Tied to my mafia prince

Three

Damian stood by the tall glass window of his office, the skyline of the city glittering beneath him like scattered diamonds. Down below, people hurried through the streets, tiny figures swallowed by the rhythm of life, unaware of the man watching from above—the man who owned half of what they worked for. His reflection stared back at him from the glass: calm, polished, and unreadable. A king in a steel fortress.

A small smile played at the corner of his lips. He had built this empire brick by brick, clawing his way to the top of both the legal and illegal worlds. His telecommunications corporation was a global phenomenon, clean on paper, thriving in the light. But beneath that glossy surface pulsed the real empire, the family’s true business, the one that ran on blood, loyalty, and silence.

He should have been signing documents, approving deals, or tearing apart someone’s proposal. That was what he did best. That was who he was: the don, the boss, the heart of an empire that thrived on his control. Yet, as he stood there, the city fading into dusk, he found his thoughts wandering—slipping away from the world of power and sinking into something dangerously human.

A pair of brown eyes haunted him. Bright, curious, and so full of warmth they had burned through the armor he’d spent years building. He could still see the way she had looked at him that day, her gaze hesitant but hungry. He had shaken her hand, felt the tremor in her fingers, the softness of her skin. That single touch had electrified him more than any conquest, more than any deal signed under threat and cigar smoke.

Her smile had been shy, almost uncertain, yet it had lit something deep inside him—a rare, disarming light. He could still hear her voice, gentle and melodic, and he found himself wondering how it would sound whispering his name in the dark, breathless and trembling.

Damian cursed under his breath, gripping the edge of the desk. The wave of arousal that rushed through him was sharp, almost painful. It was ridiculous, he told himself. He had known hundreds of women. But none had stayed in his mind long enough to matter. None had carved a space in him so quickly.

And she was dangerous—not because of who she was, but because of what she made him feel. Wanting her would mean exposing her to his world, a place where loyalty was currency and trust could kill. If she ever stepped too close, the darkness surrounding him would consume her whole.

He turned from the window and dropped into the leather chair behind his desk. The faint scent of tobacco lingered from the cigar he hadn’t finished earlier. Papers were strewn across the desk, deals waiting for his signature, numbers blurring before his eyes. But one file stood out—a slim, cream-colored folder, thinner than the rest. Her name was printed across the top.

He reached for it, his fingers brushing the edge like it was something fragile. He had ordered the background check the same night he left the gallery, though he couldn’t explain why. Maybe he had wanted to prove she was ordinary, someone he could forget. But the report had done the opposite. The little he found only deepened the mystery. Her past was a puzzle of half-truths and shadows.

He leaned back, flipping the folder open again, rereading what he already knew by heart. No family ties worth noting. No criminal record. No scandals. Just a woman who lived quietly, far too quietly for someone with eyes that were alive. He found himself wondering what she hid behind them.

The door to his office swung open without a knock, breaking his thoughts in half. His jaw tightened instantly.

Of all people, it had to be them.

“Damian!” His mother’s bright voice filled the room before she appeared, gliding in like a summer breeze that didn’t belong in a place built of steel and smoke.

Behind her came his father, Bruno Reyes. The former don. The man whose shadow Damian had fought his entire life to escape.

Every muscle in Damian’s body went still. His father hadn’t been in this office in years, and for good reason. The air between them had always been thick with unspoken resentment. Bruno walked in like he owned the place, his sharp eyes sweeping across the room, silently judging. He grunted, unimpressed, and dropped onto the leather sofa as though claiming territory.

Vera Reyes, his mother, as radiant as ever despite the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, crossed to him. She smelled of lilac and old money. She cupped his face between her palms and kissed his cheek. “You look well, my darling,” she said, her smile as genuine as her husband’s silence was heavy.

Damian forced a smile, studying her face for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The streaks of silver in her hair, the tiredness she hid behind her warmth—she was aging, and it pained him more than he liked to admit.

But this wasn’t a courtesy visit. Not when Bruno was involved.

