My Prisoner

The crimson velvet drapes of the study did little to block out the oppressive weight of the estate. Nikolai sat behind a heavy mahogany desk, a glass of dark amber liquor resting untouched near his right hand. To the world, Nikolai was a legend—a former legendary Criminal Investigation Department officer who had vanished from public service only to rise as the second mafia lord of the country. He was a man who moved twenty-five steps ahead of every ally and enemy, commanding a power so terrifying that even the first mafia lord spoke his name with guarded caution. Standing in the center of the dimly lit room was Noah, his fourth son. Noah moved with a quiet, lethal grace. He possessed the striking, sharp aesthetics of a sculpted prince: jet-black hair falling over a sharp brow, dark brown eyes that burned with cold intensity, and a lean, incredibly muscular physique carved like marble. Beneath his tailored jacket were solid abs and broad shoulders, blending refined elegance with terrifying physical capability. "The South Province," Nikolai’s deep voice sliced through the silence, rich and unyielding. "You know how critical the county port is." Noah did not move. "It controls the entire global ocean trade route. Everything moving in or out pays a tax." "And the fifth mafia lord has become arrogant," Nikolai said, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing. "He continues to raise the tax rates. He thinks because the southern waters are his territory, he can bleed my supply chains dry. It is time the county changes hands. I want you to take a unit, go into the South Province, and strip that port from his grasp." "Consider it done," Noah replied smoothly. "Do not underestimate him, Noah," Nikolai warned softly, a dangerous glint in his eye. "The fifth lord is a rat in his own right, but even rats bite when cornered." Two days later, rain slicked the narrow, shadow-drenched alleyways of the southern province’s industrial county. The operation had gone wrong from the start. A mole deep within Nikolai’s inner circle had leaked the exact route of Noah’s strike team. What was supposed to be a precise, hostile takeover turned into an ambush. Gunfire had echoed across the docks, blood mixing with salt water. Noah had fought his way through a barrage of armed mercenaries, but he was isolated, bled, and forced deep into the heart of the city with the enemy breathing down his neck. His breath came in sharp, quiet rasps as he ducked into a cramped, rusted alley between two old brick buildings. His ribs burned where a blade had grazed him, and blood soaked the dark fabric of his shirt. Shadows danced on the walls as the heavy footsteps of the fifth lord's henchmen echoed from the main street. Searching for him. Suddenly, the sound of slow, heavy footsteps approached from the opposite side of the alley. Noah’s instincts flared. In a split second, he reached out, caught a wrist, and violently dragged the stranger into the dark nook behind a massive steel dumpster. He clamped a gloved hand firmly over the person's mouth and pinned them against the damp wall, his sharp brown eyes locking onto his captive. "Don't move. Don't make a sound," Noah hissed, his voice a low, lethal whisper right against the stranger's ear. The young man pinned beneath him didn't scream or panic. Instead, striking, sapphire-blue eyes stared back at Noah with uncanny composure. This was Louis. Louis was an elite high-tech Criminal Investigation student at the local university—a young man with a mind so razor-sharp and analytical that manipulation was impossible against him. He was extraordinarily handsome, with soft black hair framing a sharp jawline, a lean frame, and blue eyes that seemed to read through people instantly. But right now, Louis was simply exhausted. He had been studying all day, hadn't eaten a single bite since morning, and was far too weak and drained to fight off a heavily muscular stranger bleeding onto his clothes. Outside the alley, the voices of the henchmen faded into the distance. "Clear! He went toward the highway!" Silence returned to the narrow space. Noah slowly lifted his hand from Louis's mouth, stepping back slightly, his chest heaving as his wound throbbed. He looked down at the student, stunned by how calm the boy remained. "Who the hell are you?" Noah asked, his tone rough, guarded, and tired. Louis didn't answer. He didn't even yell. He simply adjusted his backpack strap over his shoulder, blinked his brilliant blue eyes slowly at Noah, and walked right past him out of the alley without saying a single word. Fifteen minutes later, Louis sat at a small corner table inside a quiet, dimly lit diner down the street. A steaming plate of hot food sat in front of him. He was famished, his body aching for nutrients after a brutal day at the academy. He lifted his fork, ready to eat, when a shadow fell over the table. Noah slid into the booth directly across from him. Up close, under the warm lights of the diner, Noah's visual presence was overwhelming—the dangerous air of a mobster mixed with flawless, dark-haired beauty. Yet, he looked visibly drained, his brow damp with cold sweat, his brown eyes staring intently at the plate of food. Louis stopped his fork mid-air. He stared at Noah. Noah stared back, his expression completely blank, though his gaze flicked down to the warm meal. He didn't say a word. He didn't ask. He just sat there, towering and muscular, silently burning holes into the food with his eyes. "What is your problem?" Louis asked, his voice calm, clear, and mildly annoyed. Noah didn't drop his pride. He didn't say, 'I'm starving' or 'Share with me.' He simply reached across the table, grabbed a portion of the food straight off Louis's plate, and began eating it forcefully, maintaining absolute eye contact. Louis stared at him, utterly dumbfounded by the sheer audacity of the man. The sheer nerve left Louis speechless. Shaking his head in quiet disbelief, Louis placed his fork down. His appetite was entirely gone. He pushed his chair back, stood up, paid the cashier at the counter, and walked out into the cool evening air, leaving the rest of the meal behind. The rain had softened to a light mist as Louis walked down the quiet residential streets toward his apartment complex. He rubbed his temples, longing for his bed. Then he heard the footsteps behind him. Louis stopped. He turned around. A few paces back, hands buried in his dark jacket pockets, Noah was trailing him like a silent ghost. "Why the hell are you following me?" Louis snapped, his calm exterior finally showing a crack of irritation. Noah stopped, his dark eyes locking onto Louis with unwavering seriousness. "I have nowhere to stay," he said bluntly. "I have to stay at your place." Louis glared at him. "Are you insane? I don't even know your name." "You can kick me out tomorrow," Noah replied, his voice dropping into a low, smooth baritone that carried a strange, heavy authority. "Tonight, I need a door that locks." Louis stared at the bleeding, dangerously handsome stranger for a long moment. Every instinct as a top criminal investigation student told him this man was trouble with a capital T. Yet, looking at the exhaustion in Noah's dark eyes, Louis let out a sharp, resigned sigh. He turned around without another word and kept walking. Noah followed. They arrived at a modest, neat apartment building. Louis unlocked the door to his unit and stepped inside, holding the door open just wide enough for Noah to slip through before locking it securely behind them. The apartment was small, but perfectly maintained—a warm, cozy sanctuary for a dedicated student. It consisted of a tidy living room with a comfortable sofa, a pristine kitchen, a clean bathroom, and a private bedroom. The air smelled faintly of cedar and old books. Noah stood in the middle of the living room, taking in the space with quiet, sharp eyes. For a man born into the brutal, blood-soaked royalty of the mafia, this tiny, peaceful apartment felt like an entirely different planet. He turned his gaze back to Louis, who was taking off his jacket, his blue eyes watching Noah with deep, calculating intensity. The tension between them was palpable—a dangerous mob heir on the run, and an brilliant investigation student who had just opened his door to the storm.