Chapter 1
(Elena’s POV)
I never believed in fate.
Fate was a fairy tale, a pretty lie people told themselves to explain the chaos of life. But if fate were real, then mine had been written in the blood-soaked ink of my father’s debts, sealed the moment he sat at a poker table he had no business touching.
And now, because of him, I was being sold.
The air in the cramped apartment was thick with cigarette smoke, a pungent mix of stale desperation and burnt-out dreams. The peeling wallpaper curled at the edges, as if even the walls were trying to escape this place. I clutched the edge of the battered kitchen table, my nails digging into the splintered wood as my father—Giovanni Russo, professional gambler and full-time failure—poured himself another glass of whiskey with a shaking hand.
“You don’t have a choice, Elena,” he muttered, not even meeting my eyes.
I swallowed the sharp lump of rage rising in my throat. “You’re selling me like property to pay off your debts?” My voice was quiet, but the fury behind it cracked like a whip.
He winced but didn’t stop drinking. “It’s not like that.”
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, really? Then what is it like, Papa? Because from where I’m standing, it sounds exactly like that.”
His bloodshot eyes flicked toward me then, and for a moment, I thought I saw regret. But it was fleeting, swallowed whole by cowardice. “You’ll be taken care of,” he said, as if that justified everything.
Taken care of.
The words made my stomach twist. He said it like I was being handed off to some kind, benevolent stranger instead of—
A knock at the door made my breath hitch.
I knew, before my father even moved to answer it, that my time had run out.
My heart slammed against my ribs as the door creaked open. A man stepped inside, his presence sucking all the air from the room. He was tall—easily over six feet—with an aura so suffocatingly powerful that even my father shrank in his shadow. Dressed in a crisp black suit that molded perfectly to his broad frame, he exuded wealth and danger in equal measure.
But it wasn’t his clothing that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It was the way he carried himself—like a man who owned everything in his line of sight.
Including me.
Luca Moretti.
I’d heard his name whispered in hushed, fearful tones throughout the city. A mafia boss. A man with no mercy and no weaknesses. People who crossed him didn’t live to tell the tale.
And now he was here, standing in my living room, looking at me like I was nothing more than a transaction.
My blood turned to ice.
Luca’s dark eyes flicked over me, assessing. He didn’t speak right away, and the silence stretched, thick with tension. When he finally did, his voice was smooth, deep, and utterly unbothered.
“She’ll do.”
A cold chill ran down my spine.
“That’s it?” I snapped, my fists clenching. “You think you can just walk in here and decide I’m yours?”
Luca’s gaze slid lazily to me, amusement sparking in the depths of his otherwise unreadable expression. “That’s exactly what I just did.”
I stepped back instinctively, but his voice followed me, curling around my throat like an invisible chain.
“You have something to say?” he asked, tilting his head.
I gritted my teeth. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He chuckled, a slow, dark sound that sent warning bells ringing in my head. “That’s cute.” His eyes flicked toward my father. “Give me the papers.”
Papers?
My father scrambled, pulling a thick envelope from his jacket and handing it over. Luca flipped through the documents inside with cool detachment, then pulled a pen from his pocket and signed the last page with a swift, decisive stroke.
A sickening sense of finality settled over me.
“You don’t own me,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with panic.
Luca closed the folder, his expression utterly impassive. “I do now.”
A thick silence followed. My father wouldn’t even look at me.
Something inside me snapped.
I lunged toward him, grabbing his collar with both hands. “How could you do this to me?” My voice broke, my vision blurring with tears. “I’m your daughter!”
His hands trembled as he pried mine off him. “Elena, please—”
“Please what? Understand?” My voice rose, sharp with betrayal. “You’re a coward.”
Luca sighed, a bored sound, and before I could react, his fingers closed around my wrist, pulling me away from my father with effortless strength.
“That’s enough.” His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. “We’re leaving.”
I thrashed against his hold, but it was like fighting against stone. His grip didn’t tighten, didn’t bruise—but it didn’t budge either.
“Let me go!” I snarled, twisting in his grasp.
His patience finally snapped.
With a sharp tug, he yanked me forward, and suddenly, I was inches from him. My breath hitched. Up close, he was even more terrifying—power coiled beneath his skin, controlled and lethal. His scent—clean, expensive cologne with a hint of something darker—wrapped around me, making my pulse race for reasons I refused to acknowledge.
“You don’t get to fight this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous. “You don’t get to run.”
I glared up at him, my pulse hammering. “Watch me.”
Luca’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. It was a warning.
And then, without another word, he threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.
A startled gasp ripped from my throat as he carried me toward the door. “Put me down, you bastard!” I kicked, struggling, but his grip was firm, unyielding.
He didn’t even flinch.
“You can fight all you want, gattina,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. “It won’t change anything.”
The night air hit me as he stepped outside, the scent of rain-soaked pavement sharp in my lungs. A sleek black car waited at the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the dim glow of the streetlights.
Panic clawed at my chest.
No.
This couldn’t be happening.
I twisted in his grip, but before I could even attempt an escape, he opened the car door and tossed me inside. The leather seats were cool against my skin, the air thick with the scent of Luca—dark spice, control, and something infinitely more dangerous.
The door slammed shut.
I lunged for the handle—locked.
A shadow moved outside. Then, the door on the other side opened, and Luca slid in smoothly, his presence dominating the confined space. The driver didn’t acknowledge the chaos, simply started the car and pulled away from the curb.
I pressed myself against the door, my chest rising and falling rapidly. “Where are you taking me?”
Luca turned his head slightly, his gaze pinning me in place.
“Home.”
A chill swept through me.
Home.
The word should have been comforting. But from the way he said it—calm, absolute, inescapable—
it felt like the beginning of a nightmare.
And somehow, I knew—
I was never getting out.