He tore his gaze from his mother and fixed it on his father, who lounged like a predator that didn’t need to pounce to kill. “What are you doing here?” Damian asked, his tone colder than the marble floor.

Vera’s eyes darted nervously between them. “C’mon now, Damian,” she said softly. “Can’t we visit our son once in a while?”

Damian laughed under his breath. A visit? From Bruno? The man couldn’t even pretend to care unless it benefited the family. Vera’s hand fluttered toward her husband, resting on his thigh like a silent plea.

Damian’s unease sharpened. He could smell trouble before it spoke.

“Well,” he said flatly, “get on with it. I don’t have all day.”

Bruno smiled faintly—a dangerous smile that carried the weight of too many memories. He pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket, rolling it between his fingers with practiced ease. The silence that followed was deliberate, suffocating. Damian knew the game—

Bruno thrived on control, and silence was his favorite weapon.

The older man lit his cigar, inhaled slowly, and blew out a perfect ring of smoke. “We came here for one thing,” he said finally. “To discuss the future of the business.”

Damian leaned back in his chair. “The business is fine. Thriving, actually. You can go back to retirement.”

His mother’s nervous laugh filled the air. “No need to be so hostile, Damian,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Your father only wants what’s best.”

“What I want,” Damian said evenly, eyes never leaving Bruno, “is to know what you really came for.”

Vera hesitated, twisting her wedding ring. “We came... to discuss plans for the wedding.”

The words hung between them, absurd and heavy.

Damian blinked. “Whose wedding?”

“Yours,” Bruno replied, his voice calm, unflinching.

For a moment, Damian said nothing. He simply stared at them, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for his father to smirk and say it was all a joke. But there was no laughter. Vera shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the floor. Bruno puffed his cigar again, unbothered.

The silence grew so thick that even the faint hum of the city below seemed to vanish.

Damian’s voice, when it came, was quiet but lethal. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” his father said. “You’ll marry Tatiana Rostov. From the Russian family.”

Damian barked a laugh, low and bitter. “Like hell I will.”

“It’s what’s best for the family,” Bruno said coolly. “The Rostovs control trade routes through the Mediterranean and the Middle East. We’ve been trying to branch into those regions for years. This alliance will make us unstoppable.”

Damian’s jaw flexed. “All that cigar smoke must have rotted your brain if you think I’m going to marry a stranger for convenience.”

“She’s not a stranger,” Vera interjected quickly, her voice rising in desperation. “She’s young, beautiful, and educated. You’ll like her, my darling. I’m sure of it.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. The only woman he wanted was the one whose brown eyes haunted him every waking moment. Not some stranger with a strategic dowry.

When he opened his eyes again, they were cold and sharp as glass. “No.”

Vera gasped. “What? Damian, you can’t refuse!”

“I can,” he said quietly, “and I just did.” He rose from his chair, his presence towering over them. “If that’s all you came for, you can leave.”

Bruno’s laugh rumbled low and dangerous. “You do realize you’re speaking to the man who built this empire?”

“Former man,” Damian shot back. “And that’s all you’ll ever be. Remember your place, old man.”

Bruno’s face hardened. He rose to his feet, taking his wife’s hand, his eyes never leaving his son. The silence that followed was thick with the promise of war. Damian crossed to the door and opened it for them, his knuckles white from holding back the urge to slam it in their faces.

Bruno paused at the threshold, his expression unreadable. “The family believes Tatiana is the right choice,” he said quietly. “It would be... unfortunate if they began to lose respect for you.”

He turned and walked out, the echo of his words clinging to the air like smoke. Vera hesitated, her eyes filled with worry, but Damian gave her nothing. No softness. No promise. Just the cold calm of a man determined not to bend.

When the door closed behind them, the office felt heavier. Damian stood in the silence for a long time, staring at the city again. Somewhere out there was the woman who had made him feel human for the first time in years. And now his father wanted to chain him to a stranger for power.

His reflection looked back at him through the glass:ruthless, unflinching. But under that hard shell, something had shifted. Something dangerous and alive.

And he knew, with a dark certainty, that no one—not even Bruno Reyes—would decide who he gave his heart to.