Kidnapped by the Ruthless Mafia Boss

The Art of Defiance

Morning light streamed through the narrow window, but Camila hardly noticed it. She had barely slept. Her mind churned through plans, each one dismantled by the crushing reality of her situation. Zachary’s men were everywhere, their movements methodical and unwavering. The house was locked down like a fortress, and she had no idea where she was or how far she’d have to run.

Still, she refused to give in. She refused to let Zachary and his icy, suffocating control break her.

But first, she needed a plan.

Camila rummaged through the drawers of the dresser, desperate to find something useful—anything she could use to her advantage. To her growing frustration, they were stocked with plain clothes: oversized t-shirts, sweatpants, and a couple of shapeless dresses. Nothing that belonged to her, nothing remotely dignified.

Then, an idea began to form—a reckless, desperate idea.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the skirt she’d found buried in the bottom drawer. It was simple and black, hitting just above her knees. Too short for her taste, but it would do. Slowly, the pieces of her plan started falling into place.

If Zachary’s men were trained in anything, it was restraint. She’d seen it in their stiff postures, their deadpan stares. Men like them didn’t look, didn’t stray—not unless they wanted to lose a hand. She’d grown up in this world; she knew how the mafia operated.

And she knew how to exploit it.

With a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, Camila slipped into the skirt and a tank top, intentionally skipping the undergarments. It was risky, yes, but if she could unsettle the guards just enough to create a distraction, maybe she could slip past them. Maybe she could find a way out.

She didn’t let herself think about what would happen if Zachary found out.

Camila stepped out into the hallway, her bare feet silent against the cold floors. Her heart pounded as she glanced around, trying to locate the guards without drawing their attention. It didn’t take long to spot one near the staircase, his posture rigid and his eyes forward.

Taking a deep breath, she walked toward him, her steps deliberately slow and unsteady.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice soft and trembling, feigning innocence.

The man turned, his eyes flicking to her briefly before snapping forward again. “Miss De Luca, you’re supposed to stay in your room.”

“I know,” she said, shifting her weight so that the hem of her skirt swayed slightly. “But… I don’t have anything appropriate to wear. No undergarments, no proper clothes. Surely you don’t expect me to stay like this?”

She noticed the way his jaw tightened, his gaze fixed firmly on a point just above her head. Good. He wouldn’t dare look at her—not if he wanted to keep his job.

“I’ll inform Mr. Sullivan,” the guard said stiffly, stepping back as though she were a bomb about to detonate.

Perfect. Camila turned and started walking back toward her room, biting back a triumphant grin. The wheels were in motion. All she needed was a moment—one moment where the guards were distracted—and she’d make her move.

But before she could reach her door, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Going somewhere?”

Her body froze, her pulse spiking. Slowly, she turned to see Zachary standing at the end of the hall, his hands in his pockets and his gray eyes fixed on her. His presence was like a storm cloud, dark and heavy, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

“I don’t have any garments to wear,” she said quickly, forcing a note of irritation into her voice. “That’s why I was speaking to your guard. I didn’t realize being under house arrest meant I had to dress like a beggar.”

Zachary’s gaze swept over her, lingering for a moment too long on the hem of her skirt. His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite place.

Without a word, he turned to the guard. “Bring an entire wardrobe to her room. Now.”

The guard nodded and disappeared down the hall, leaving her alone with Zachary.

Camila folded her arms, glaring at him. “Happy now?”

“No,” he said simply. “But you will be.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he stepped closer, pulling a folder from the inside pocket of his jacket. He opened it and held out a pen.

“Sign it.”

She looked down and felt her stomach drop. A marriage contract. Her name and his were already printed at the top, along with the date.

Her eyes snapped back up to his. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His expression remained impassive. “Sign it.”

“Or what?” she spat, stepping back. “You’ll kill me? Do it, then. I’d rather be dead than—”

Before she could finish, Zachary’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close. He pinned her to the wall with alarming ease, his body inches from hers.

“Don’t test me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I can do anything to you. Anything.”

Camila’s breath hitched, her heart pounding as his words sank in. His grip on her wrist was firm, but not painful. His eyes burned with a quiet intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension.

And then, without thinking, she raised her free hand and slapped him across the face.

The sound echoed in the hallway, sharp and deafening. Zachary’s head turned slightly from the impact, but he didn’t let go of her. Slowly, he straightened, his expression unreadable as he looked back at her.

“You’ll regret that,” he said quietly, his tone almost calm.

Camila’s chest heaved as she glared up at him, defiance burning in her eyes. “I already regret everything about you.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Zachary released her wrist and stepped back, his gaze cold and calculating.

“You have until the end of the day to sign,” he said, turning on his heel. “If you don’t, I’ll sign it for you.”

With that, he walked away, leaving her trembling with a mix of fury and fear.

Camila sank to the floor, her mind racing. She didn’t know how, but she had to find a way out of this. Before Zachary’s icy grip tightened any further around her life.