Owned by the Don

The sound of chains dragged across the floor echoed through the narrow hallway as two guards pulled me forward, their grip tight on my arms, making it impossible for me to resist even if I had the strength to try. My feet scraped against the rough concrete, each step became painful, and my wrists burned inside the metal cuffs that were locked too tight, cutting into my skin. “Walk faster,” one of them said with an annoyed tone, pushing me hard from behind. I stumbled forward and almost fell, but I managed to steady myself by pressing my palm against the cold wall beside me. The surface felt damp and rough, and the air smelled like rust, smoke, and something else I didn’t want to think about. My heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would burst out of my chest at any moment. They told me I was being sold. Not helped. Not rescued. But Sold. Ahead of us stood a large metal door, thick and heavy, like something meant to keep secrets locked inside. From the other side, I could hear loud music, men laughing, glasses clinking, and voices speaking over each other like they were enjoying some kind of celebration. My stomach twisted tightly. This wasn’t a celebration. It was an auction. And I was the item. One of the guards knocked twice, then pushed the door open, and bright light flooded into the dark hallway, forcing me to squint as my eyes struggled to adjust. When my vision cleared, I realized just how big the room was. It looked like a place meant for rich people, with gold shining along the walls and heavy red curtains hanging from every corner. Crystal lights glowed above, casting a warm light across the room, but nothing about it felt warm to me. Rows of men sat quietly in expensive black suits, each of them wearing a mask that hid their identity, but not their intentions. I could feel their eyes on me. They were watching, judging and waiting. The guards dragged me forward until we reached the center of the room, then pushed me toward a small stage. My legs trembled beneath me, but I forced myself to stand straight, refusing to fall in front of them no matter how scared I felt. A man with a silver cane stepped onto the stage, smiling in a way that made my skin crawl. He looked at the crowd like he was about to present something valuable, something rare. “Gentlemen,” he said smoothly into the microphone, “our next item is very special.” The word item made something twist painfully inside my chest, but I stayed silent. The guards pulled me fully onto the stage, and I stood there under the bright light, feeling exposed, like I was no longer a person but something to be examined. “Aria DeLorenzo,” the man announced, his voice echoing through the room. “Daughter of the late Lorenzo DeLorenzo. Debts unpaid. Property seized.” A low murmur spread through the audience, and I heard a few quiet laughs that made my cheeks burn with humiliation. I clenched my fists tightly at my sides, trying to hold onto whatever pride I had left. “Starting bid,” the man continued, tapping his cane lightly against the stage, “one million.” For a moment, I thought I had heard him wrong. One million for me? Before I could even process it, hands began to rise across the room. “Two million,” one voice called out. “Three.” “Three point five.” “Four million.” The numbers kept climbing higher and higher, and my head began to spin as I realized that they were not just saying numbers. They were deciding my worth like I was something they could own and use however they pleased. I bit my lip hard, forcing the tears back into my eyes, refusing to cry in front of them. “Five million,” someone shouted from the front row. The man with the cane smiled wider, clearly pleased with how things were going. “We have five million. Do I hear anything higher?” For a brief moment, the room grew quiet. Then a voice spoke from the back. “Ten million.” It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. The calmness in that voice made the entire room fall silent instantly, as if no one even thought of competing with it. The auctioneer blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard. “Ten million?” he repeated, almost unsure if he had heard correctly. My heart started beating faster, not just from fear this time, but from something else I couldn’t explain. There was something about that voice. Something familiar. Something that made my chest tighten painfully. I slowly turned my head toward the back of the room, trying to see who had spoken. A man sat there, partially hidden in the shadows, wearing a dark mask that covered his face. I couldn’t see him clearly, but I could feel his presence, strong and steady, like he didn’t belong to the same world as the others in the room. “Ten million going once, going twice,” the auctioneer said quickly, eager to close the deal. “Wait,” another man suddenly interrupted. “Who are you to offer ten million for a girl like her?” The question hung in the air, but the masked man did not answer immediately. Instead, he stood up slowly. The movement alone drew every eye in the room toward him, and as he began walking forward, something inside me started to shake in a way I couldn’t control. It wasn’t fear. It was recognition. The way he