Owned By The Mafia King

Chapter One The velvet drapes muffled the sounds of the outside world, turning the auction hall into a prison of silk and secrets. Gilded chandeliers dripped light like molten gold, casting shadows that danced over trembling skin. Elena Rossi had never known silence this loud. Her hands, though unbound, were curled tightly at her sides. She stood on the raised platform like a statue carved from fear, her long dark hair falling like a curtain to hide the storm in her eyes. Her dress; thin, silk, indecent, offered little protection against the hungry stares below. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not like this. Not sold off like some trinket to pay for her father’s sins. But debts don’t disappear. Not in this world. Not when they’re owed to devils. “Elena Rossi,” the announcer said, his voice calm, cruel, theatrical. “Daughter of the late Lorenzo Rossi. Last known heir to a bloodline of betrayal. Her starting bid fifty thousand.” A murmur rippled through the crowd. Fifty. Seventy-five. Ninety. A hundred. The numbers climbed like flames, each bid another blow to her pride. Elena’s gaze scanned the faceless crowd until she saw him third row, back corner. Watching. Waiting. He hadn’t raised his hand. Not yet. Then he stood. Tall. Composed. Terrifying in his silence. Luca Moretti. The name alone carried weight. Whispers of a man with blood on his hands and ice in his veins. Don of the Moretti syndicate. King of the underworld. And the one man her father feared more than death. “Five hundred thousand,” Luca said simply. Gasps. Stillness. No one dared outbid him. They knew better. The gavel fell. And just like that, Elena’s fate was sealed. Her legs nearly gave out as a hand touched her elbow. One of the guards, guiding her down from the platform. But her eyes never left his. Not when he stepped forward. Not when he stood before her. “You belong to me now,” Luca said, his voice low, unreadable. Elena lifted her chin, defiant even in her fear. “Then return me.” He almost smiled. Almost. But instead, he leaned closer, his breath a whisper against her skin. “No one returns what I own.”