Bound to the Crime Boss

Sophia POV

"You will be handling Damian Russo's therapy session."

Ever since this statement was made, my life has been a total turnaround. As I stared down through the window of the descending plane into Chicago, I knew that my career was about to take an unexpected turn.

The moment I stepped out of the plane, I noticed a man standing at the gated entrance and immediately recognized him.

"Dr. Sophia Carter, welcome to Chicago. Everything is in place for your session with Mr. Russo," Agent Thompson assured me with a professional nod.

I certainly hoped he was telling the truth. As we stepped into the car, my mind became preoccupied with thoughts of Damian Russo.

Considered by many to be Chicago's most enigmatic crime boss, everyone knew the story of Damian who had been involved in sophisticated financial crimes and is now facing trial. I could only hope that enough security measures had been put in place to prevent any unexpected situations.

As soon as we arrived at the prison, I shook my head at the stark reality. Indeed, being confined in this place isn't good for any human being.

We marched through the main floor of the prison, which was heavily guarded by several officers. As we slowly approached Damian's cell, I felt my heart rate increasing, and Thompson seemed to notice this as he gave me a reassuring nod.

Once we arrived at Damian's cell, Agent Thompson stepped in front of me, meeting my gaze.

"You've got this, Dr. Carter." He assured me, and I responded with a determined smile, turning towards the door and approaching it.

The moment I stepped into the cell, I was greeted by the scent of masculine sweat. I turned to see Damian doing intense push-ups. I noticed a table had been properly placed for this session, and I approached it, setting down my bag and taking my seat while I watched him continue his workout.

After a few minutes, he stood up from the push-ups and grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his toned physique.

To say Damian was attractive felt like an understatement. He exuded a dangerous charisma that was hard to ignore.

"Agent Thompson is getting clever, I must say." His voice was deep and commanding, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

"Mr. Russo, please have a seat. Let's begin this session," I said firmly, refusing to be intimidated.

"Intriguing," he mused, eyeing me with amusement. "I assume they haven't told you everything about me."

"I believe I know enough. You're Damian Russo, Chicago's top financial criminal. Your network is unprecedented in this city. I'm well-informed about your activities," I replied coolly.

He made his way to the chair, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as he sat down with an air of authority.

"I suppose they conveniently left out the part where seven other therapists before you met unfortunate ends." I gasped at this revelation, instinctively glancing at the camera.

"Judging by your reaction, they didn't share that information. Thompson must not value your life very much," he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Touch her, and you're dead, Russo," a voice warned through the room's speaker.

"I have no intention of harming her. I find her... quite intriguing, actually," Damian replied, his intense gaze making me swallow hard.

"Let's focus on the session," I said, clearing my throat and retrieving my notes.

"How old are you, Dr. Carter?" The question caught me off guard.

"How did you know my name?" I asked, momentarily thrown.

"Your documents," he said, nodding towards the papers on the table. "Your name is clearly visible on the letterhead."

"Right. Moving on... How are you feeling today, Mr. Russo?" I attempted to steer the conversation back to professional grounds.

"I won't say another word unless you answer my question," he said, his face stern.

"I'm 28," I replied reluctantly.

"Interesting... Tell me, doctor, have you ever truly lived?" The implications of his question made me uncomfortable.

"I've answered your question. Now, it's appropriate we focus on the purpose of this session," I insisted, trying to maintain my professional composure.

"Answer me!" His authoritative tone made me realize I was walking a dangerous line.

"That's not relevant to our session," I said, averting my gaze.

"Your reluctance speaks volumes, Dr. Carter. Perhaps you need someone to show you what you're missing." His words, laced with innuendo, were the last straw. I stood up, grabbing my bag.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Did I strike a nerve?" He chuckled, relaxing further in his chair.

"Your ego is your biggest problem, Mr. Russo. The world doesn't revolve around you, despite what you might think. I hope you enjoy your time in this cell," I snapped, turning on my heel and leaving.

Once outside, Agent Thompson was by my side, guiding me to a seat. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

"I've dealt with difficult patients before, but this... I don't think I'm the right fit for this case. You'll need to find someone else."

