Owned By The Mafia Boss

Chapter Three

Alessia Mancini

I thrashed against their iron grip, my heart pounding as the cool metal of handcuffs bit into my wrists. The click of the locks echoed in my ears, a finality that sent a chill down my spine. I kicked out, aiming for Matteo's shins, but Antonio's thick fingers wrapped around my ankles, binding them with swift efficiency.

"You bastards!" I spat, my voice raw with fury. "Let me go!"

Matteo's laughter, low and cold, filled the dimly lit corridor. His grey eyes glinted with amusement, sending a wave of both anger and unnerving attraction through me. I pushed the latter feeling down, disgusted with myself.

"Such fire, little Mancini," he purred, his Northern Italian accent crisp and refined. "I do hope you keep that spirit. You might need it."

I glared at him, willing my eyes to burn holes through his impeccably tailored suit. "When I get out of this…"

"You won't," Antonio grunted, his Neapolitan drawl thick with certainty.

They half-carried, half-dragged me down the plush carpeted hallway. The scent of leather and cigars grew stronger, mingling with the faint trace of gunpowder that seemed to cling to Antonio. My mind raced, searching for a way out, but the reality of my situation settled like lead in my stomach.

We stopped before an ornate wooden door. Matteo rapped his knuckles against it, the sound sharp and authoritative. A muffled voice responded, "Come in."

My breath caught as Matteo turned the handle. The office beyond was bathed in warm lamplight, casting long shadows across antique furniture. Before I could take in more details, I was unceremoniously dumped into a high-backed leather armchair.

I winced as my bound wrists pressed uncomfortably against the chair's backrest. "You could at least…"

"Hush now, cara," Matteo interrupted, his finger pressing against my lips. "The boss will see you now."

As footsteps approached from behind the massive mahogany desk, I steeled myself. Whatever came next, I wouldn't let them see my fear. I'd survived worse, after all. But as the man emerged from the shadows, his presence commanding and undeniably dangerous, a treacherous thought whispered through my mind: had I?

The man's dark eyes locked onto mine, intense and unreadable. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, settling into the chair across from me. The expensive fabric of his tailored suit stretched across broad shoulders as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the polished wood.

"Alessia Mancini," he said, his voice a low, rich timbre that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. "I am Giovanni Moretti. Welcome."

The name struck me like a physical blow. Moretti. The whispered boogeyman of Porto Cristallo's underworld. I swallowed hard, tasting fear and bitter anger on my tongue.

"What the hell is going on?" I demanded, proud that my voice didn't waver. "Why am I here?"

Giovanni's lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes. "Ah, straight to business. I appreciate that in a woman." He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "You see, mia cara, I'm having a bit of a... problem with your father."

My stomach dropped. Of course. It always came back to him, didn't it? I closed my eyes briefly, wrestling with a surge of emotions; rage, disappointment, a perverse sort of resigned amusement. When I opened them again, Giovanni was watching me with keen interest.

"f**k," I muttered under my breath, then took a deep, steadying inhale. The leather of the chair creaked as I straightened my spine. "How much?" I asked, my voice clipped.

Giovanni's eyebrow arched, a flicker of what might have been admiration crossing his face. "Two hundred and fifty million euros."

The number hit me like a punch to the gut. I struggled to keep my expression neutral, but my mind reeled. "How..." I started, then swallowed hard. "How is it that high?"

Giovanni leaned back, his chair whispering against the carpet. "It's been building for a long time, mia cara." His voice was almost gentle, a stark contrast to the steel in his gaze. "Your father, he has... expensive tastes. And poor luck."

I let out a humorless laugh, ignoring the way it made Matteo shift uneasily behind me. "That sounds about right," I said, bitterness seeping into every word. "And let me guess – I'm supposed to be his collateral?"

Giovanni's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He rose from behind the desk, his movements lithe and predatory. The fading sunlight streaming through the window cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the sharp angles of his face.

