The Mafia's Exclusive Maid

​The basement of the Onyx Lounge smelled of copper and damp concrete. A single lightbulb flickered overhead, casting long, jagged shadows against the walls. ​Lorenzo Volpe sat in a high-backed leather chair, looking remarkably bored for a man currently watching someone lose their life. On the floor, a rival dealer—a man who had dared to "Owe" Lorenzo on a shipment—was being systematically dismantled by Lorenzo’s men. ​"Please!" the man gasped, spitting blood onto Lorenzo’s hand-made Italian shoes. "I’ll get the money. I just need a week!" ​Lorenzo didn't flinch. He leaned forward, his eyes cold and void of any human warmth. "You’ve had three weeks. In my world, a week is an eternity, and your time just ran out." ​With a slight nod from Lorenzo, his right-hand man, Marco, finished the job. The room went silent, save for the heavy breathing of the guards. ​Lorenzo stood up, meticulously wiping a stray drop of blood from his cufflink. "Marco, check the books again. This man wasn't the only leak this month." ​Marco flipped through a thick, black leather ledger. "We’ve cleared most of the street debts, Don. But there’s still one outstanding account from the suburban sector. Arthur Sterling." Marco said. ​Lorenzo paused, his eyes narrowing. "The architect’s brother? The gambler?" ​"The same," Marco replied. "His son, Leo, has been using his father’s name to run up a tab at our underground casinos. They’re down five million. Leo tried to pay us back with a stolen car last night. It was an insult." ​Lorenzo walked over to a glass cabinet and poured himself a glass of neat bourbon. "Five million. That’s not a debt; that’s a death sentence. Why haven't we collected?" ​"Leo claims they have nothing left. He said they sold the family business, the cars, everything. He’s begging for 'mercy' ​Lorenzo swirled his drink, the ice clinking like a funeral bell. "I don't do mercy, Marco. I do math. If they have no money, they have blood. Or they have assets." ​"Actually, sir," Marco stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The scouts were watching the Sterling house. Leo has a sister. Veronica. She’s eighteen. Works a diner job, stays out of trouble. Our sources say she’s... 'untouched.' Pure. In certain circles, a girl like that is worth more than five million in cash." ​Lorenzo stared into the amber liquid of his glass. He wasn't a man who indulged in women often—he found them to be distractions. But a "pure" asset in a world this dirty was a rarity. It was a trophy. ​"A virgin?" Lorenzo mused, a dark, predatory smirk finally touching his lips. "In that neighborhood? That’s almost impossible to believe." ​"Leo is desperate enough to sell her," Marco added. "He’s terrified of you. He’ll give her up just to keep his own skin." ​Lorenzo downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on the table with a sharp clack. ​"Send word to Leo Sterling," Lorenzo commanded. "Tell him I’ll wipe the five million. But I don't want his father’s house, and I don't want his excuses. I want the girl. And tell him if she arrives with so much as a scratch on her, I’ll kill him slowly." ​He turned back to the shadows of the basement. "Let’s see if this 'golden girl' is worth the price of a life."