Bound to the Ruthless Don

I should’ve killed them. Right there, in his apartment, while she moaned his name like I was just a glitch in their perfect little world. I should’ve smashed the wine bottle over her head, then buried the jagged edge into his throat. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel like my insides were rotting. Maybe then I wouldn’t be sitting in the back of a stranger’s Rolls-Royce, staring at a man who looks at me like he already owns me. I turn my head slightly, just enough to get a better look at him. He’s already watching me. A slow, almost mocking smile plays on his lips, like he knows the storm raging inside me and finds it amusing. I don’t know who he is. But everything about him from the way he commands the space without saying a word, to how the driver doesn’t even glance at him for instructions, tells me one thing: this is a man people obey. My stomach knots. Who the hell is he? And why am I in his car? This morning started off normal. I woke up exhausted, my body aching from another eight-hour shift at Sue’s—the diner where I serve entitled customers for a hundred bucks a night if I’m lucky. My feet hurt from standing too long. My cheeks hurt from forcing smiles. But I don’t complain. Survival isn’t about comfort. And Sue’s is my lifeline. Same routine as always: blasting music, brushing my hair, pretending my life is something more than what it is. This morning, it’s Billie Eilish. “And nothing has to change today… you didn’t mean to say ‘I love you’…” I sing off-key as I pull on my usual outfit—joggers, a baggy tee, and the Crocs Tiffany swears are an abomination. She tells me I dress like I want to be single forever. I tell her she collects men like bad decisions, so we’re even. My phone dings. Tiffany: Don’t miss class today, Iz. You’re my only hope in passing this course. You know I love you, baby :) Me: Bring your textbooks. Coffee’s on you today. And David—my boyfriend of three years. The love of my life. The man I thought I knew. He texts me too. David: Dinner at my place. As soon as you’re done at Sue’s. I smiled when I saw that message. Even now, the thought of me smiling makes me sick. I was so f*****g happy. Sue saw me floating through my shift like an i***t and kicked me out early. “Go,” she said with a knowing smile. “Knock his socks off.” So I did. I let my curls fall loose,he liked them that way. Swiped on red lipstick for the extra effect. Even bought his favorite wine on the way. Then I walked into his apartment and heard her moan. At first, I told myself it was the TV. But then… vanilla perfume hit me like a slap. I knew that scent. The door was cracked open. My mind screamed don’t look. But I did. David. My boyfriend of three years. And Tiffany. My best friend. His hands gripped her like his life depended on it, her legs wrapped around him, and my vanity mirror shook from how hard he was f*****g her against it. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the room and made me nauseous. I barely noticed the wine bottle slipping from my fingers, shattering on the floor. David scrambled, face pale. “s**t—Isla—baby—it’s not what it looks like—” Tiffany just stretched like a lazy cat, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “What?” she yawned. “It’s not like you guys were serious. Relax.” And then she lifted her hand and the diamond ring on her finger sparkled. The same f*****g ring I found in David’s drawer two months ago. I ran. I ran like my life depended on it, because in that moment, I swear, it did. The streets blurred. I didn’t know where I was going—only that I needed to leave. My lungs burned. My pulse pounded. Still, I ran. The street got unfamiliar fast. I knew I should stop and think but think about what? Go back to the apartment I shared with David? Or back to Ethan, my brother, who’s been dodging debt collectors and gambling his life away? Money meant for my tuition? Gone. If I go to Ethan, he might as well bet me off at one of those sleazy clubs he frequents. Convinced he’ll strike it big one day. Spoiler alert: he never does. Sue? No. I’m not a child, and I’m not dragging her into this mess. Then, out of nowhere, a black SUV cut me off. I thought it was a reckless driver and veered left—but four masked men stepped out fast, dressed in all black, blending into the dark. They moved like shadows. Straight toward me. Panic slammed into me. Kidnappers. I turned to run, but they grabbed me. Strong hands. Rough voices. The scent of sweat and leather suffocating me. I screamed. Kicked. Bit. But nobody came. Nobody ever comes. I smiled bitterly to myself. So this is what it feels like—to know you’re about to die. To realize no one’s going to trace you. That your body will just become another number in New York’s rising crime stats. But then, suddenly, hands loosened around me. Something warm splashed on my face. Blood? The rest of the hands released me, and I collapsed against the van, shaking. Am I dead? Is this it? I opened my eyes. Silent footsteps. A massive man stepped forward from the shadows, gaze locked on me. And in a voice deep and commanding, he said my name. “Isla.” My stomach turned to ice. I don’t know him. But he knows me. And he just killed for me. “Who… who are you?” I whispered. His face tightened. Like I should know. Like I’m the one being ridiculous. The silence stretched between us. Then I bolted. Rounded the nearest corner and ran like hell. But I didn’t get far. He caught me. I don’t even know how. One second I was sprinting, and the next, my legs were in the air and his arms wrapped around my waist. No. No. No. He can’t be that fast. He’s not human. He can’t be. I stared at him, frozen, like a deer caught in headlights—until my survival instincts kicked in. I started thrashing. Scratching. Trying to fight him off. I can’t be rescued from one set of kidnappers only to be kidnapped by another. But the more I fought, the tighter he held me. And the more I felt him. He smelled like danger. Masculine. Clean. Expensive. The kind of scent you remember. The kind that leaves marks. If I weren’t currently being abducted, I might have leaned in closer. Breathed him in. He carried me across the street toward a parked Rolls-Royce, where a man in a black suit stood with the door open. His face unreadable. Robotic. This can’t be good. I kicked again, but it was useless. He threw me into the seat and climbed in after me. The driver shut the door and locked it, just as I reached for the handle. I was trapped. His eyes roamed over me—slowly. From my worn jeans to my face. His stare was possessive. Bold. Then he placed his hand on my lap. I smacked it away and scooted as far as I could, my back pressing into the door. “I need my brother,” I whispered