Sold To The Wrong Mafia King

Aria's Pov The bell above the bookstore door jingled—a soft, delicate chime that barely cut through the heavy silence of the old wooden space. “Morning, Miss Aria!” came the chipper voice of old Mr. Beckett, his breath clouding in the early spring air. He was holding a dog-eared copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, the same one he borrowed every three weeks without fail. I looked up from behind the counter, pushing my glasses higher on my nose. “Morning, Mr. Beckett. Back for a little revenge and redemption?” He chuckled. “Is there any better way to start the day?” I gave him a soft smile. “None that I can think of.” The moment passed, quiet and warm, as Mr. Beckett shuffled to his favorite chair near the back of the shop. The smell of aged pages and fresh espresso lingered like an old memory. And the smile on my lips slowly melted off as I exhaled quietly and returned to my ledger. The numbers didn’t look good. Again. Rent was due in five days, and unless a miracle walked through that door, I was going to be short. Again. The shop had been my sanctuary since her mother died five years ago. It was old, dusty, and stubborn—like my father. Or the man i remembered him to be, before everything went to hell. If I am honest, this shop was actually the only place that I'd ever felt welcome to. Books don't judge me based on my appearance or status, but people do. I didn't have any friends or relatives and that was fine with me, I guess. “Aria!” The voice came from the stairwell that led to the small apartment above the store and I stiffened. Eliza. “I swear, if you don’t turn that heater on soon, I’ll turn into an ice sculpture and haunt this place forever,” she continued. I rolled my eyes affectionately. “It’s on a timer, Eli. Give it fifteen minutes.” Eliza shuffled down the stairs in fuzzy socks and a hoodie two sizes too big. Her platinum-blonde hair was a knotted mess, and she looked more like a teenage delinquent than Aria’s employer and homeowner. “It’s been fifteen minutes since yesterday,” she muttered dramatically, flopping behind the counter. I snorted. “I’ll get you a blanket. Or a personality upgrade.” “Rude.” she wrinkled up her nose at me. I chuckled, shaking my head as I stashed away the ledger. We soon fell into the easy rhythm of the morning—soft music, coffee brewing, pages turning. My life wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t exciting or loud or powerful. But it was safe. Safe mattered. Until it didn’t. **** Before the afternoon could fully set in, the shop was mostly empty again. Eliza had gone off to see a friend at a local café, leaving me with only the buzzing silence of her own thoughts and the draft that always snuck in through the back door. These moments were my favorite only if I wasn't so hungry. Sighing, I bent my head on the counter, silently counting down the minutes until I could go get my lunch. But suddenly, the bell above the door jingled, soft as a whisper. The sound was unexpected, so it made me jump a little. I don’t usually get jumpy over customers—especially not before noon. But something about today felt... off. Maybe it was the way the clouds sat heavy in the sky outside or the way the heater coughed and stuttered every few minutes, struggling to bring warmth to the drafty little bookstore I called home. I looked up from my cluttered counter and found two men standing just inside the doorway. My brows pulled together in a deep frown. Strangers. And not the type that came in asking for rare poetry or first editions of fantasy novels. No, these men were dressed in dark, tailored coats, their shoulders squared, their eyes scanning the place like they were measuring it for a grave. My stomach dipped with anxious nerves. "Can I help you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, casual. My fingers curled around the edge of the counter. The taller one met my eyes. He was a pale gray, like wet concrete. "We're just browsing." Right. Browsing. In a neighborhood bookstore with creaky floorboards and shelves organized by handwritten labels. "Alright," I said slowly. "Let me know if you need anything." They didn’t respond. I just started walking through the shop. Not looking at books. Just walking. I tried to go back to the ledger, but my eyes kept darting toward them. Their footsteps were too quiet. Their hands stayed at their sides, but the way they moved—calculated, synchronized—made my skin crawl. They weren’t here for books. Maybe they were casing the place. Thieves? Or worse. I swallowed hard. Don’t be paranoid, Aria. Maybe they’re private security for some rich eccentric who likes vintage paperbacks. Still, I kept one hand near my phone. After a few minutes, they walked out without saying a word. The bell jingled again as the door shut behind them, and I exhaled, shaky and too loud in the silence. What the hell was that? ** The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of tension and half-finished tasks. I knocked over a mug, spilled tea on my favorite copy of Sylvia Plath’s collected works, and forgot to charge the card reader. Eliza texted twice asking if I wanted takeout, and I ignored both. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. By the time the sun began to dip behind the buildings across the street, I was done. Mentally, emotionally, physically. The shop closed at eight. It was already 8:23. I locked the front door, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and started wiping down the counter, trying to ignore how my hand trembled slightly with each swipe. The silence was thicker now. Not peaceful. Suffocating. I was halfway to the storeroom when I heard it. The bell. Again. I turned around slowly. The door was open. The two men were back. But this time, they didn’t hesitate. They stepped inside, shut the door behind them, and turned the lock with a soft click that sounded louder than a gunshot. My heart slammed into my ribs, tightening me and spurring me into a moment of panic. "You can’t be in here," I said, trying to sound firm. Brave. Anything but terrified. The shorter man smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. "We didn’t come earlier for books, Aria." The sound of my name stopped everything inside me. "How do you know my name?" "We know a lot of things." They moved closer, slowly and surely, like they had all the time in the world. I backed toward the counter. "I’ll call the police." "No, you won’t." I grabbed for the phone, but the tall one was faster. He lunged over the counter and ripped the cord from the wall, the crash making me flinch. I stumbled back, breathing shallowly. "Please... just tell me what you want." "You," the tall one said simply. My mouth opened. Nothing came out. "You’re being delivered," the shorter one added, as we were just having a conversation. "Your father made a deal." My blood turned to ice. "What?" "Debt. Payment. You," he said with an eerie calmness. "No, that’s not—that’s not possible". "My father’s gone". "He disappeared years ago!" My heartbeat quickened along with my breathing. What the f**k were these men talking about? "And now he’s collected." I shook my head violently. "You have the wrong person." The taller one just silently pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat. My name. My birthday. My father's signature. Tears pricked my eyes. "This is insane. This isn’t legal." It can't be... Right? "Legality doesn’t matter where you're going," the shorter one informed me with a tiny nonchalant shrug. I took a step back. Then another. My legs hit the stool behind the counter, and I nearly fell. The tall one stepped forward. "You come quietly, or we drag you. Either way, you’re leaving tonight." It wasn't a threat because it sounded more like a promise. These men were dangerous, and for some reason they seemed to want me. God, this was bad. "No! You can’t do this! Please, I haven’t done anything—" "Doesn’t matter." The finality in his voice made my already cold blood chill the more... There isn't any way this was happening to me. I instinctively reached out and grabbed the first thing I could reach—a metal letter opener—and brandished it like a weapon. The men looked at each other. Amused. "You really think that’s going to stop us?" "Don’t come near me!" The tall one lunged. I screamed, slashing wildly. The blade grazed his arm. He hissed, grabbing me by the wrist. I fought. Kicked. Screamed again. But the other man circled behind and pressed something cold and sharp against my neck. A prick. Burning. "W-What is that?" My vision blurred, the room tilting as I staggered. I immediately grabbed the edge of the counter for support. Shit! These fuckers drugged me. My head was swimming, my vision dimming with every blink that I took. Fuck, no! I had to stay awake... I had to fight... "Don’t worry, sweetheart," a voice said as everything dimmed. "When you wake up, your new life begins." Then darkness swallowed me whole.