walked.The way he held himself. It felt too familiar. With every step he took closer to the stage, my heartbeat grew louder, my breathing uneven, until I could barely think straight. He stopped in front of me. Then, without saying a word, he lifted his hand and removed the mask from his face. Everything inside me stopped. The world around me disappeared. “Sebastian,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. He looked exactly like I remembered and completely different at the same time. His face was sharper now, more defined, and his eyes. The same eyes that used to look at me with warmth and kindness now held nothing but cold distance. There was no smile. No softness.No trace of the boy I once knew. “She is mine,” he said calmly. His voice held authority, and no one dared to question it. The auctioneer nodded quickly. “Of course, Mr. Vieri.” The guards rushed to unlock my cuffs, and the metal fell away from my wrists, leaving behind red marks that stung when I touched them. I couldn’t move or speak. I just stared at him. “You’re alive,” I said softly, my voice shaking despite my attempt to stay calm. “They said you were dead. I thought…” “Be quiet,” he said, cutting me off without hesitation. The coldness in his tone hurt more than I expected, and I felt my chest tighten painfully. He stepped closer, and the faint scent of his cologne reached me, bringing back memories I didn’t want to remember. “From now on,” he continued, his voice low and firm, “you speak only when I allow it.” I froze where I stood, unable to respond. This wasn’t the boy I loved. This was someone else entirely. He turned away from me and addressed the room without raising his voice. “The auction is over.” No one argued. No one protested. It was as if his word alone was enough to end everything. One of the guards grabbed my arm and pulled me down from the stage, forcing me to follow him as he walked toward the exit. The night air hit my face the moment we stepped outside, and I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but nothing felt real anymore. Sebastian stopped beside a black car and opened the door without looking at me. “Get in,” he said. I stood there for a moment, my hands trembling slightly as I tried to gather the courage to speak. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said, even though my voice lacked strength. He turned his head slowly and looked at me, his expression calm but firm. “You don’t have a choice.” “I don’t need saving,” I whispered, holding onto the only thing I could say. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in a way that made it hard to breathe. “Who said I was saving you?” he asked. The words hit me deeply, and I felt something inside me break. Without another word, I got into the car. The door closed with a heavy sound that seemed louder than it should have been, filling the quiet space around us and making the moment feel final in a way I couldn’t explain. Sebastian got in beside me, sitting close enough that I could feel his presence, but he didn’t look at me. The car started moving. I turned slightly, watching him carefully, searching for any sign of the person I once knew, but there was nothing. “Where are you taking me?” I asked softly. He didn’t answer. “Sebastian, please,” I tried again, my voice carrying more emotion this time. “Talk to me.” He finally turned his head and looked at me, his eyes sharp and unreadable. “I don’t owe you anything, Aria.” His words were simple, but they hurt more than I expected. I swallowed hard, trying to hold myself together. “You died,” I said. “I went to your funeral. I cried for you.” His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. “Stop talking,” he said quietly. The rest of the ride passed in silence until the car suddenly slowed down. “There’s something on the road,” the driver said. I leaned forward slightly, trying to see what he meant, and then I saw it. A body lying still in the middle of the street. My breath caught as I recognized the face. It was the auctioneer. The man with the silver cane. Blood spread across the ground beneath him, and a single bullet hole marked his forehead. “Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Drive,” Sebastian said calmly. “Sir, what if—” “Drive,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. The car moved again, and I turned back to look at him, my heart racing. “Did you do that?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Sebastian,” I pressed, unable to stop myself. He looked at me then, his expression completely unreadable. “Welcome back, Aria,” he said quietly. “This is my world now.” A chill ran through me as his words settled in my mind. The city lights blurred outside the window, but everything felt darker than before. His phone rang, and he answered it without hesitation, listening silently before speaking. “Good,” he said. “Make sure her name stays off the list.” He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. My heart pounded harder. “What list?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. He looked at me, his eyes dark and steady. “The one that decides who lives.” And in that moment, I understood something I couldn’t ignore. I hadn’t been rescued. I had been taken.