BOUND TO MY MAFIA KING

The wooden stage beneath me creaked under my weight. My body moved of its own accord, repeating the same dance I performed every night until the Madam sent me into a room with whichever sadistic bastard paid the highest price. The bruises from the men who had their way with me these past few days still decorated my skin. The finger shaped marks on my waist and hips itched beneath the shimmering gold glitter that hid them.

You'd have thought it'd be illegal, but sin isn't a thing in Vegas. And sex trade was almost as normal as having breakfast on a sunday.

The cheers filled my ears, nearly deafening as my fingers seductively roamed my nearly naked body, the flimsy bra and panties barely covering me. Every attempt to block out the screams proved futile.

My eyes roamed the crowd, spotting different kinds of men until they landed on the Madam, the owner of this brothel and my current monster. A man stood next to her, frowning slightly. Already his gaze was on me. Those eyes seemed to make the bronze walls close in, almost suffocating even.

No part of me dared to stop dancing as they approached me, but my knees nearly buckled from anticipation. Madam's corset dress shimmered as she walked, her lips moving as she kept staring.

"Come here girl." The Madam ordered. Ignoring the groaning men begging me not to stop, I climbed down from the wooden platform.

Standing infront of him now, the intimidating presence seemed to grow tenfold. His crisp black suit looked like it cost more than every dime this brothel made in a decade and his large frame towered over me.

Her arm extended, gripping my chin harshly and forcing me to meet his gaze. "This is Mr Morozcov. He paid a hefty sum to have you, so you're going to be good for him. Won't you girl?"

Nodding shakily my eyes bored into his cold grey ones. He still hadn't said a word, and that dug a pit deep in my gut. Men who didn't tell you what they wanted were dangerous, especially for people like me.

He was handsome, not that it mattered. I've been forced to be with ugly men, average men and unfairly attractive men. Looks don't matter in my world, but the thought still echoed in my mind, sticking to me. This man, Mr Morozcov, was very handsome.

Her fingernails dug into my skin, snapping me back to reality. "I'll be good." The words came out soft, barely audible but she accepted it regardless.

"Be respectful girl. Say hello to your new owner." Her words were like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. New owner?

My mind raced, still struggling to comprehend what she just said. Trading isn't unusual in this business, and it's happened to me a few times already, but the shock was still there, just like it had been all those years ago when I was a child and sold for the first time.

"H_Hello sir." The uncertainty of not knowing what he might want from me, his expectations and demands, was probably the most fatal position possible.

"Are you OK?" Mr Morozcov spoke for the first time, causing me to flinch back. His voice had an accent to it. Probably Russian considering his last name.

Nausea climbed up to my throat, my head pounding from the effort it took to Nod.

"She's fine. You know how_"

"I wasn't speaking to you." My eyes snapped up, the confusion growing even more. No one had ever dared speak to Madam like that, yet here she was, smiling like he didn't just shut her up. Who was this man?

"I'm fine sir." My head fell, bowing to appear more submissive. That was something men tended to like, girls who obeyed without question because the price of rebellion was too high.

"I had one of the girls pack her things and leave it in your vehicle as requested. If that is all I will take my leave." Her fingers detached from my chin, and with a final pat on my back, she's walking away. Each step seemed to signify the finality of my situation.

The hope that filled my chest when she turned around disgusted me. "Oh, and if she gives you any trouble, just place a call to me. I'll handle her for you." And then she's gone.

My eyes tore away from her receding back to stare at him, his eyes were already taking me in fully. My arms made their way around my body, trying to cover myself and create some sort of illusion of warmth as safety. It was fake, safety hadn't been a word in my dictionary for years now, and there was no deluded reality where this man changed that.

"You are cold?" Without waiting for my answer before he shrugged off his suit jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders. His touch, light against my skin, caused me to shiver.

"Thank you sir." Still unsure of what to call him, 'Sir' seemed to be the safest option. After all, he hadn't complained.

We made our way out of the brothel. The moon provided what little light it could, casting a shadow over the large building that was no longer my home. It was still dark. The streets lights that adorned the littered sides of the road were mostly broken.

Chest pounding, my feet barely managed to keep up with Mr Morozcov. He stopped walking infront of a nice black car. An expensive car.

He was clearly wealthy. What was a man of his status doing in the slums of Vegas?

He pulled open the passenger seat for me, staring expectantly.

My skin prickled when my weight settled in the crisp black leather seat. The interior of the car had an all black aesthetic, from the tinted windows to even the car rugs.

