OWNED BY THE DON

CHAPTER 3 - WHITE

Rachel collapsed onto the edge of her bed, her knees buckling under the weight of a devastating betrayal. Her father hadn't just failed her; he had sold her to the city's most dangerous man.

It was 3 PM. The clock was a ticking ultimatum.

Desperate, she dialed Sophie. “Pick up, Soph,” she murmured, her thumb hovering over the call button as the second attempt went to voicemail. “Where the hell are you?”

Then, she text her.

Whatsapp me soon babe or just E-mail me if I didn't respond — Rachie

The low growl of a car engine pulled her to the window. A sleek black sedan sat idling at the curb. Two men in suits emerged, moving toward the house with clinical precision.

The doorbell rang—sharp and insistent.

Rachel froze as Mrs. Jones, the longtime housekeeper, hurried to the door. Moments later, the old woman climbed the stairs, carrying a small, elegant box.

“Someone sent this for you,” Mrs. Jones said, her brow furrowed.

She had served the Romano family for decades; she knew the smell of trouble.

“You’re not okay, sweetheart. Tell me.”

Rachel forced a bitter smile. “Just tired, Mrs. Jones. I haven't been sleeping.”

The housekeeper patted her cheek gently. “Rest then. Don’t overthink.”

As the door clicked shut, Rachel whispered to the empty room, “I’m going to miss you.” It was a final goodbye; by sunset, she would be a ghost.

Inside the box lay a sheath of white silk nestled in crisp tissue paper. It was a simple cut, yet its understated elegance made Rachel’s stomach twist. Size four. Her exact size.

She hadn’t shared her measurements in years. Since college, she had been a ghost, meticulously guarding her data and her life, buying only thrifted anonymity. Yet, here it was—a silent confirmation that she was being watched.

Rachel stared at the garment, warning herself not to touch the bait. It was a trap draped in luxury. But her fingers betrayed her, grazing the material. The silk was impossibly soft, sliding through her grip like cool water. Whoever selected it was a master of psychology.

There was no gaudy lace or distracting detail, only clean, lethal lines designed to make a woman look dangerous even in repose. In her mind’s eye, she could already feel the fabric hugging her curves.

It fit her perfectly before she even stepped into it. It felt less like a gift and more like a map—as if he had already traced every inch of her skin with his eyes.

Her phone buzzed on the duvet—a jagged intrusion. One message from an unknown number:

“Be ready at 8. You look better in white. — F.”

Her stomach twisted. There was no "please," no illusion of choice. It was a command wrapped in seven words, signed with a single letter as if he owned the alphabet itself.

She wanted to smash the screen, to shatter the letters until they couldn't haunt her. Instead, she read it again.

“You look better in white.”

The horror wasn’t just the order; it was the unbidden image of Fabio standing across a dark room, his gaze fixed on her. Not with coldness, but with the dark satisfaction of a man who had finally claimed his prize.

She shoved the thought down. This was the man who had cornered her father, the predator who made hardened men double-check their locks at night.

He might have bought the dress, and he might have bought the wedding, but Rachel made a silent, frantic vow. He could take her freedom, but she would never let a monster like him take her virginity.

hair, but a jaw set with lethal intent. She looked like a girl about to make a very dangerous decision. On the couch, the white silk dress sat in mocking silence—too perfect, too quiet.

It was nearly 4 PM. There was still a window to disappear. She moved with frantic precision, packing a bag with her essentials: a passport, a thick stack of cash, a burner phone, and her ultimate weapon—a custom-built hacking tablet. She refused to glance at the dress again.

Heavy footsteps thundered in the hallway. The door swung open, and her father, Antonio, stormed in. His eyes immediately locked onto the half-packed bag.

“You’re trying to run?!” he bellowed.

“Daddy, please! I can’t marry that monster!” Rachel pleaded, her voice cracking.

Antonio didn't answer; he grabbed her arm, his grip like iron, and shoved her back toward the center of the room. He retreated toward the hallway, reaching for a spare key in the corridor cabinet.

“You’re staying here until Fabio Castellano picks you up!” he snarled, his face twisted in a mask of desperation and cold ambition.

The heavy oak door slammed shut.

Click. Click.

The sound of the deadbolt felt like a final sentence.

“Daddy! Open this door!” Rachel screamed, throwing her weight against the wood. “Let me out! Please!”

There was no response but the receding sound of his footsteps. Rachel sank to the floor, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The room felt smaller, and the white silk dress was watching her like a ghost. She reached for the bag she’d dropped, her fingers brushing the cold metal of her tablet.

If she couldn't walk out the front door, she would have to tear down the house from the inside out.

But the systems were reinforced, and the exhaustion of her betrayal finally won. Rachel screamed until her throat was raw, eventually drifting into a fitful sleep on the cold floor.

She woke to the low rumble of engines. It was 7:30 PM. Two sleek black SUVs idled at the curb, their headlights cutting through the twilight.

The lock clicked. Mrs. Jones slipped in, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“My God, Rachel... you look terrible.” She worked quickly, fixing Rachel’s matted hair with trembling hands. “Your father says to get ready now. They are waiting.”

Mrs. Jones held her hand, a desperate squeeze of solidarity. “I heard the news,” she whispered, a tear finally escaping. “Take care, sweetie.” With a heavy heart, she helped Rachel into the white silk. It clung to her like a second skin—beautiful, expensive, and suffocating.

Fabio Castellano was nothing if not punctual.

Rachel grabbed her bag, housing the tablet that was now her only lifeline. She killed the lights, casting the room into shadow, and walked downstairs with her head held high. The time for pleading was over. If Fabio wanted her, he’d have to chase her into the dark.

And if he caught her?

She’d make sure he remembered that queens didn’t kneel. They bit.