An Angel for the Mafia King

Angelica pov Dancing is the only place where I am free. Here, inside the mirrored walls of the mansion’s private studio, I am not the daughter of Greece’s most feared mafia boss. I am not a bargaining chip. I am not watched, guarded, or owned. I am just a girl who breathes through movement. My bare feet glide across the polished floor as the music pours through my veins, drowning out the reality I live in. Every turn, every leap, every stretch of my arms feels like rebellion. The rhythm carries me somewhere far away—somewhere without guns, deals, and blood-stained alliances. Somewhere I am allowed to dream. I dance until my lungs burn and sweat drips down my spine. Four hours pass without me noticing. When the song finally fades, I stand still, chest heaving, heart racing—not from exhaustion, but from the painful reminder that this freedom is temporary. I reach for my water bottle when I hear her voice. “Angelica, your brother wants to see you.” I turn to Elena. She stands by the door, arms crossed, eyes sharp and protective as always. She’s not just my bodyguard—she’s my shadow, my constant, my only friend. I’ve had guards my entire life, but Elena has been with me since I was eleven. She’s seen me grow up behind locked gates and armed men. I nod. “One minute.” I take a final sip of water, wipe the sweat from my face, and grab my bag before following her out of the studio. “You danced for four hours straight today,” Elena says as we walk down the long marble hallway toward my brother’s office. “Aren’t you tired?” I shake my head. “Dancing is the only thing that keeps me from thinking about the life I’ll never have.” She gives me a sad smile. “If you were allowed to attend an academy, you’d be extraordinary. I know it.” Her words warm me, even as they hurt. Dreams are dangerous things in my world. We stop outside my brother’s office. “I’ll wait here,” Elena says. I knock. “Come in.” Nicko looks up from behind his massive desk, his expression unreadable. He’s only been the boss for a month, but the weight of the crown already sits heavily on his shoulders. “You wanted to see me?” I ask, stepping inside. “Yes, Angie. Sit down. This is important.” My stomach tightens. He comes around the desk and sits across from me, taking my hands in his. His grip is firm—protective. “Nicko,” I whisper. “You’re scaring me.” He exhales slowly. “We have a problem. Max Richter. Berlin.” My blood runs cold. “He’s threatening me,” Nicko continues. “And he’s using you.” “What?” I frown. “He’s an ally. A friend.” “I thought so too. Until he saw you at my wedding.” My chest constricts. “He wants you,” Nicko says quietly. “And I don’t trust what he’d do if he got his hands on you.” Fear crawls up my spine. “So what happens now?” I ask. He hesitates. “The decision is final,” he says. “And I hate that it is.” My heart begins to race. “In one week,” he continues, “you will marry Alexander Petrov.” The name crashes into me like a gunshot. Alexander Petrov. The Russian Bratva king. Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable. I stare at my brother in disbelief. “You’re joking.” He doesn’t meet my eyes. “You’re not,” I whisper. “This is the only way,” he says. “Alexander can protect you. Together, we’ll destroy Max.” “You’re giving me away,” I choke out. “To a man I don’t know.” “Alex is powerful,” Nicko insists. “And he’s not a monster.” I stand abruptly, pacing. “He’s cruel. Everyone knows that. How can you do this to me?” “He needs a wife,” Nicko says softly. “An heir. And four years ago… he loved a woman who betrayed him. Since then, he trusts no one.” Understanding hits me like a blade. “So I’m a solution,” I whisper. “A womb. A shield.” “That’s not—” “I have no choice,” I say, tears blurring my vision. “Just like everything else in my life.” Nicko pulls me into his arms as I finally break. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I swear, you’ll be safe.” But safety has never meant happiness. That night, I cry myself to sleep, knowing that in one week, my life will no longer belong to me.