Owned By The Don

Cassandra Briggs stood outside the heavy black door at 2:17 a.m., her cheap coat clutched tight around her like it could protect her from what she was about to do. She had never been anywhere like this. A club. The bouncer, tall, tattooed, and cold-eyed looked her up and down with bored disgust. “Private club, sweetheart. Invitation only.” Cassandra swallowed the lump in her throat. Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. “I’m here to see Damien Vale. Tell him Cassandra Briggs is here about her father’s debt.” The bouncer’s eyebrow twitched. He muttered something into his earpiece, then stared at her again. After a long pause, he stepped aside. “Top floor, elevator on the left. Don’t wander.” The moment she stepped inside, the world changed. Red and gold lighting bathed everything in sin. Beautiful women in barely dressed moved between dangerous men in tailored suits. The air smelled of expensive whiskey, cigar smoke, and violence. No one paid the trembling girl in jeans and a sweater any attention as she walked toward the private elevator. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She was twenty-four years old. A children’s librarian who spent her days reading fairy tales about brave knights and happy endings. Tonight she was walking straight into the dragon’s lair to sell herself. The elevator opened directly into a dimly lit private lounge on the top floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering New York skyline. Only two men were in the room. One was older, silent, standing respectfully to the side. The other sat in a large leather armchair like he owned the entire city. Damien Vale. Thirty-five. Don of the Vale syndicate. The man who held her father’s life in his hands. He was devastatingly handsome in the most terrifying way sharp jaw, black hair, steel-gray eyes that seemed to cut right through her. A charcoal suit hugged his powerful frame. A faint, almost polite smile played on his lips as he watched her approach, one finger lazily circling the rim of his whiskey glass. He looked like a gentleman. Elena knew better. Everyone in the underworld knew better. “Cassandra Briggs” Damien said, his voice smooth and low with a dangerous edge. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. Which one is it tonight?” Cassandra stopped a few feet away, clutching her purse like a shield. “I’m here about my father’s debt.” Damien leaned back, studying her openly. His gaze dragged slowly from her cheap flats, up her jeans and modest sweater, to her face. She felt stripped bare even though she was fully clothed. “Four point eight million dollars,” he said calmly. “Your father is a foolish man. Gambling with money that wasn’t his, then using my construction projects to launder it. Very sloppy.” He took a slow sip of whiskey. “My collectors were on their way to visit him tonight. Legs first. Then maybe his spine. You saved him a lot of pain by coming here.” Cassandra’s stomach twisted. She forced herself to meet those cold, beautiful eyes. “I’ll pay it. Not with money because I don’t have any. But I’ll pay with me.” Silence stretched between them. Damien’s smile widened, slow and predatory. “Explain.” “I’ll be yours,” she whispered, voice cracking. “For one year, I could live with you, do whatever you want, even I could be your wife in name and in body. Just erase the debt and let my father go. He’s all I have left.” Damien set his glass down with a soft clink. He rose from the chair in one fluid motion and walked toward her. He moved like a predator graceful, unhurried, lethal. When he stopped, he was close enough that she could smell his cologne, dark, expensive, with the faint metallic hint of blood underneath. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, almost gently. His fingers lingered on her cheek. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you, little librarian?” Heat flooded Cassandra’s face. She wanted to look away but didn’t dare. “Yes.” A soft, amused sound left his throat. “And you’re willing to let a man like me take that from you? To spread your legs every night for a year because your father couldn’t keep his hands off the poker table?” Her eyes stung with tears, but she blinked them back. “If that’s what it takes.” Damien’s hand slid down to rest on her throat, not squeezing, just feeling her pulse race under his palm. “I don’t do charity, Cassandra. If I accept this offer, you will belong to me completely. No friends. No job. No phone calls without permission. You will sleep in my bed when I want you there. You will open your mouth, your legs, and that tight little ass whenever I say. I will mark you. I will f**k you until you cry and beg. And when the year is over, if you’ve pleased me, the debt disappears.” His thumb stroked along her jaw. “Do you understand what you’re signing away tonight?” Cassandra’s breathing was shallow. Fear and something hotter, more shameful, twisted low in her belly. “I understand,” she said quietly. Damien studied her for a long moment, eyes gleaming with dark interest. Then he smiled charmingly, almost boyish, the smile of a monster wearing a beautiful mask. “Very well. You have a deal.” He turned to the older man. “Marco, draw up the contract. Standard wife clause. One year. Debt fully forgiven upon completion. Add clauses for physical discipline, restraint, and marking. She keeps anything I choose to put on her skin.” Marco nodded and disappeared into another room. Damien turned back to Cassandra. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up. “Tonight you go home and say goodbye to your old life. Tomorrow evening my men will collect you. You will bring nothing but the clothes on your back and whatever sentimental items I allow. From the moment you step through my door, you are mine.” He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, voice dropping to a velvet growl. “Welcome to hell, little wife. I hope you’re ready to burn.” Cassandra shivered violently as his warm breath ghosted over her skin. Damien stepped back, that charming smile still in place, eyes already promising every filthy, dark thing he intended to do to her. “Marco will give you the paperwork. Sign it carefully. Once your name is on that line there is no going back.” He returned to his armchair, picked up his whiskey, and dismissed her with a lazy wave of his hand, as if she were already just another possession in his empire. Cassandra stood there for a second longer, heart thundering, thighs pressed together against the confusing ache building between them. Then she turned and followed Marco to sign away her freedom.