Forced To A Mafia

A Deal with the Devil

Emily Rossi slammed shut the gallery door, her trembling hands turning the key in the lock for the night. Yet another day had gone by with no sale yet again. The rent was overdue, and the pressure of keeping her father's legacy alive had slightly worn her down. Her art gallery, her dream, was slipping right from under her fingers. Bills were piling up, and no matter how hard she tried, a way out eluded her.

She looked at her last painting-a very vibrant, abstract piece with sharp angles and deep reds. Her heart fell. Art was supposed to be her respite, her salvation, but tonight it felt like a weight upon her. She was drowning, and nobody was coming near to save her.

"Tomorrow will be better," she muttered, the words sounding empty. She no longer was quite so sure she believed them.

She reached for her coat, turned to leave, and heard a knock echoing through the vacant gallery. Emily froze. It was long after closing, and the street outside was empty. What kind of visitor could this be?

The knock came again - louder this time.

She hesitated, weighing up whether to ignore it. But something gnawed at her, a strange curiosity she couldn't quite shake. Her better judgement cast aside, she crossed the gallery and unlocked the door.

On the other side stood a tall, sharply dressed man in a dark-coloured suit tailored to perfection. Overwhelmingly powerful, he commanded attention and respect in an intimidating manner. His cold grey eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither spoke.

"Ms. Rossi?" His voice was smooth, calculated.

"Yes," Emily replied cautiously. "Who are you?"

"I represent someone who would like to make you an offer.

Her brow furrowed. "An offer? For what?"

Not waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside. His shiny shoes clicked against the hardwood floor. Emily's heart was racing as she closed the door behind him. Something about this man unset­tled her, yet she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Danger was in the air when he was near.

"My employer is Alessandro De Luca," the man said, his tone even, controlled, as though the name should have meant something to her.

It did.

In New York, Alessandro De Luca was well-known to all. Though the millionaire mogul was well-known in upper society, rumours of his connections to the criminal underworld were murmured. Mafia boss in the making. Uncompromising. Untouchable. Not the kind of man you crossed.

Emily's gut twisted. "What does he want with me?"

The man offered a gleaming black envelope. "He wishes to discuss a… proposition."

Emily gazed at the envelope as if touching it would result in a third-degree burn. "Suggest? What sort of suggestion is this?" He stated coolly, "I'm not at liberty to discuss the details." "But you should listen to him; I promise you that.

Her mind raced with the ideas. How could she possibly pique the curiosity of someone such as Alessandro De Luca? She was a mere artist, just making ends meet. There has to be some kind of error here. "I apologise," she added, trying to sound more serious than she actually was.

"I'm not interested in this; I have no idea what it is. The man appeared almost too calm, but his face did not shift. "I would advise you to reconsider. Mr. De Luca is not a man to be refused lightly."

A shiver ran down her back. She objected to the way he had talked, the implied menace in his voice. Emily yelled, "I don't care who he is," as her dread gave way to defiance. "You can't buy me. The man looked at me and for the first time his eyes flashed with humour. "We'll be in touch."

With that, he turned and walked out of the gallery, leaving her standing there in the large, empty room with the envelope in her hand. She opened it with shaking hands to discover one sheet of paper.

The bold, elegant handwriting was unmistakable. "Dinner. 8pm tomorrow. Your presence is not optional.

There was no signature. None was needed.

Emily's pulse pounded in her ears as she crumpled the letter in her fist. Who did he think he was? She wasn't some puppet to be controlled, some pawn in a game she didn't understand. She would ignore the invitation. She had no interest in playing by his rules.

Standing in the darkness of the gallery now, however, the full weight of the situation bore down on her. The rent was overdue, and her father's gallery was all she had left of him. She could not afford to lose it; she could not lose everything.

She tried to force the thoughts away, but Alessandro De Luca's name stayed in her head like a huge, heavy weight that was suffocating her. What could he possibly want from her? And more importantly-why her?

Another day dragged on, out of focus. Emily plunged into her work in an attempt not to think about this gnawing feeling of anxiety that dogged her with every step. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not get away from the shadow of Alessandro's invitation.

It was 7 p.m., and she was pacing her apartment detached between defiance and desperation. She didn't want to go. Every fibre of her body had screamed that this was a mistake. But she couldn't deny the reality of her situation. Wasn't she supposed to seize every small opportunity when there was any chance that Alessandro could help her?

The clock reached 7:30, and with the decision made, Emily reached for her coat and stepped out into the chill of the New York night. Her heart had raced all over town, literally hammering against her chest.

Verification that her suspicions were correct—there was no going back—lay in the svelte black automobile that was waiting for her outside her building. The driver, a silent man in a black suit, pulled away from the curb without a word as she slid into the back seat.

As they raced through the streets and farther into the unknown, the city lights became hazy. The automobile arrived in front of a massive skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan twenty minutes later.

Emily went outside and looked up at the enormous glass structure, her breath apparent in the chilly air. It was intimidating at the least, but really nothing compared to the fear churning in her stomach.

A pair of security guards escorted her inside; they guided her across the plush lobby, through a private elevator. As the doors slid shut, trapping her inside, the mind of Emily ran riot. What had she just walked into? What kind of deal had she made?

The soft ding announced the opening of the elevator doors, exposing the penthouse. The room was a masterpiece of modern design-sleek, cold, and reeking of wealth. Glass from the floor-to-ceiling windows let in an amazing view of the city. Yet it wasn't the view that took her breath away.

It was him.

Alessandro De Luca stood by the window, his back to her, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. Crackle-the air was alive with power around him-and for a second, she couldn't move. He seemed even more intimidating in person-tall, dark, and oozing danger.

He turned slowly, piercing eyes locking onto hers. A small knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Emily Rossi," he said, his voice low, smooth, calculated-beast-like-acknowledging his prey. "I've been expecting you."

Emily swallowed hard, and her heart hammered in her chest. She was inside the lion's den now. But little did she know this was just the beginning.

Alessandro's smile broadened, and with deliberation, he walked towards her. "I hope you're ready," he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers. "Because there's no way out now.