BOUND TO THE BILLIONAIRE MAFIA

Two years ago… They told me rebellion was stupid. That a girl like me would either burn out young or get swallowed by the world. I remember laughing at them as I slid the leather jacket over my bruised shoulders, cheeks still hot from the slap I returned to a man twice my size. I walked out of the backdoor of La Noche bar with blood on my lip and adrenaline rushing through my veins, like I could conquer the night. The city buzzed, neon lights reflecting in dirty puddles, my boots splashing through them as I ran from the sound of sirens. Somewhere between the alleyway shadows and the blaring rooftop lights, I felt invincible—the kind of untouchable only a girl who’s had nothing her whole life could understand. I didn’t believe in fear back then. But today… I’m drowning in it. The white fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor were harsh enough to carve into my skull. Sweat clung to my palms, and even breathing felt like a betrayal. My mother lay behind those double doors, monitors beeping steadily, as if unaware that the world outside was collapsing. I stared at the bill in my trembling hands. $98,400. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Sophie Hernandez doesn’t break. She bends. She fights. She survives. But tonight, the world is winning. A nurse approached gently. “Miss Hernandez, the surgeons need payment before the operation can begin. We… can’t delay any longer.” Before midnight. That’s all I heard. It was already 10:17 PM. “If we don’t operate now,” she added softly, “she might not make it through the night.” My heart fractured, but I remained still. Calm. I’ve always made decisions under pressure. Tonight would be no different… except I had no options left. I stood. “Give me an hour.” The nurse hesitated but nodded. I walked outside toward the exit doors. The air was cool, but my skin was burning. I pulled out my phone, dialing the last person I wanted to ask for help. He didn’t answer. I tried two more numbers. No one answered. Maybe rebellion was stupid after all. Then—two black-suited men stepped into my path. Not hospital staff. Too sharp. Too poised. Too dangerous. The taller one spoke. “Miss Sophie Hernandez?” My pulse quickened. “Who’s asking?” “We represent Mr. Dante Castellano.” His voice was perfectly calm, as if saying the name of the most feared man in New York was as normal as asking for the time. Every instinct screamed at me to run. I knew the name. Everyone did. Mafia lord. Ruthless billionaire. Not someone you meet. Someone you fear. “He’s aware of your situation,” the man continued. I froze. How? Why? “We’re here with an offer.” “I’m not interested.” My voice was firm, though my lungs felt like they were collapsing. “You haven’t heard it yet.” “I don’t need to.” The man glanced at the hospital doors. “She has hours, maybe less. Mr. Castellano is willing to settle the full medical costs. And beyond that—he’ll ensure she receives the best private care.” My heart raced but I forced control. “What does he want in return?” The man studied me. “One year.” “One year of what?” I asked, though deep down, I already knew. “Marriage.” The word hit like a bullet. I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I swallowed, my chest tightening like I’d been handcuffed from the inside. “I’d rather die.” “Your mother might,” he replied, no emotion in his eyes. His words broke something in me. “One year,” he repeated. “Mrs. Castellano. Contract marriage. No questions asked.” “No,” I breathed out. “Not happening.” He nodded once, then stepped aside as if the conversation was over. I walked away, each step heavier than the last. I was halfway across the parking lot when I heard it—his voice. Deep. Controlled. Deadly. “Saying no was brave,” he said. “But bravery won’t keep her alive.” I turned slowly. Dante Castellano leaned against a black Bentley, coat draped across broad shoulders, eyes sharpened like razors. He watched me like a hunter evaluating prey. He didn’t approach. He didn’t smile. He simply spoke again. “If you agree,” he said, “she lives. If you don’t”—he paused—“you will watch her die.” Silence. My throat tightened. “And if I say yes?” He tilted his head slightly, cold gaze not shifting. “You become mine.” I stared at him, at the hospital, at my helpless reflection in the car window. Then I walked toward him. “I have one condition,” I whispered. “You’re in no position to negotiate,” he replied. “Let me speak to her first.” Something flickered in his expression. Not empathy. Just interest. “Ten minutes,” he said. I nodded. “I agree to your terms.” His eyes locked onto mine. “The contract begins at midnight.”