OWNED BY THE ENEMY

The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, champagne, and something Elena could only describe as power. The grand ballroom shimmered under the glow of golden chandeliers, casting an ethereal light over the masked figures gliding across the floor. The masquerade was in full swing—an event meant to celebrate another one of her father’s victories in the world of crime and corruption. Elena Romano despised these events, yet she played her part well. Dressed in an elegant black gown that hugged her curves and trailed behind her like midnight, she moved through the sea of criminals and politicians with practiced ease. A delicate golden mask covered the upper half of her face, but she knew it did little to hide her identity. Everyone here recognized her—the daughter of the infamous mafia king, Vincenzo Romano. She sipped from a crystal flute of champagne, tuning out the murmured conversations around her. Deals were being made, alliances strengthened, enemies greeted with false smiles. It was always the same. A stage for monsters in suits. “Elena.” Her father’s deep voice cut through the crowd, making her spine stiffen. She turned, forcing a neutral expression as he approached. Dressed in his usual tailored suit, he looked every bit the powerful man he was—ruthless, commanding, and impossible to please. “This is a night of celebration,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of warning. “Try not to look like you’re being held at gunpoint.” She arched a brow. “Isn’t that how you keep most people in line?” His sharp gaze flickered with irritation. “Watch your tongue.” Elena bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. She had learned long ago that challenging him in public was a mistake. Instead, she took another sip of champagne and turned her attention back to the crowd. And that’s when she felt it. A presence. A shiver ran down her spine, an inexplicable feeling that someone was watching her. Not in the casual way most men did, but with intensity, calculation, purpose. Her gaze drifted across the room, scanning the crowd. At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary—just the usual mix of criminals and their decorative wives. But then, her eyes locked onto him. A man stood at the far end of the ballroom, half-hidden in the shadows. Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in an expensive black suit that fit him like a second skin. His mask was dark, intricate, covering most of his face, but it did nothing to hide the raw power he exuded. He was watching her. Studying her. Elena’s breath hitched. There was something about him—an aura of danger that sent a chill through her veins. And then, he moved. Before she could process it, the lights flickered. A sharp crack echoed through the ballroom—gunfire. Screams erupted around her as chaos unfolded. The security detail rushed into action, drawing weapons and barking orders. People ran, masks forgotten, champagne glasses shattering against the marble floors. “Elena!” Her father’s voice cut through the panic, but she barely heard him. A strong arm wrapped around her waist before she could react. A scent—rich, masculine, laced with something dark—filled her senses as a low voice murmured in her ear. “Time to go, princess.” Elena struggled, but the grip tightened. A cloth pressed against her lips—sweet, sickly-scented. Chloroform. Her world tilted. The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her was the man in the mask, his piercing gaze the last thing anchoring her to reality. She woke up in a cage of luxury. Elena’s head throbbed as consciousness returned, her body sluggish and weak. A low groan escaped her lips as she tried to move, the silky sheets beneath her a stark contrast to the situation she now found herself in. Slowly, her vision cleared, revealing a room bathed in dim golden light. It was beautiful, in a dark and imposing way—expensive furnishings, velvet drapes, a large bed that screamed power rather than comfort. And then, she saw him. The man from the ball stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to her, hands tucked into his pockets. The moonlight cast a sharp glow against his profile—strong jaw, dark hair, a presence that filled the entire room. Fear coiled in her stomach, but she refused to let it show. Pushing past the fog in her mind, she sat up, her voice cold and sharp. “Who the hell are you?” The man turned slowly, and when he did, her breath caught. He was breathtakingly dangerous. Dark eyes locked onto hers, unreadable yet filled with something she couldn’t quite name. His mask was gone now, revealing a face sculpted by power—high cheekbones, sharp angles, lips that could command or destroy. “Elena Romano,” he murmured, his voice deep, smooth, deadly. “You’ve been a ghost to me for years. But now, you’re right where you belong.” She swallowed, every muscle in her body going taut. “I don’t belong to you.” A slow, cruel smile curved his lips as he took a step closer. “No,” he agreed. “But you do belong to me now.” Her pulse pounded. Who was he? “Adrian DeLuca,” he said, as if reading her mind. The name sent ice through her veins. She knew that name. Everyone in the mafia world did. A ghost. A nightmare. A man who had built an empire from blood and vengeance. Her stomach twisted. Why her? Why now? Adrian moved closer, and despite herself, she shrank back against the headboard. He noticed—of course he did—and his smirk deepened. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he murmured, eyes dark with something almost predatory. Elena’s hands curled into fists, anger warring with fear. “If you think my father will let you get away with this, you’re insane.” Adrian’s expression turned ice-cold in an instant. He leaned in, his presence overwhelming, the heat of his body suffocating. “Your father,” he said, voice dangerously low, “doesn’t even know you’re gone yet.” Elena’s blood ran cold.