tonight,” I said calmly. “You know my taste.”

“Yes, boss,” he replied without hesitation.

I ended the call and poured myself a drink. Women were never the problem. There were always too many—too eager, too loud, too fake. Most of them thought my name alone should excite me, but it didn’t.

I was picky, not because I lacked options, but because very few women actually aroused me.

They called me the Devil’s Son.

Never to my face, of course. But whispers traveled fast in my world, and I heard things people assumed I wouldn’t. The name didn’t offend me. Devils didn’t seek approval.

I am Viktor Lopez. The boss of the Italian Mafia.

My father died years ago, and when he did, the empire didn’t weaken—it hardened. I was trained from childhood to survive brutality, taught that mercy was a liability and fear was a tool. Other mafia families learned quickly not to test my patience.

My phone rang again.

“Boss,” Tristiano said carefully, “there’s a problem.”

I frowned. “Talk.”

“None of the women you usually prefer are available tonight. A few are out of the city, the rest are unreachable.”

That was rare.

Before I could respond, he added, “But someone has already arrived. She claimed she was sent on my orders.”

That caught my attention.

“You didn’t send her?"

“No,” he replied. “Which means someone is playing a dangerous game.”

I smiled faintly.

“Let her in,” I said and ended the call.

Moments later, a guard announced the woman’s presence downstairs. The second she stepped into the room, I knew something was wrong.

She moved too quickly, touched too freely, and smiled too hard. She climbed onto my lap without waiting for me to make advances, pressing herself against me as though desperation could pass for seduction.

She is an amateur.

I let her continue long enough to see what she really wanted, playing along.

Her fingers strayed toward my desk, towards my file.

I caught her wrist instantly. Her eyes widened in panic.

So she had been sent—by one of the many men who wanted my position.

I didn’t shout, or threaten her. I simply looked at her.

“You wanted something,” I said quietly. “I’ll give it to you.”

The woman knelt on the cold floor, trembling.

Stealing from me was a mistake—one people often made. I had already extracted the truth from her.

Then, I drove her far from the city, to a place where screams dissolved into silence. I want to make sure she understood the price of daring me, the cost of underestimating me.

I was going to give her the s*x she wanted in the most painful way. Pain is an effective teacher.

That was when I heard the sound of a metal hitting the ground. I stopped abruptly.

“Who’s there?” I demanded.

Silence ensued, then a soft gasp. My gaze snapped to the shadows.

A girl stood there, frozen, her eyes wide with fear. Moonlight brushed her face for a second—soft features, pale skin, terror written clearly across her expression.

Then she ran. A low chuckle escaped me.

I don’t forget faces.

Anna

I ran. I didn’t stop running until my chest burned, and my house came into view. I had no idea if he was chasing me or if I was already safe, but fear kept pushing my legs forward.

When I reached the front gate, I bent slightly, struggling to catch my breath. My hands were shaking. I forced myself to calm down. If Mama saw me like this, she wouldn’t sleep all night.

I straightened, wiped my face, and pasted a smile on my lips before opening the door.

The moment it clicked shut behind me, my mother stood up from the couch.

“What took you so long, Anna?” she asked.

“Work,” I replied quickly, stepping forward to hug her. “It’s the weekend. The shop was unusually crowded.”

She studied my face carefully.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Mama,” I said, forcing confidence. “I’m fine.”

She nodded slowly, though worry still lingered in her eyes.

Later that night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Sleep refused to come.

My mind replayed everything—the man’s voice, his eyes, the cruelty in his presence. Had he followed me? Did he see where I lived?

I checked the windows twice before finally lying back down. When my phone buzzed, I jolted awake.

Unknown number.

My heart skipped as I opened the message.

"I want to see you. I’m your father."

I read it again, and again.

The words didn’t change. My father?

Fear crept through me slowly, settling deep in my chest.