Sold To The Don: Mafia's Obsession

"Give me some time… I will pay up, I promise." Isabella's father's voice cracked under the pouring rain as he knelt in the mud. Only minutes ago, Isabella had been laughing outside the prom venue, her heart still fluttering from the kiss her boyfriend had pressed against her forehead before she left. "I'll be waiting for you at the villa tomorrow, just as we planned. Will you come with me, Bella, like you said you would?" "I will come with you." "Promise?" She had laughed and held up her pinky. Her pale blue prom dress swirling as she hugged her boyfriend goodbye. The night had smelled of cheap perfume, wet asphalt, and teenage dreams. She was supposed to go home, take off her makeup, and tell her dad all about the magical night — like she always did. Instead, she was sprinting toward the nightmare in their driveway. "Dad!" She dropped to her knees beside him, not caring that her expensive dress was soaking through. Her arms wrapped tightly around his trembling shoulders. He was all she had left since her mother died of cancer five years ago. He was the man who stayed up all night with her when she had nightmares, the one who worked two jobs so she could still go to a decent school. "Please don't hurt him!" She screamed at the circle of men in black suits. A large hand suddenly grabbed her arm, yanking her up so violently her feet left the ground. Isabella struggled wildly, her heart pounding in terror. "Let me go! Dad!" Then the air changed. A suffocating silence fell as every man straightened up. Isabella's eyes darted to the sleek black car a few meters away. The back door was slightly open. Even though she couldn't see his face clearly, she could feel him — a heavy, dangerous presence that made her stomach twist. She was dragged toward the car, heels scraping against the gravel. "No! Wait! What are you doing?!" Her voice broke. For a split second, their eyes met through the open door. The kind of man who owned the world and everyone in it. Behind her, her father completely broke down. "Please don't take her! Take me instead!" His desperate scream tore through the rain. "She's all I have left!" Isabella reached back desperately, fingers straining. "Dad!" The car door opened wider. She was shoved inside roughly. The door slammed shut with terrifying finality. As the car pulled away, Isabella pressed her face against the cold window, watching her father's broken figure disappear in the rain. Hot tears streamed down her face. Why is this happening? What did you do, Dad? The interior of the vehicle was unlike anything Isabella had ever seen. It was less like a car and more like a private parlor on wheels, with plush leather seats facing each other and soft golden lights illuminating the space. The man in his forties sat calmly on one side, a glass of vodka resting in his hand. While chaos raged inside Isabella, he looked completely at ease. He took a slow sip before extending the glass toward her. "Be of good cheer." A devilish smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Revulsion surged through Isabella. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and spat directly into the glass. The smile vanished. One of the men seated nearby—a younger man who had remained almost as composed as his boss—rose to his feet instantly. Before Isabella could react, his hand connected sharply with her cheek. The slap snapped her head to the side. Pain exploded across her face. The man snatched the glass from Rafael's hand and emptied its contents over her. Cold vodka soaked through her dress, dripping down her skin as she gasped. Silence filled the vehicle except for Rafael who found the action funny and laughed. Isabella slowly lifted her head, her cheek burning, her dress ruined, but the hatred in her eyes remained untouched. The drive felt like forever. When they finally stopped, she was taken into a mansion so grand it looked unreal. As Isabella fought and struggled her way out of their grip, the phone she had hidden inside her thigh-high stocking slipped free and fell to the floor. Her breath caught. The younger man—the same one who had slapped her and poured vodka over her dress—noticed it immediately. He bent down, picked it up, and smirked. "Trying to call for help?" Before she could answer, he slipped the phone into his pocket. They locked her in a luxurious bedroom. "Let me out you monsters!" Isabella screamed and banged on the door until her fists bled and her voice gave out. No one came. "Stop doing that… it's no use." Isabella froze when she finally noticed them. Two girls were sitting on the bed, watching her. One of them looked exhausted, her eyes hollow from too many nights of fear. The other sat closer to the edge, as if she had accepted everything already. Isabella had been pacing, banging on the door again and again, her hands trembling from frustration. The closer girl stood and gently took her wrist. "You're hurting yourself," she said softly. "Even if you drop dead right now, they won't open that door." Isabella yanked her hand away. "You don't know that," she snapped. "My dad won't let this happen. He'll come for me." The two girls exchanged a look. Finally, the first girl spoke again, quieter this time. "I hope so," she said. She cried herself to sleep on the massive bed, still wearing her ruined prom dress, wondering if she would ever see her father again.