Trapped In Two Mafia World

Chapter 3:The Grassino Name

“Oh shoot,” I breathed, wrenching myself free from his grip and scrambling for my clothes. My hands shook as I dressed in a rush, my heart pounding too loudly in my ears. I stormed out, leaving him standing there—confused, frozen.

As I pulled the door open, I nearly collided with a man standing outside. I didn’t stop to figure out who he was or why he was there. I didn’t want to know. I bolted, desperate to put distance between myself and whatever I had just escaped.

By the time I reached the company building, my breathing was uneven. I stepped inside and scanned the room, every face unfamiliar. I forced myself to focus—on my presentation, my posture, my words. On anything except the chaos still spinning in my head.

I needed this job.

I needed a side income to survive the school I was already fighting to afford.

Finally, my number was called.

I stood, smoothed my clothes, and walked in.

And froze.

There he was.

The CEO.

Grassino Torricelli.

Shock crashed through me. The arrogant mafia man from before—the one I hadn’t even known by name—stood behind the desk, power radiating from him effortlessly. I had known the owner’s surname was Grassino, but I had never imagined him.

Oh my God.

That meant he was far more powerful than anyone had explained.

His gaze dragged slowly over me, from my shoes to my face, deliberate and unreadable. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I waited, stiff, until he finally broke the silence.

“What exactly are you here for?” he questioned coolly.

“I—I came to submit my CV,” I answered, my voice unsteady.

“Your CV?” he echoed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Even if other interviews are easy, you don’t honestly expect me to make yours easy, do you?”

Before I could respond, he gestured sharply. “Sit.”

I obeyed.

He asked for my CV, and when he took it, his fingers brushed mine—slow, intentional. It wasn’t like the tension we’d shared at the program. This felt calculated.

Why was he being so… touchy?

He requested my contact number next. Hesitant, I gave it to him.

“The interview won’t take place here,” he informed me calmly. “I’ll call you when it’s time.”

Call me—for what interview?

Confusion knotted in my chest. Before I could ask, he called out, “Next.”

Dismissed.

As I stood to leave, I placed my CV on the desk, but he stopped me. “Take it.”

I hadn’t even reached the door when he announced that the secretary position had already been filled.

So if he’d already chosen someone, what interview was he talking about?

I knew it then—he wouldn’t call. He hated me. This was his way of reminding me who held the power. Jenna had warned me. I should have listened. I should have walked away when I had the chance.

But how could I ignore helplessness?

The same girl I had defended earlier hadn’t even spoken for me today. She’d laughed with the others, throwing me glances sharp enough to sting. I refused to read meaning into it.

I just went back to my apartment.

“What a day,” I muttered, dropping my bag—

When my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I hesitated… then answered.

“Mila Evans,” a familiar voice drawled.

My breath caught.

“It’s him,” he continued slowly

“Torricelli Grassino.”

I want you at this address in ten minutes, Mila,” he said.

I froze, my thoughts scattering in every direction at once. “For what?” I managed to ask, my voice barely steady.

“For your interview, of course.”

“I thought you already assigned it to someone else.”

“Yes,” he replied coldly, without hesitation. “It’s assigned to you—if you do as I say in ten minutes.”

Before I could even gather another question, before I could breathe properly or protest, the line went dead. He had hung up.

The cold, unreachable Torricelli Grassino wanted me somewhere in ten minutes.

A sharp beep buzzed through my phone almost immediately. The address. I stared at it, confusion tightening in my chest. It looked like a hotel… or maybe a club. I couldn’t really tell. Was this truly where he expected to conduct an interview? Nothing about it felt normal. Nothing about him ever did.

Still, I moved.

I decided to change my clothes because I was already suffocating in the ones I wore—the weight of the day, the stress, and everything that had already happened with his brother clinging to the fabric like invisible stains.

“Oh my God,” I whispered aloud. “I’m doing all this… just for an interview.”

But this wasn’t just any company. It was the biggest company. And he—he was powerful enough to seize anything, everything, if the rumors were true. My future, my safety, even the little stability I had left. Fear pushed me forward more than ambition ever could.

As I approached the location he had sent, distant noises reached me first—low music, muffled laughter, something wild and uncontrolled beneath the surface. My steps slowed, hesitation wrapping around my ankles, but I forced myself forward.

The place was a club.

Exactly what I had feared.

Inside, dim lights bled across polished floors, and the air felt thick—heavy with perfume, sweat, and something darker I couldn’t name. I swallowed my discomfort and asked for directions to the room he’d given me.

“It’s the VIP section,” someone said, barely looking at me, as if people like me arrived here every night for reasons best left unspoken.

They pointed the way.

Each step deeper inside made my heartbeat louder, until it felt like the entire building could hear it. When the door to the regular section opened, my eyes struggled to understand what they were seeing.

Girls danced without shame, bodies bare beneath flashing lights. Movements slow, deliberate, practiced. Laughter that didn’t sound real. Boys and girls dressed like objects rather than people. Transactions happening in glances, in touches, in quiet exchanges of money and power.

For a moment, shock rooted me to the floor.

I wanted to leave. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to run, to pretend I had never received that call.

But something stronger held me there.

I needed to know how this ended. I needed to reach the end of whatever game he was playing.

So I kept walking.

When I finally reached the VIP area, the noise behind me dulled, swallowed by thick doors and deeper silence. The space felt different—quieter, heavier, more dangerous. And he was there.

Alone.

As I stepped inside, my gaze drifted across the room before I could stop it. Different kinds of tools lay arranged with unsettling precision. Some I recognized. Others… I didn’t even want to guess their purpose.

A chill slid down my spine.

Then I felt it—his eyes.

He scanned me slowly, deliberately, from head to toe, as if measuring something only he could see. I forced myself to look back at him, dragging my gaze away from the objects surrounding him.

He sat there with effortless authority, merciless calm carved into every line of his face. Stunning, undeniably so. And yet an evil aura seemed to breathe around him, cold and patient.

His eyes moved again, this time from my feet upward, lingering in a way that felt like invisible hands peeling away my clothes, layer by layer, without ever touching me.

The silence stretched.

Tightened.

Became unbearable.

Then, without raising his voice, without even shifting his expression, he gave a single command.

“Leave.”

The lady beside me scrambled out instantly, fear written across every hurried step. The door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded far too final.

And just like that… I was alone with him.

My pulse thundered in my ears. The room felt smaller. The air thinner. Every instinct warned me that nothing about this was an interview anymore.

He leaned forward slightly, eyes locking onto mine with a darkness that promised something I couldn’t yet understand.

And then he said my name—

But before the next word could form on his lips, the lights suddenly went out.