The door to the driver's seat pulled open, my eyes dropped to my lap instinctively, fingers trembling. The glitter covering my bruises had began to fall off, and the black and purple marks left a permanent remainder of my miserable reality.

My lips remained firmly shut while he started the car and drove away. If he wanted me to speak, he would have said so. The awkward silence carried for a long time, until he chose to break it.

"Do you remember me?" His voice was sharp, almost desperate.

Was this a game? Should I play along? Some men like playing games. It usually ended with me bleeding on a stone floor. My body ached from just the thought. "Should I?"

He scoffed. Not mocking, more like disbelieving. "Tell me your name."

"J_Jane?" The lie came out as more of a question, and the point of it still eluded me. It's not like my name mattered, most of my former owners didn't even know it. The madam definitely didn't.

"Don't lie to me girl." Even with my efforts, hiding the flinch at his harsh words was impossible.

"It's Ella. Ariella." My body was visible shaking now, vision blurring with tears.

He grunted in response, his eyes never leaving the road. "You're sure? That's always been your name?"

My teeth sunk into my bottom lip. This had to be some kind of game, and there was never going to be a right way to play it.

"Hey? Are you sure you're ok?" He finally looked away from the road.

"I'm ok sir." My shoulders curled forward, shrinking deeper into his jacket.

"You're hurt." It wasn't a question, and even if it was, the lump growing in my throat wouldn't allow me to give him an answer. "I'll have a doctor come to check you up. Is there any injury you think might be infected?"

"I_I don't know." The girls at the brothel got checkups occasionally, but my last one was over a month ago. There was no way to know for sure.

"Are you... clean?" He cleared his throat, clicking his tongue after. "I mean do you have any sort of sexual disease?"

"Not that I know of." Maybe a lie would've been a better response to that, after all sex was probably what he bought me for. Its what all of them bought me for. But he already proved that he could tell a lie from the truth.

"I'll get you tested." He turned the wheel, driving the car into a fancy looking parking lot that belonged to a large, cream coloured, building. "We're here, Ariella."

My name sounded so strange coming from someone else. He pushed the car door open, stepping out.

There had been no order for me to follow. Yet he might want me to. The decision was made for me when the door next to me got opened.

Mr Morozcov extended his arm to me. "Let's go. I'll have someone bring your bag up."

Taking his hand quickly, he pulled me out of the car seat with a grunt. We entered the large building, the white walls seemed to be impossibly tall, the smell was something sweet but foreign to me. The inside was busy, filled with people dressed in gowns and suits.

Some of them greeted Mr Morozcov but he ignored them, instead leading me to a blonde woman sitting behind a golden counter table. A telephone and a monitor were arranged on the right side.

My feet tripped over each other in my chase to keep up with him, buttoning up the suit jacket to cover myself up.

"This hotel is secured, you have nothing to be afraid of." He whispered to me right before we reached the woman. "Killian Morozcov. My assistant already booked a suite for me."

The woman, who's probably the receptionist, looked almost bored when she acknowledged us, but the moment his name left his lips she suddenly became the sweetest ass kisser in history. "Mr Morozcov, you're here. Yes I did receive a call. You're in the top floor. The elevator is this way. Your bags were sent in earlier today."

My confusion was replaced with irritation when she peaked behind Mr Morozcov and gave me a disapproving glare. "Is this lady bothering you sir? I don't know how she got in. Let me call security." She said, reaching for the telephone. If my future wasn't already completely undetermined, this lady might've actually gotten a fist to her jaw.

"She's with me. And if anyone bothers her you'll find yourself to blame for what I do." Her fingers froze halfway to the phone then pulled back like they were on fire.

"I apologise sir." She plastered a fake smile to her face and gestured to the general direction of the elevator. "You can go up to your suite now, I'll make sure your dinner is sent up timely. Both of you." She handed him a gold card, still smiling.

We moved to the elevator, and it became more and more evident how much attention people would give to a girl wearing a bikini under a suit jacket in such an elegant hotel.

My face burned with humiliation, vision blurring once again with the tears that would cost too much to be shed.

The elevator was empty and once again we were together in a confined space. The silence so thick yet completely fagile. The elevator doors pulled apart, revealing a wide hallway painted a warm shade of blue. A plush teal rug spread out across the length. It was probably softer than the cot I used to sleep in.

My heart pounded against my chest. The reality of my situation never seemed more dire than it did in this moment. Because once he pulled thay door open he would expect things from me. This wasn't some guy in madam's brothel. He owned me now. Which meant there was no one to stop him or hold him back. My lips quivered at the image my mind painted.

Killian approached the single door on the right side and tapped the card to the little black box decide it.

