The Mafia Lord I Owe You My Love

Lydia's POV “Who are you?” I asked, my voice shaking as panic rushed through me. I tried to lift my hands, but I couldn’t. They were tied with chains to the bed frame. The cold metal was biting into my wrists. It hurt—bad—but I could hardly feel it. My eyes were glued to the man walking closer to me. He was big, really big. His face looked blurry, like I couldn’t see it clearly, but I could tell he had that hungry look in his eyes. He stopped at the foot of the bed, and his eyes slowly moved over my naked body. I wanted to cover myself, but I couldn’t move. Then I heard the sound of a zipper, loud and sharp in the quiet room. He pulled his pants down. His thing was out—huge, hard, and just hanging there. I froze, horrified. “Who are you?” I asked again, my voice barely a whisper. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it might break my ribs. I pulled at the chains, desperate to get away. But they didn’t budge. “What are you trying to do to me?” I cried out, panic rising in my chest. He didn’t say a word. He just gave me a slow, twisted smile that sent shivers down my back. And then— I jolted awake. I gasped, sucking in air as I sat up. My legs were being yanked, and I saw my dad’s hand gripping my ankle. “Wake up!” he snapped. I looked around, heart still pounding. I was in my room—my real room. My posters were on the walls. My favorite band, a few paintings I made… everything was normal. It was just a dream. Thank God. But I was sweating all over. My skin was damp, and my nightshirt clung to me. My heart hadn’t calmed down yet. That dream—it felt so real. The man’s blurry face, the cold smile… it was stuck in my head. Then I looked beside my bed and saw him. My dad. He was sitting there, watching me. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the red tip glowing. “You were making a hell of a lot of noise, Lydia,” he muttered, blowing smoke. I stared at him, angry. He’s always smoking. Always. He didn’t care about me or Mom when she was alive. Only after she died did he suddenly decide to act like a father. I never believed it. I still don’t. But what could I do? I tried to forget the dream, but the images kept flashing in my mind. That man… his eyes… his smile. I felt sick. I glanced at my dad’s hand. It was shaking. He looked off tonight, nervous and sweaty. Something wasn’t right. What did he do now? Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door. I jumped. My dad looked at me, eyes wide. I saw fear in them. Real fear. “Who… who’s there?” he called out, his voice cracking. “Pedro Gallardo is at the door, you jerk!” a rough voice shouted back. Before my dad could move, boom! The door smashed open, crashing into the wall. Three men walked in. The one in front was huge and scary. He wore a dark suit, and his face looked like it never smiled. “Marcus Woods,” he said, staring straight at my dad. “You owe Pedro Gallardo a lot of money, don’t you?” My dad turned pale. He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, his hands shaking bad. “I… I know,” he stuttered. “I’m working on it. I told Mr. Pedro yesterday. At his club…” The man laughed, a dry, mean laugh. “You’ve been saying that for months. Gallardo’s patience is gone.” He stepped further into the room, and his eyes landed on me. I pulled the sheet up to my chin, trying to hide myself. “Looks like you have a pretty daughter,” he said with a smirk that made my stomach turn. My dad stood up fast and got between us. “Leave her out of this,” he said, voice shaking but serious. “This is between me and Pedro. Don’t drag my daughter into it.” The man just smiled coldly. “Everything is Mr. Gallardo’s business, Woods. Everything.” He waved his hand at the two men behind him. “We’re here to collect what you owe.” “I told you, I’m working on it!” my dad cried, his voice louder, more desperate. “Just a little more time. Please.” The man’s face turned stone-cold. “Time’s up, Woods.” Then he turned to the other two and said the words that made my blood run cold. “Take her.”