Sophia POV

"I should have warned you that Damian loves playing mind games with his evaluators," Agent Thompson said, rubbing his forehead.

"How about mentioning that he had them killed? You sent me on a suicide mission and expected results? I should consider myself lucky," I retorted. Thompson tried to speak, but I was already on my feet, heading for the exit.

Once outside, I made my way to the car and took a seat, waiting for Thompson.

"Look, I know I should have disclosed every detail. I'm sorry. The fact that he didn't use harsh words with you suggests he's willing to talk," Thompson said as he got into the car.

"I want nothing more to do with him," I declared firmly. Seeing my resolve, Thompson started the engine and drove us away from the prison towards the airport.

After a long flight, I was back at my apartment. I noticed an unfamiliar car parked nearby, arousing my curiosity and suspicion. Whoever owned that car must have come to see me.

As I entered my living room, I caught a whiff of masculine cologne, putting me on high alert. Someone had definitely invaded my space.

Dropping my bag on the couch, I heard dishes clattering in the kitchen. I looked around for a potential weapon, settling for a remote control.

Cautiously, I crept towards the kitchen, my heart racing. I tried to stay calm despite the intrusive thoughts swirling in my head.

Stepping into the kitchen, I found no one there, just broken plates on the floor.

"Damn it," I muttered, bending down to pick up the pieces.

"Sorry for the disturbance." I jumped up, turning to face an imposing man, nearly seven feet tall. "A remote, really?" He questioned, eyeing my makeshift weapon.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" I demanded.

"You should cook more often. I'm tired of takeout, knowing the boss has a girl who can cook," he said cryptically.

"What are you talking about? I'm calling the police," I declared, reaching for my phone. To my shock, it wasn't in my purse.

"Looking for this?" He waved my phone tauntingly.

"Give that back!" I tried to grab it, but he held it out of reach. "Who are you? Why are you stalking me?"

"Let's discuss this in the living room," he suggested, gesturing for me to follow.

I sat on the couch, watching him make himself comfortable and helping himself to cookies from my fridge.

"Are you going to explain yourself, or should I call the police?" I asked, irritated by his nonchalance.

"Relax, Dr. Carter. If I meant you harm, you wouldn't have known I was here," he said, rolling his eyes and propping his feet on the table.

"Then speak!" I snapped, losing patience.

"I'm here to offer protection," he replied simply.

"I don't need protection. Get out of my house!" I was furious at this stranger's audacity.

"You might not think you need it, but I've been watching your place for days. Someone would have my head if I didn't do my job."

What was he talking about? I distinctly remembered leaving for Chicago with no strange cars outside my apartment.

"You still haven't answered my question. Who are you?" I pressed.

He leaned forward, considering his words carefully. "I don't usually break protocol, but I'll make an exception... I'm Marco, Damian Russo's right-hand man."

His revelation stunned me. How could Damian have sent someone while he was in prison?

"Do you think I'm naive? Damian is in prison. He couldn't have given you orders from there," I argued.

"You underestimate Damian, doctor. There's a lot you don't know about him," Marco stated.

I studied him, trying to discern the truth. "If Damian sent you, why?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" He smirked, pulling out a phone. "A call from Damian might convince you I'm telling the truth."

I watched as he dialed a number and put it on speaker. When the call connected, he held the phone towards me.

"I take it you've met Marco," Damian's familiar voice came through, catching me off guard.

"This is impossible. You can't make calls from prison," I said, disbelieving.

"I make calls because I'm Damian Russo. I advise you to keep quiet about this, or you might find yourself in trouble," his voice deepened, the threat evident in his tone.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

"I want to see you again, Sophia. You've had your first session; I'm looking forward to the next." With that, he hung up, leaving me more confused and unsettled than ever.

Three Days Later...

Sophia POV

"What do you mean he won't speak to anyone but me?" I asked Agent Thompson over the phone.

"We've tried several other evaluators, and they've all been either threatened or injured. He insists he'll only talk to you," Thompson explained.

This new information surprised me. I had thought by leaving Damian alone in prison, I'd be free from his influence, but he was proving to be relentless.

"Listen, Sophia, you're our only hope at this point. We can't get any useful information from him unless you speak with him. He seems to have taken a liking to you," Thompson pointed out.