The door unlocked with a click, startling me. Killian glanced back at me, his expression cryptic.

My heart was still heavy when he placed his hand on the knob. My lip dropped, a silent plea for him to not hurt me.

He opened the door.

She didn't know me.

Or she did and just didn't remember. Or maybe this was wrong to begin with, and she really wasn't my sister.

Pulling the door open, my body pressed against it, making room for the trembling girl behind me to enter the suite. The edge of my handgun pressed firmly into my waist, a reminder of how much blood had been shed to get this girl.

Her head turned from me to the dark interior of the suite and then back to me. "Go in."

The moment the words left my lips, she darted inside, flinching when the door slammed shut behind me, her eyes moved to me. My fingers traced the white walls for the light switch, flicking it on and illuminating the large room.

She pulled off my jacket slowly, seductively, her pointed siren eyes roaming my body. Exactly like she'd probably been taught. Her small frame seemed so out of place in the suite. Her steps barely made any noise against the white, polished tiles.

"Your things aren't here yet, but I'm sure there's a robe or something in the bathroom." My chin jerked to the direction of the bathroom. "You can clean up, then we'll take a look at your wounds."

Her brows drew together, confusion sewn into her expression. She'd been like that for basically the whole night. Unstable and afraid. Not that she was to blame, it was expected. Nodding, she turned and walked towards the grey door, wincing when her hip collided with the edge of the cream ceramic table in the dining area.

Her waist length black hair covered her like a coat. The edges were slightly damp, but other than that, she was completely dry.

A part of me had hoped that when she heard my last name, she would recognise me. But every second spent taking in her features made it more clear that she might not be my sister. Might not be Stella.

Moving towards the king-sized bed took more effort than it should've. The bed creaked when my weight collided with it. The plush white sheets almost dragged me under.

How did I get this so wrong? The shower came on, reminding me of the human sized problem currently in my bathroom.

We were supposed to fly back to Chicago tomorrow, but that was when there had been no doubt that my Stella would be here. Ariella couldn't stay here though, Vegas would swallow her whole and leave no crumbs. But the Chicago mafia would crumble the moment the Morozcov family appeared weak.

My mind slowly zoned out, only returning back to reality when delicate fingers wrap around my foot, yanking my shoe off it.

My reaction is instinct. Pushing up from the bed, my right hand gripped my handgun from its holster, aiming it at the person who touched me.

Ariella shrunk back on her knees,choking on her scream. She was naked except for a small towel wrapped around her, and holding my fucking shoe. If not for her being fucking terrified, her beauty was difficult to ignore.

Eyes narrowed, my armed hand lowered. "What the fuck are you doing?"The words came out harsher than intended.

"I_ you were asleep. I wanted to ask you if you wanted me to just take a shower or if you wanted me to wait for you in a bath, but you were asleep, still wearing your shoes. I just thought _" Her pupils glistened with unshed tears as she finally stood, the towel drew dangerously high bur her eyes never left the weapon in my hand.

Sighing, my fingers uncurled around the gun, dropping it against the bed. This couldn't be happening.

She stepped back, gasping when I rose from the bed to my full height and kicked off the other shoe. "Drop it, Ariella."

Her head lowered to the shoe in her hand, after a second it landed on the tiles with a thud.

"I'm sorry." Her voice shook, eyes refusing to meet my gaze. It made me want to see her even more.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Her body was completely tense, like the concept of me following her to the bathroom was only stirring trouble.

The door was still open, and the inside smelled vaguely of citrus and maybe strawberries.

A large wall sized mirror sat in front of a clean gold and cream counter. A bathtub sat at the very corner painted gold, the tap was turned on,and it was nearly half way filled.

The shower was still on as well, the glass door translucent from the steam of the hot water.

Stepping forward, she turned the shower off and made her way to the ceramic tub, climbing the two steps that that held it up.

Her hips swayed deliberately, arms dropping to her sides, the towel fell off her frame.

My eyes snapped away to the large tub. I sat at the edge of the tub, extending my arm to check the temperature and adding a few oils and scents.

"Get it." The water was warm enough that it wouldn't hurt her wounds, but would still be comfortable to sit in.

She sat in the tub, knees pulled to her chest like a child, staring at me. Her blue eyes were wide staring at me.

She moaned when the loofah touched her body, my touch light. Her body relaxing even when my hand brushed against her round breasts, and she eventually leaned back with a sigh.

The tension came right back when it was time to wash between her legs. Her back straightened, she avoided my gaze. "It's ok, Ariella, I'm not going to hurt you."

