My Mafia Bully Became My Stepbrother

Chapter 1: The Lion’s Den

POV: Elena

The brown packing tape screeched across the cardboard box, sealing away the last of my life.

My hands shook as I smoothed the edges down. I caught a jagged fingernail on the cardboard, the sharp sting grounding me for a second.

"Elena, hurry up! The driver is already downstairs."

I flinched at my mother’s voice, dropping the roll of tape. It rolled across the scarred linoleum floor and hit the wall with a hollow thud.

"I’m coming, Mom," I said, though my voice was too low for her to hear from the hallway.

I looked around the room one last time. It was small and smelled like stale grease and damp walls, but it was safe. The pink eviction notice taped to the counter fluttered in the draft from the window, a reminder that "safe" was officially over.

Martha Hart bustled into the room. She wore her best navy dress, one she’d pinned at the waist to hide how thin she’d gotten.

"Look at you," she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. Her eyes were wide and frantic. "You look like you’re going to a funeral. Put on some lipstick, Elena. Please."

I pulled away, grabbing my backpack. "I don’t have any lipstick. And we aren't going to a party. We're moving into a house with a man we barely know."

Her smile faltered. "Anthony is not a stranger. He is my husband now. He’s the reason we aren't sleeping in the car tonight."

"He's a Russo, Mom," I said. The name felt heavy, like a warning I couldn't ignore.

Mom grabbed my shoulders, her grip tight. "He is a man who wants to take care of us. Do you want to go back to the shelter? Do you want to be hungry again?"

I stared at her shoes, unable to look at her. "No."

"Then fix your face," she snapped, letting go of me to grab the box I’d just taped. "This is our chance. Don't ruin it before we even get there."

She marched out, the box banging against her hip.

I let out a shaky breath. I didn't want a "chance." I just wanted to be invisible.

I grabbed my suitcase—the one with the broken zipper—and followed her out.

A sleek black car sat at the curb of our crumbling apartment building. It looked like it belonged in a movie, not in this neighborhood. A man in a dark suit stood by the door, his face completely expressionless.

"Ms. Hart," the driver grunted, taking my suitcase.

"Thank you," I mumbled, clutching my backpack straps so hard my knuckles turned white.

Mom was already in the back seat, rubbing her hands over the leather. "Elena, look! It’s so soft. It doesn't even feel like a car."

I slid in next to her, sticking as close to the door as possible. "It's nice, Mom."

The driver shut the door, and the outside world vanished. The lock clicked with a heavy, mechanical sound that made my chest tighten.

As we pulled away, I watched our old life disappear through the tinted glass.

"Anthony says the estate has twenty bedrooms," Mom said, checking her reflection in a small compact mirror. "He said you can pick whichever one you like. Maybe one with a view?"

I stared out the window. "I just want a door that locks."

Mom paused, clicking her mirror shut. "Why do you have to be like this? Anthony has a son, you know. He’s a few years older. It’ll be good for you to have someone your own age around."

My stomach did a slow, sickening flip. "A son?"

"Yes, Dominic," she said, leaning back into the expensive leather. "Anthony says he’s very involved in the family business. He’s very successful."

Dominic.

The name felt like a punch to the gut. I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Dominic Russo?" My voice came out thin and cracked.

Mom looked at me, confused. "Yes. Why? Do you know him?"

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. "We went to high school together."

"Oh, that’s wonderful!" She clapped her hands. "So you’re already friends. See? I told you this would be perfect."

I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to throw up. Friends.

Dominic Russo wasn't a friend. He was the person who had spent four years making sure I knew I was nothing. He was the reason I ate lunch in the bathroom stalls. He was the person who had broken my spirit before I even turned eighteen.

And now, I was moving into his house.

"Elena? You look green," Mom said, reaching over to touch my forehead.

"I think I’m car sick," I lied, pulling away from her.

"Well, hold it in," she hissed. "We’re almost there."

The car turned off the main road and onto a private drive lined with massive, ancient trees. It felt like we were leaving the city behind and entering a different country.

"There it is," Mom breathed.

Iron gates topped with sharp spikes swung open slowly. We rolled through, heading toward a house that looked more like a stone fortress than a home. It was grey, cold, and covered in ivy that looked like it was trying to swallow the building whole.

The car stopped in the circular driveway. The silence was absolute.

"Smile, Elena," Mom commanded, opening her door. "Act like you’re happy to be here."

I stepped out onto the gravel, my legs feeling like lead. The wind was cold, biting at my skin.

I looked up at the house, feeling like a bug about to be stepped on.

And then I saw the movement.

In a window on the second floor, a curtain pulled back.

A man was standing there. He was tall, with shoulders that seemed to fill the entire frame. He was perfectly still.

He didn't move. He didn't wave. He just stood there with one hand pressed against the glass, watching me

My mother grabbed my arm, tugging me toward the front door. "Come on! Anthony is waiting."