Owned By The Mafia Boss

Chapter Five

Giovanni Moretti

The click of Alessia's heels echoed through the dimly lit corridors of Il Sotterraneo as I guided her towards the exit, my hand resting possessively on the small of her back. The warmth of her skin seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, igniting a spark of desire I hadn't anticipated.

Her defiance intrigued me. Most in her position would be cowering, pleading for mercy. But not Alessia Mancini. No, she walked with her head held high, a fire burning behind those deceptively innocent brown eyes. It was... alluring.

As we emerged into the cool night air, the scent of jasmine from the nearby gardens mingled with the salt of the sea. I opened the car door, watching as Alessia slid gracefully into the back seat. Her father, Marco, was already seated in the front, his nervous energy palpable even from behind.

I settled in beside Alessia, the leather seats creaking softly. The car purred to life, and as we pulled away from the curb, I found myself stealing glances at her profile. The streetlights cast shifting shadows across her face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw.

"You surprise me, Alessia," I murmured, my voice low enough that only she could hear. "Most would be begging for mercy by now."

She turned to face me, one eyebrow arched. "Would you prefer that, Mr. Moretti? Should I fall to my knees and plead?"

The image her words conjured sent a jolt of heat through me. I chuckled, impressed by her boldness. "No, I find I quite enjoy your spirit. Though you may come to regret it."

"We'll see," she replied, a hint of challenge in her tone.

As we drove through the winding streets of Porto Cristallo, I considered my next moves carefully. Alessia Mancini was proving to be far more intriguing than I had anticipated. I had expected a naive girl, easy to manipulate and control. Instead, I found myself faced with a woman of surprising depth and resilience.

It would be a delicate dance, molding her to my will without breaking that captivating spirit. But I had always enjoyed a challenge, and Alessia promised to be my most enjoyable yet.

The car slowed to a stop outside the Mancini family home, a once-proud Mediterranean villa now showing signs of neglect. Alessia was out of the vehicle before I could even reach for the door handle, her lithe figure moving with determined grace up the cracked pathway.

I followed closely behind, drinking in the scent of jasmine that clung to her skin. "Ten minutes," I instructed as she reached for the door handle. "Pack only the essentials."

She nodded curtly, pushing the door open and leaving it ajar for us to follow. I stepped inside, immediately struck by the contrast between the home's faded grandeur and the unmistakable warmth that still lingered. Family photos lined the walls, telling a story of happier times.

Marco shuffled in behind me, his eyes darting nervously around the room. I could practically smell the desperation rolling off him in waves. Alessandro entered last, his imposing presence a silent reminder of the consequences should Marco attempt anything foolish.

"I'll just... I'll wait here," Marco mumbled, collapsing onto a worn armchair.

I ignored him, my attention focused on the sound of Alessia's footsteps above us. What was going through her mind, I wondered, as she packed away her old life?

"You've put your daughter in quite the predicament, Mancini," I said, my voice deceptively casual. "I hope you appreciate the sacrifice she's making."

Marco's face crumpled. "I never meant for this to happen. Alessia, she's... she's a good girl. She doesn't deserve this."

I smiled, cold and sharp. "Few of us get what we deserve in this life. Your daughter, however... I think she might surprise us all."

The sound of Alessia descending the stairs silenced any further conversation. She appeared in the doorway, a small suitcase in hand, her face a mask of composure.

"I'm ready," she said simply, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of defiance and resignation that sent a thrill through me.

"Excellent," I purred, extending my hand to take her bag. "Shall we begin our new arrangement, cara mia?"

Marco stumbled to his feet, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. "Alessia, bambina, I'm so sorry," he choked out, reaching for her. "I never meant for this to happen. I'll fix it, I swear. Just give me time…"

"Don't," Alessia cut him off, her voice low and tight. The pain in her eyes was palpable, but there was something else there too, a steely resolve that made my breath catch. "You're out of time, Dad. You're out of chances."

I watched, fascinated, as she took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. The soft curves of her body belied the strength I sensed beneath. She was like a diamond forged under immense pressure; beautiful, valuable, and impossibly hard.

Marco's face crumpled, tears streaming down his haggard cheeks. "Please, forgive me," he begged, reaching for her again.

Alessia stepped back, just out of his reach. Her eyes met mine, and I saw a flash of something… anger? Determination? It was gone before I could decipher it.

"We should go," she said quietly, her gaze never leaving mine. "There's nothing left to say here."

I nodded, admiring her composure even as I wondered what thoughts were churning beneath that calm exterior. As we turned to leave, Marco's anguished sobs filled the air, a discordant backdrop to the tension thrumming between Alessia and me.

I placed my hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards the door. Her skin was warm through the thin fabric of her shirt, and I found myself acutely aware of every point of contact between us.