"Perceptive," he murmured, circling around to perch on the edge of the desk directly in front of me. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker, more primal, filled my senses. "At this very moment, I have men en route to collect your father. They'll inform him that we have you."

My heart raced, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. "And what exactly does this mean for me, Mr. Moretti?"

Giovanni's eyes raked over me, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. "That," he said, voice low and rich like aged whiskey, "depends entirely on the cards your father chooses to play."

I swallowed hard, my mind whirling with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. The weight of the cable ties bit into my wrists, a constant reminder of my helplessness.

"And if he doesn't have any cards left to play?" I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.

Giovanni leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Then, mia bella, you become the most valuable chip on the table."

The implications of his words hung heavy in the air between us. I closed my eyes, fighting against the rising panic in my chest. How did my life come to this? One moment I was a normal university student, and the next...

"I won't be a pawn in your game," I hissed, meeting his gaze with all the defiance I could muster.

A dangerous smile played at the corners of Giovanni's mouth. "Oh, Alessia," he purred, "I think you'll find that the game has already begun."

The heavy oak door swung open with a creak, and my heart leapt into my throat. Two figures entered; one massive and imposing, the other painfully familiar. My father.

"Grazie, Alessandro," Giovanni said smoothly, nodding to the hulking man who'd escorted my father in.

I watched as the colour drained from my dad's face, his eyes widening in horror as they landed on me. The sight of him, disheveled, defeated, made my stomach churn with a potent mixture of relief and fury.

"What the f**k did you do, dad?" The words burst from my lips before I could stop them, sharp and accusatory.

He flinched as if I'd slapped him, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his shame. "Alessia, I... I never meant for this to happen," he stammered, his voice cracking.

I could smell the faint trace of whiskey on his breath, even from across the room. It was achingly familiar, the scent of countless disappointments and broken promises.

"You never do, do you?" I spat, the bitterness of years of frustration rising like bile in my throat. "And yet, here we are. Again."

Giovanni watched our exchange with predatory interest, his dark eyes glittering in the dim light of the office. I could feel the heat of his gaze on my skin, and it made me shudder.

"Now, now," he interjected smoothly, his voice a dangerous purr. "Let's not be too harsh on dear old dad. After all, his... shall we say, poor choices... have brought us all together. And I, for one, find the company quite... stimulating."

The way his eyes lingered on me as he spoke made my skin crawl. I tugged uselessly at my bonds, hating how vulnerable I felt under his scrutiny.

"This isn't her fault," my father pleaded, taking a hesitant step forward. "Please, Giovanni. Let Alessia go. I'll do anything…"

Giovanni's laughter cut through the air like a knife, cold and sharp. "Anything? Oh, Marco. You already gave me your daughter. What have you got left?"

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. I felt my stomach twist, a mixture of fear and rage coursing through me.

My father's face crumpled, the last vestiges of his once-charming facade crumbling away. "I... I didn't mean to," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. "It was just supposed to be a temporary solution. Just until my luck turned around."

I closed my eyes, fighting back tears of frustration. Of course. It always came back to his gambling. The scent of leather and expensive cologne filled my nostrils as Giovanni leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear.

"Your father made a very powerful plea, mia cara," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "And now it's time to collect."

My mind raced, searching for a way out of this nightmare. But as I looked at my father's defeated posture and Giovanni's triumphant smirk, a sinking feeling settled in my chest. Whatever game they'd been playing, I was now the prize.

"I won't be a pawn in your games," I hissed, meeting Giovanni's gaze defiantly. But even as the words left my mouth, I could see the spark of interest ignite in his eyes. He liked a challenge.

"Oh, but you already are," Giovanni replied, his fingers trailing along my jawline. "The question is, what move will you make next?"

I jerked my head away from his touch, my skin tingling where his fingers had been. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. I could hear my own rapid heartbeat echoing in my ears.

"What exactly do you want from me?" I demanded, meeting Giovanni's eyes. Fire burned in mine, but he remained cool, calculating. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a smirk that sent a chill down my spine.