Even after she was clean she didn't relax. My fingers wrapped around her chin, raising it up gently. "Stay like this. I'm going to wash your hair, I don't want the soap to get into your eyes."

She nodded slightly, obeying my command. Once her locks were thoroughly soaked, I lathered her scalp with shampoo, rubbing it in slow deliberate circles. She shivered, a soft hum rose from her throat.

I didn't ask if it felt good, that would just make her afraid of the pleasure. Maybe without drawing attention, she'll allow herself to bask in it for a while.

Eventually, the hair had to be rinsed. She looked a little sad but her skin would wrinkle and we needed to get some sleep for our flight to Chicago tomorrow morning. There was still hope that this was Stella.

It's been so many years since she got lost, seeing our home in Chicago might remind her of something. After all she was only ten when she went missing.

With me as support, Ariella stood up in the tub, stepping out gently. "Thank you sir."

"Killian." A grunt escaped my throat. "You can call me Killian." Her brows draw into each other, frowning slightly as she reached out and picked a clean towel from the rack, before her hand touched it she stared at me for approval.

After drying her up we went back to the bedroom. A large cart sat near the edge of the table, filled with all sorts of food. Someone must've come in here to drop it.

"Where do you want me...Killian." Ariella said sultry, tracing her fingers over the buttons of my white shirt.

My hands darted out, holding her still before she dropped the towel covering her. Minus the fact that there was still a slight possibility this was my sister, there was no way in fucking hell we were having sex after what she's been through.

"There are some clothes in the suitcases next to the bed. They're all probably big, but wear whatever you like and come to the table to eat." Her expression morphed from seductive surprise, like my words came out in a different language.

We had dinner in silence, my oversized grey shirt barely hung to her frame, falling off her shoulder multiple times. She ate like a starved animal, shoveling the food into her mouth like it would dissappear if she so much as looked away.

In my exhaustion and desperation to get to bed, the last problem of the night presented itself. "We need to be up early. I know you're probably confused, I'll explain everything soon, ok? Go to bed."

She shifted on her feet, trembling slightly, before she crawled onto the bed, positioning herself in the centre, on her hands and knees and her back arched. Presenting herself to me.

Bile nearly rose to my throat. "What are you doing? I didn't tell you to do that."

"I_ you told me to..." if she was trembling before, she was shaking now.

Sitting on the bed, my hand brushes against her now dry hair. Ariella basically purs, leaning into my hand. "I meant to sleep. Nothing more. I'm not going to touch you."

My arms wrapped around her slender waist, so thin it was almost unhealthy. Almost. We settled on different sides of the bed, since she probably didn't want to touch me anyway. Offering herself to me chance she got was just another proof of the horror she'd lived though.

Warm arms closed around my chest shyly, and then her mane of black hair was buried in the crook of my neck, her breath hot against my skin as she spoke. "Please don't sell me."

My words got clogged in my throat, unable to give her an answer. Even if she wasn't my sister, there was no way in fucking hell she was going back to the system that so clearly failed her.

We're on a jet. A private fucking jet.

And the man sitting across from me on the plush white couch that took up the entirety of the left, owned it.

My stomach ached slightly, probably having difficulty digesting the large breakfast that was served to me. Or maybe it was anticipation. We hadn't had sex last night, and my request had gone completely unanswered. Not even a hint as to whether or not he would infact, sell me or not.

Killian had been questioning me all morning, asking about my childhood and my kidnapping. When someone first sold me. Strange things he shouldn't have cared about.

Every answer was a lie that made me squirm in the yellow sundress he brought to me this morning. He must've known, but he never forced the truth out of me. Which was good for me because every fact he knew would only be weapons he could use to make my life more miserable than it already was.

After getting nowhere with asking about my past he started asking me regular 'getting to know you' questions. There was no way he could use that information against me, and there were only so many lies he could take from me before he became angry. And angry men always meant some form of pain. At the moment, all that mattered to me was surviving, and if making conversation with Killian was how, then that was what would happen.

The interior of the jet gleamed, all the translucent windows were sealed shut, and a few rows of plane seats were placed near the front, an orange door was the only demarcation between there and here. If he got mad and reached for me on the couch, there would be no escape.

"What do you like." His deep husky voice penetrated the room again, taking another sip from the glass and crossing his legs, his navy blue suit framed his body perfectly. He noticed my gaze on the glass and offered it to me.

"Um_ cake?" My teeth sunk into my lower lip. That was such a stupid answer.

He reached across the couch, gently pulling my lip from between my teeth. "You'll hurt yourself." He said, leaning back. "So, you like cake? What flavor?"

