The Heir of Damien Brown

What is a father capable of doing for his child? The man tied to the wooden chair would never know the answer to that question. With a bloodied face and swollen eyes, he murmured something barely comprehensible due to his broken teeth. Clemency, mercy... words that didn't even exist in Damien Brown's vocabulary. The mobster walked deliberately and stood in front of the man. "Speak!" He ordered with a voice colder than steel. The man tried to articulate something, but fear and sharp pain closed his throat. Tears ran down his cheeks, mixing with the blood dripping from his mouth. Damien raised an eyebrow, bored, and looked at Leonardo Moretti, who observed the scene with complete naturalness and resignation. Leonardo was Damien's right-hand man and the only one close enough to the mafia leader to speak frankly. He stepped forward, crossing his arms. Fixing his gaze on the mobster. "Are you really going to do this?" he asked in a tone laden with disapproval. Damien turned to him, adjusting his black jacket. "Do you want me to let him live?" he asked while looking at the man in the chair. Leonardo shook his head. "I'm talking about the girl," he corrected. "Tell me you haven't lost your mind." He added incredulously. "I've never been more clear-headed," Damien replied, his tone never so firm. Leonardo sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Kidnapping a woman to take care of your son... I can't fathom how you think this is a good idea." Leonardo hissed with a reproachful tone. Although the mafia leader, Brown, always did as he pleased, even for him, this was too much. Damien ignored the comment and turned to the tied man. He leaned towards him, bringing his face closer until only a few centimeters separated them. "Tell me where she is," he whispered, his tone low but loaded with threat. "And I promise your death will be quick," he added, although his words sounded false. The man let out a choked scream and began to sob. Damien watched him with disdain before straightening up and looking towards the door. "Take him away," he ordered without hesitation. "I don't need him anymore." Two men dressed in black entered the room and dragged the prisoner out. Leonardo followed them, closing the door behind him and leaving Damien alone in the darkness. Hours later Damien was in his office, reviewing the file that had changed everything. On his desk, illuminated by the dim light of a lamp, was her image. Alina Everhart. A young pediatric resident of twenty-four years, with a promising career and a character that, according to reports, was as firm as her dedication to children. But it wasn't just her resume that had caught the mobster's attention. It was her face. Her hair, a fiery red, like the certain fire of hell, fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her amber eyes, as warm and penetrating as the whiskey he held in his hand and burned with intensity as it passed down his throat. Damien had seen many beautiful women in his life, but none had had that effect on him. None had made him feel such a combination of fascination and urgency that now consumed him. "She's perfect for Dante," he murmured to himself, taking a sip of whiskey. Damien got up from his chair and walked to the window. His son Dante needed someone to take care of him; someone who was neither incompetent nor afraid. Someone who wouldn't want to run away upon realizing who that man was, and she was the only option. Taking Alina by force was not only immoral but also madness, something she surely wouldn't accept, but the leader of the Brown Mafia didn't care, as he wasn't willing to give her a choice. His son was the only thing that mattered, and no one, not even she, was going to stop him. *** Rain poured down on the streets of Manhattan when the men of the Brown Mafia found Alina. She was leaving the hospital, exhausted after a twelve-hour shift. Her hair was slightly damp, and her coat wasn't enough to protect her from the cold. She walked quickly, unaware that she was being watched. A few steps ahead, the men intercepted her. One of them grabbed her arm, while another covered her face with a cloth soaked in chloroform. It all happened in seconds, and by the time Alina realized, the world had already gone dark. Alina woke up in that unfamiliar place. She was in a spacious room, decorated with a sober and masculine luxury. The dark curtains blocked the scant light from outside, and the smell of cologne and whiskey permeated the air. "Finally awake," hissed a deep, authoritative voice that made Alina sit up abruptly. Damien was there, standing by the door, watching her with a mix of interest and satisfaction. "What the hell is this? Who the hell do you think you are to kidnap me?" She growled, her voice firm despite the situation. Damien stepped forward, his gray eyes locking onto hers. "I'm the man who's going to make sure my son has the best. And that includes you." Alina stared at him in disbelief, but before she could protest, Damien added: "Welcome to your new home, Alina."