I was about to respond when the sound of whistling startled me. I turned to see Marco examining one of my paintings.

"What's that noise in the background?" Thompson asked.

"Nothing, just some interference," I laughed nervously, gesturing at Marco to be quiet. "Alright, look, I'll return to the prison for one more session, but this is absolutely the last time," I decided.

"Great, I'll arrange your flight."

"When is this flight scheduled?" I asked, mentally reviewing my calendar.

"Immediately," he replied.

"Immediately?" I glanced at my watch, realizing it was only 8 AM. "I can't conduct a session right now! I'm not prepared at all," I protested.

"You're a professional, Sophia. Understand that if you handle this session well, it could significantly advance your career," he replied.

I didn't appreciate the implication that I needed external motivation to do my job effectively.

"Fine, I'll be ready in an hour," I conceded.

"Excellent. We'll be expecting you," he said before hanging up.

"Off to see Damian today?" Marco asked, still admiring the painting.

"Your boss is insufferable! He refuses to cooperate with anyone else and now insists I keep coming to see him. This is ridiculous!" I vented while Marco watched me impassively.

"When the boss told me to guard you, I was surprised. I thought he had other plans for me, but a woman was never on the list. You must mean something to him."

"I don't care what value he places on me. As far as I'm concerned, he's still a criminal who controls illegal activities."

Marco shook his head and approached me, his gaze steady. "The media can peddle many lies, but it's not my place to reveal the truth. I believe when the time is right, you'll see things clearly."

I moved away from him and headed to my room. I had no time for his cryptic messages; Thompson had likely scheduled the flight, and I needed to get to the airport as soon as possible.

After changing into a simple, professional outfit, I returned to the living room where Marco was watching TV.

"Need a ride to the airport?" he offered.

"That won't be necessary," I said, heading for the door. "And I suggest you keep a low profile. I don't want people getting the wrong idea," I added, rolling my eyes.

The truth was, I did want someone to keep an eye on my apartment, but I hated that it had to be someone connected to Damian.

***

Hours later, I was back in the Chicago prison, heading towards Damian's cell. He certainly had a lot to answer for.

"Listen carefully," Thompson instructed as we stood outside the holding room. "Get him to divulge as much information as possible. Rest assured, we have security measures in place. If he tries anything dangerous, we can incapacitate him immediately."

Taking a deep breath, I entered the room as the door opened. To my surprise, Damian was calmly reading a book.

"Ah, she returns at last," he remarked, closing the book and placing it on the table. "I'll need the audio recording in this room to be muted," Damian added, glancing at the camera.

"That's not possible. They need to hear everything we discuss," I objected.

"Then I won't speak. Having Dr. Carter here to document our conversation is sufficient." I massaged my temples, already feeling stressed by his demands.

"Very well, we'll disable the audio recorder only. The camera will remain on for her safety," Thompson's voice came through the speaker.

I approached the table where Damian had gestured for me to sit. He looked pleased to see me, his trademark smirk in place.

Glancing at the now-silent audio recorder, I turned to Damian. "Why did you send Macro to protect me? And how are you able to make phone calls from this cell?" I demanded.

"Let's just say I have my ways. As for Marco, his presence is for your own safety," he stated.

"What do you mean?" I pressed.

"I thought by staying here and biding my time, I could plan my next move. But I've received word of a new threat. If they discover your involvement in my case, your life would be in danger."

I took a moment to process this information, trying to maintain my composure despite the creeping fear.

"You're not 'biding your time,' Damian. You're going to face justice," I asserted. He laughed at my statement.

"You underestimate me, sweetheart. My departure from this prison should be happening right about..." He glanced at an imaginary watch. "Now."

The door burst open, revealing a guard with a bloodied face.

"Took you long enough," Damian remarked casually. "Is the jet ready?" he asked, rising to his feet.

"What's going on here?" I asked, utterly confused.

"What does it look like, sweetheart? We're leaving," he replied, picking up his book.

"We?" I echoed, staring at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, darling. I'll explain everything soon," Damian said. Before I could respond, I felt a sharp pain at the back of my head, and then darkness engulfed me.