Stolen by the Mafia king

The storm rolled in without warning, painting the sky a bruised violet and black. Rain lashed against the windows of the Voss estate like angry fingers clawing at the glass, a violent symphony to match the chaos stirring within its stone walls. Elena Voss stood at her window, watching the dark clouds gather like vultures. A storm was coming-outside and within.

She wasn't ready. But she had no choice.

The grand chandelier above her swayed slightly, shadows dancing across the cold marble floor. Somewhere in the distance, men shouted orders. Boots pounded down the hallway. Another secret meeting. Another plan to solidify her father's dominance in the mafia world. And now-his newest strategy: marrying her off like a pawn.

Elena's hand clenched around the velvet drape.

Tonight was supposed to be her escape. She had planned it for months-contacted a pilot, packed a bag, even paid a bribe to a guard. One chance to disappear. To leave the blood-soaked legacy of the Voss name behind.

But that dream had died the moment Rosa knocked on her door earlier.

"They've moved up the engagement, Miss Elena. Your father says you must be ready tonight."

Elena had stared at her blankly. "Tonight?"

"He says the Marchesi heir arrives in an hour."

Lorenzo Marchesi.

The name alone was enough to make her stomach churn.

They had met only once-at a gala three years ago. His eyes had been cold, lips twisted into a smirk that felt more like a threat. She remembered the way he looked at her-not like a woman, not even like an object. More like territory.

Something to conquer.

She had sworn then that she would never belong to a man like that.

Now she had no say.

---

She changed into the emerald-green gown her father demanded. It shimmered under the low light, a cruel mirror of the emerald necklace lying in the black box on her vanity. A wedding gift from a man she barely knew. A collar, more like.

When she stepped out of her room, the mansion buzzed with tension. Guards lined the hallways, eyes sharp and fingers twitching near their weapons. Her father's top lieutenants milled around the entrance, whispering in low voices. None of them dared look her in the eye.

She was a symbol, not a person.

A crown without a voice.

"Elena."

Her father's voice sliced through the air like a knife. Domenico Voss was an imposing man-broad-shouldered, his presence heavy like smoke. He approached, adjusting the cuffs of his jet-black suit.

"You look like your mother," he said without warmth.

"Too bad I didn't inherit her freedom," she replied quietly.

His eyes narrowed. "You have responsibilities far greater than yourself. You carry a legacy. Remember that tonight."

She didn't respond. What could she say? That she didn't want any of this? That she hated the way he used her as leverage?

Instead, she let him lead her to the grand salon.

Lorenzo was already there.

He stood at the center of the room like he owned it. Immaculately dressed in a tailored navy suit, dark hair slicked back, face expressionless. But his eyes-those cold, unreadable eyes-zeroed in on her as she entered. And something in his gaze made her skin crawl.

"Elena," he said, nodding once. "You've grown."

"Pity," she replied, voice cool, "You haven't."

A smirk flickered across his lips. Her father chuckled, as if her defiance amused him. But it wasn't amusement-it was control. He enjoyed watching her resist, knowing he'd crush that resistance soon.

"Let's get this over with," Elena muttered, crossing her arms.

Lorenzo stepped closer, his voice low enough only she could hear.

"You think this is punishment," he said, "But you'll learn. In time, you'll beg for me to never let you go."

Her blood ran cold.

---

She slipped away just before midnight, heart pounding, gown swishing like a whisper down the dark corridors. She knew every passage of the estate, every blind spot in the surveillance. She had planned this escape perfectly. No one would stop her. Not tonight.

Except someone was already waiting.

"Elena."

She froze.

Jason.

He stepped out from the shadows, his face taut with worry. He wore black like the night itself, gun holstered, jaw clenched.

"I told you to wait by the gate," she hissed.

"They've moved the guards. Something's wrong. The air's... off."

She grabbed his arm. "Then we leave now. We go to the hangar, find the pilot-"

An explosion rocked the east wing.

They both stumbled, the ground vibrating beneath them. Cries rang out. Gunshots followed. The mansion erupted into chaos.

"What the hell-" Jason began.

"They're here." Elena whispered, voice hollow.

"Who?"

The answer came from the grand staircase.

Lorenzo Marchesi descended slowly, a smoking pistol in one hand, blood on his sleeve. Behind him, his men spread like shadows. Ruthless. Silent.

"Elena Voss," he said, "You're coming with me."

Jason raised his gun. "Over my dead body."

Lorenzo didn't flinch. "That can be arranged."

"Elena, run!" Jason yelled.

But it was too late.

Two of Lorenzo's men grabbed her, pinning her arms behind her. She kicked, screamed-but they held fast.

Jason charged forward-only for Lorenzo to raise his gun and shoot him point-blank in the shoulder. Jason dropped like a stone, groaning in pain.

"No!" Elena screamed. "Let me go!"

Lorenzo approached slowly, eyes locked on hers.

"This was always going to happen," he murmured, brushing her cheek with his gloved hand. "You just didn't know it yet."

She spat in his face.

He wiped it away, calm as ever.

"Fiery," he said. "Good. You'll need that fire where we're going."

With that, he turned.

"Bring her," he ordered.

And the night-the one she thought would be her escape-became her captivity.