Owned By The Mafia King She Betrayed

~VALENTINA MONROE~ 'What have I become?' The question echoed inside my head at the exact moment the middle-aged man groaned behind me and pulled out. Sweat clung to my skin despite the coolness of the room from the long minutes I had just spent riding him, my thighs still trembling from the effort. The slick evidence of his release trailed down my inner thigh, a warm and unwelcome reminder of what I had done to survive another night. His heavy breathing filled the room while I stared blankly ahead, my naked body lying motionless on the bed, detached, like it no longer belonged to me at all. Thirty minutes. That was how long he had paid to have s*x with me. Thirty minutes of practiced moans. Thirty minutes of pretending I enjoyed the touch of his hands that made my stomach curl with disgust. Thirty minutes of letting another stranger use my body while my mind floated somewhere far away, detached and numb enough to survive it. He sounded satisfied. But I felt nothing. That was the secret nobody knew about Wildflower. The men at Paragon talked about me like I was some kind of fantasy brought to life. They whispered my stage name with obsession dripping from their tongues. They paid outrageous amounts just to spend one night with me. Some claimed I was addictive. Others swore I ruined normal women for them forever. But none of them knew the truth. None of them knew that beneath every gasp and every arch of my back was emptiness. No pleasure. No desire. Nothing. "You're unbelievable," the man muttered breathlessly at me. "The rumours are indeed true, sweetheart." I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and slowly sat up from the bed. I reached for the black robe pooled on the floor beside the bed to cover my naked self, while going through the routine I had perfected after two years of survival. Smile faintly. Pretend you aren't dying inside. "Glad you enjoyed yourself," I murmured softly. The man chuckled while fastening his belt, completely oblivious to the revulsion clawing through me. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a thick stack of cash before placing it on the bedside table. "A large tip for you," he said. "You're worth every damn dollar." Worth. The word almost made me laugh. Once upon a time I had been priceless. Once upon a time people bowed their heads when I entered rooms. Once upon a time I was Valentina Monroe. Daughter of Rudolf Monroe, the most feared man in the country and beyond. Princess of the Uno Conglomerate. Mafia royalty. Now I was Emilia Rose. Paragon's favorite w***e. I stood from the bed without another word and disappeared into the bathroom before the shame on my face became too obvious. The moment the door shut behind me, the smile fell instantly from my lips. My reflection stared back at me through the large mirror above the sink and for a moment I barely recognized the woman looking back. My short hair, dyed blonde, framed my face in a bob. My lips were fuller now. My makeup sharper. Even my posture had changed over the years. Everything about Emilia Rose had been carefully constructed to bury Valentina Monroe somewhere so deep nobody would ever find her. Still, sometimes I looked into mirrors and saw traces of her anyway. I turned on the sink and splashed water on my face, rinsing my mouth afterward to remove the taste of the man I had just been with, but it did nothing. It never did. My gaze drifted toward the cash on the marble counter and I inhaled slowly before reaching for it. Then I opened the small black purse hidden beneath the sink and pulled out the rest of my savings. I counted once. Then twice. Four thousand dollars. It was every tip I had gathered from every degrading night, every humiliating touch, and every piece of myself I had sacrificed over the past two years. By my calculation, it was the exact amount I owed my boss, Vincent Quinn. All that was left to pay off the contract I had signed with him two years ago for taking me and my best friend in, housing, feeding and clothing us in return for working for him. Relief hit me so suddenly my knees nearly weakened. Finally. Finally, this nightmare could end. Ava and I could disappear before Theodore's men discovered where I was hiding. Before someone recognized my face beneath all the disguises and fake smiles. Before the ghosts of my old life dragged me screaming back into the underworld. Valentina Monroe had died the same night Rudolf Monroe was murdered. Theodore made sure of that. He had been someone I called uncle. The only outsider my father trusted, and that trust cost him his life. I could still remember the blood and the screaming. Still remember Julian dragging Ava and me out of the estate while gunfire tore through the walls behind us. 