Wasn't he bored? Last night there'd been no doubt as to why he'd bought me, but now it didn't feel like he wanted sex.

"Chocolate. And strawberry. I love strawberry." Back when my life was still mine, my parents used to buy me triple layered cakes on all my birthdays, while we all pretended it was going to be a surprise. The ache that used to be buried in my chest rose again. My mother's dimpled smile was still plastered in my memory.

A deep chuckle dragged me from my depressing thoughts. Killian still had a ghost of a smile on his face. "What's so funny?"

"It's nothing. You just remind me of someone I used to be close to." He sighed, expression not happy but definitely not the same frown he carried last night.

"Used to?" This was a dangerous play, asking questions that weren't my business.

"We don't see each other anymore. You look alot like her." His eyes roamed me, like he was staring at some sort of mirror image of the person he was talking about.

Before the next stupid question left my lips though, one of the flight attendants came in, bowing slightly to Killian. "We're about to land, please return to the seats and buckle yourselves in. If you have further needs we well see to it after landing."

Killian signed as the girl walked away, pulling me off the couch as he stood "Let's go. I'm guessing this is also your first time on a plane?"

"No, I've been on planes before, never any this beautiful though." Once again, the beautiful interior catches my eye, from the diamond shaped lights on the premium leather ceiling to the plush silk carpets beneath my feet.

"Really? When?" He pushed the orange door open, stepping aside to let me enter first. Six cushioned seats are arranged evenly on both sides, a small glass table beside each.

My breath hitched, taking in the light cinnamon scent of the jet, hesitating. He's still trying to learn about my past. "A few of my past owners liked to travel."

He grunted, probably irritated by the mention of the people who owned me before him. A reminder that he was carrying used goods.

The though still hung in my mind as Killian nudged me gently into one of the front seats, dragging the leather belt across me securely.

"Landing might be a bit intense, but just remember that it's safe. So don't scream again." Killian deadpanned, a single eyebrow raised.

My face flushed the memory of my reaction when the jet hit turbulence in the air still followed me like a plague built with humiliation.

"I won't. I'll be good." He sucked in a breath, patting my head gently before settling on the seat across from me.

Landing is rough as expected, even with the pilot himself announcing it again. My jaw ached from how hard my teeth grounded together. The whole process went by in a blur until the plane landed and Killian was escorting me out of it.

The hanger was so big, part of me was convinced someone would get lost.

The plane sat at the centre of the metal interior, the forth wall was completely pulled up leaving a wide open space that gave a view of the airport.

A woman approached us as soon as we stepped out of the plane, giving orders to the men standing around to carry the luggage into the carts and away. They all wore the same red vest and pleated trousers.

"Mr Morozcov, welcome. I trust your flight was well?" She said, her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, formal just like the black suit.

"Ruth, thank you for your help." He turned to me, gesturing at the woman. "This is Ruth, she's my secretary."

Ruth stared at me, eyes wide and smiling slightly. "You really found her?"

"No." Killian's answer is sharp, my head snapped up to stare. Hadn't he found me? "I'm not sure."

Ruth nodded, reaching for me only for Killian to yank me back by my wrist.

After clearing her throat, Ruth spoke again. "The car is this way. Mr Morozcov, some of the partners requested a physical meeting with you tonight, I haven't given them a final answer though."

Killian nodded, following her and dragging me with him, his grip on my wrist didn't bruise, but it was firm.

She led us out of the airport to the busy Chicago streets, approaching a black car. My knowledge of cars were close to non-existent, but this definitely wasn't the car we drove last night. Once again the question of who Killian was ans why he wanted me hung in my brain. Every answer seemed more illogical than the last.

Killian pulled the car door open for me, letting me enter before sitting next to me. Ruth was already in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel and the order on the gear.

The mysteries surrounding this man felt choking. Curiosity wasn't a privilege for me, but every part of me burned to know what was happening.

He clearly didn't want sex, and that was all I'd ever been traded for my whole life. There had to be something about me that was useful to him, or why would he bother coming all the way to Vegas.

My palms felt sweaty, nausea rising to my throat with each bump and pot hole the car drove over.

"Hey? What's wrong?" Killian leaned in taking my hand in his.

My head shook, heart racing. Would he sell me? Was I some kind of gift for a friend? The possibilities were endless, and him refusing to touch me sexually took away my single chance at security.

"Ella if there's something wrong you have to tell me right now." That sounded like a command. Disobedience wasn't exactly an option, not in my place.

The lump in my throat made talking nearly impossible, but the words found their way out regardless. And while the regret is instant, so is the relief when when the question escaped me.

"Why did you buy me?"