'Run, Valentina. Don't look back.' I didn't. And I had been running ever since. I stuffed the money back into my purse and straightened my shoulders before leaving the bathroom. The customer had already gone by the time I stepped back into the room, and I slipped on my heels, heading for Vincent's office. His office was at the top floor of Paragon. I knocked twice before his voice finally came. "Come in." Inside, Vincent Quinn sat behind his desk with a cigar between his fingers. The office smelled like expensive liquor and smoke. He looked up the moment I entered, eyes glinting with interest. "There she is," he drawled lazily. "My favorite girl." I didn't sit or smile. I put the envelope on his desk and slid it toward him. "Four thousand dollars. I counted it twice. That is all that remains to settle mine and Ava's debt." I said. Vincent looked at the envelope. Looked at me. Then he laughed. Slowly. Mockingly. My stomach tightened at the sound. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured. "You didn't actually think that was all, did you?" The room suddenly felt colder. My fingers curled tightly at my sides. "That's what we agreed on!" "That was two years ago." He leaned back comfortably in his chair. "And everyone knows the cost of living has gone up. I fed you. Housed you. Protected you. Most people would have turned you girls away but I saw something in you, Emilia." He pointed at me. "And I was right, wasn't I? Look what you became. Wildflower." He said the name like it tasted good. "Best thing that ever walked through those doors." "Which is why four thousand is nothing. By my calculation, you owe me a hundred thousand dollars." “A hundred thousand?” I repeated, shocked. He took every payment men made for me every night. I had barely managed to save the four thousand. How was I supposed to raise a hundred thousand more? "You're valuable, Emilia." His voice darkened. "Men ask for you specifically. Do you have any idea how much money you make me? Why would I let you walk away?" That was the moment the truth hit me fully. Vincent Quinn had never intended to free me. Not ever. Panic clawed violently through my chest, but I forced myself not to show it. Men like Vincent noticed fear too easily, and the moment they did, they fed on it. "Don't look so upset, sweetheart. Paragon's been good to you." No. Paragon was just a means of survival. It had been safe until now, when I started noticing familiar faces— members of my father's old syndicates coming in. It was without a doubt that Vincent was getting involved in dangerous business. It was part of the reason I wanted out before my cover got blown. There was also a dangerous rumour circling about the Green Veil Syndicate resurfacing. The Green Veil was a rogue syndicate that had burned down eight years ago. And now they claimed their king— Kael Moretti—had returned. The thought of his name sent cold shivers down my spine, for I had watched Kael and his empire burn and I had been the reason for it. I had watched the chaos of my betrayal swallow everything he loved. Kael was said to have died in the m******e alongside his men and I had spent years convincing myself it was true. Because the alternative terrified me. If Kael Moretti was alive— Then eventually he would come for me. My father had enemies who hunted me, but Kael was an enemy I had carved out myself. If there was any chance he was alive, I didn't want to be around to find out. But escaping Vincent was proving far more difficult than I had hoped. Feeling defeated after our conversation, I went down to the lower floors and settled at the bar area. I hardly ever drank alcohol but I'd had enough of one night, and so I drank. "Bad night, Wildflower?" I closed my eyes briefly at the familiar voice, interrupting me. Ronan. One of Vincent's dogs. He was tall, smug, constantly reeking of cheap cologne and entitlement. He leaned beside me against the counter, eyes roaming shamelessly over my body. "You know," he murmured, "one day you're gonna realize I'm the best thing here for you." I took a slow sip from my drink. "I'd rather throw myself into the sea and drown, Ronan." He laughed loudly like I'd flirted instead of insulted him. "That mouth of yours—" "Try touching me again and you'll lose the hand," I snapped coldly, slapping his fingers off my arm. Something dark flickered briefly across his face before the smirk returned. Ronan had spent the last two years treating my refusals like a game he fully intended to win eventually, and I hated the way his eyes always lingered on me like I already belonged to him. He tried to speak, but movement near the entrance caught all our attention. Six men walked into Paragon wearing dark suits and deadly confidence, and the entire atmosphere shifted around them instantly. They were the mafia. Not the sloppy kind that frequented Paragon— the low-level criminals. But the kind that people answered to instead of questioned, capable of starting wars with a single word. Then I saw him, the last one to enter the room. And the world f*****g stopped. The glass nearly slipped from my fingers as my breath caught in my chest. For one horrifying second, I genuinely thought my mind had broken, that exhaustion and fear had finally pushed me into hallucinations. Because the man walking through the doors of Paragon was supposed to be dead. Kael Moretti was supposed to be dead. Yet here he was, walking right in.