Claimed By The Ruthless Dark Mafia Don

Giada POV

The lingering scent of clinical antiseptic and my father's heavy Cuban cigars warred in the dim air of the Moreno Mansion's drawing room. Between my thighs, a phantom ache remained-a degrading reminder of Dr. Julian Weaver's cold speculum. He had just certified my "purity," ensuring I was an untainted Collateral fit to be offered to the devil.

I blinked, my fingers digging into the plush Persian rug beneath my chair. A second ago, I wasn't sitting in this stuffy room. A second ago, I was in the damp, blood-soaked depths of the Blackwell Estate Dungeon. I could still feel the agonizing tear of flesh as Kelsey, my half-sister, drove a rusted, sharpened spoon into my chest. She had screamed about the unfairness of fate, her eyes wild with the madness of a rotting prisoner, while I stood before her as the untouchable Mafia Queen.

I died from those complications. Yet here I am, seventeen again, the breath hitching in my unscarred chest.

"Dante Blackwell is a monster," Aurelio Moreno, the pathetic man I called father, said, his voice pulling me back to the present. He pushed two black velvet boxes across the mahogany table. "To survive as his Collateral and pay off my debts, you need leverage. I have secured two advantages."

I stared at the boxes. I knew exactly what was inside.

In my past life, Kelsey had chosen the first box: a detailed psychological profile of Dante's dead fiancée, Ellen. She had tried to mimic the ghost, a clumsy performance that earned her broken legs and a permanent cell in the dungeon. I had taken the second box: a black-market fertility drug. I birthed his heir, survived countless assassination attempts by Rival Family Members, and clawed my way to the throne through sheer ruthlessness.

Before Aurelio could explain the contents, Kelsey lunged forward.

Her manicured fingers snatched the box containing the fertility drug with a desperate, greedy speed. "I'll take this one, Papa," she said, her chest heaving. She looked at me, and in her eyes, I saw the unmistakable, feverish gleam of a woman who had also died in that dungeon. *She remembers.*

"I'm weaker," Kelsey continued, her voice dripping with practiced fragility. "I need the guarantee of an heir to secure my place in the Blackwell family."

Blanca, my stepmother, immediately placed a protective hand on Kelsey's shoulder, her eyes darting toward me with thinly veiled hostility. "She's right, Aurelio. Giada is strong enough to manage with the profile. Kelsey needs the protection of a child."

I sat perfectly still, letting the silence stretch. Kelsey stared at me, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She thought she had just stolen my destiny. She thought the drug was a golden ticket to the crown she had envied so bitterly.

I lowered my gaze, letting my eyelashes cast long shadows over my cheeks, masking the cold, lethal amusement pooling in my eyes.

"Of course," I murmured, my voice soft and submissive. I reached out and pulled the remaining box toward me. "Kelsey should have it."

Let her have it.

Kelsey's fatal miscalculation was believing my rise to Mafia Queen was due to a child. She didn't know the bloody reality of the mafia world. A pregnant woman wasn't a queen; she was a walking target. In my past life, the moment my pregnancy was announced, I survived three bombings and a poisoning.

More importantly, she didn't understand the Dark Don she was trying to bind. Dante Blackwell was a paranoid, ruthless predator who despised being manipulated. If he caught even a whisper of a woman using drugs to force a pregnancy and trap him, he wouldn't just kill her-he would peel the skin from her bones.

I traced the velvet lid of my box, feeling the weight of Ellen's dossier inside. This time, I wouldn't be a breeding mare fighting off assassins. I wouldn't rely on a child to secure my power. I would use this profile not to imitate a dead girl, but to dissect the psychology of the devil himself.

Giada POV

Over the next two days, I didn't just read Ellen's psychological profile; I breathed it in. Sitting in the dim corner of the Moreno drawing room, I practiced stripping the warmth from my eyes, replacing it with the cold, isolated aura that had once captivated the devil.

Across the room, Kelsey eagerly swallowed the black-market fertility pills with a glass of champagne.

"Are you sure about this, Kelsey?" Blanca fretted, wringing her hands. "Dante Blackwell is notoriously paranoid. If he suspects you are trying to trap him-"

"He won't," Kelsey interrupted, her eyes gleaming with the arrogant certainty of a woman who thought she had cheated death. "Don Booker and his Bratva are pushing the borders. The Underboss is already questioning Dante's lack of an heir. He needs a son to solidify his reign."

Kelsey glanced at me. For a split second, raw jealousy flashed in her eyes as she took in my face. The subtle shifts in my posture and the chilling emptiness in my gaze had only amplified my natural beauty, giving me a fatal, untouchable allure. But then she patted her flat stomach and smirked. In her mind, a womb was worth more than a crown.

By dawn on the day of our departure, the Blackwell Family's bulletproof Rolls-Royce Phantom idled outside our mansion.

"I will be his Queen," Kelsey promised Aurelio and Blanca, her voice trembling with raw ambition.

Sitting in the leather interior of the Phantom, inhaling the faint, metallic scent of gunpowder, I let a cold smile touch my lips. *Never.*

When we arrived at the Blackwell Estate, the gothic architecture loomed through the morning mist like a fortress of nightmares. Instead of the Main Iron Gates, the convoy veered toward the heavily guarded Service Entrance. It was a degrading reminder: we were not guests; we were Collateral.

Kelsey stared hungrily at the towering iron bars of the main entrance. "One day, my son will open those gates for me," she whispered.

I said nothing, silently following the guards into the East Wing.

The guest room assigned to me was luxurious but suffocatingly cold. Before the night's selection, every new Collateral was required to submit a Security Dossier Photo for the Don's review.

Sitting at the vanity, I took a sponge and deliberately smeared pale, ashen foundation over my cheeks. I dulled the natural glow of my skin and pulled my dark hair into a messy, pathetic tangle, carefully obscuring the striking features that mirrored his dead fiancée.

Siena, the Associate assigned as my maid, lowered the Polaroid camera, her brow furrowed in deep confusion. "Signorina... Kelsey is down the hall drenching herself in Ellen's favorite perfume. Why are you making yourself look so ruined?"

"Because Dante Blackwell is a paranoid predator," I murmured, staring at the lifeless, unthreatening girl in the mirror. "A perfect imitation of his ghost won't seduce him; it will trigger his killer instinct. To survive a monster, you must first look like harmless prey."

I handed her the photo. It was a calculated flaw. Suppress first, elevate later.

Hours bled into the night. The tension in the East Wing was thick enough to choke on. I knew Kelsey was pacing her room, waiting for her golden ticket.

Then, heavy, authoritative footsteps echoed against the marble floor. A Capo appeared in my doorway, his face carved from stone.

"The Don commands your presence in the Penthouse," he announced, his voice carrying the absolute weight of the Don's Command.

From the hallway, I heard Kelsey gasp, a sharp sound of pure, venomous shock.

I stood up slowly, my heart hammering a dangerous rhythm against my ribs. Dante hadn't chosen me for my looks-my photo was intentionally pathetic. He chose me because of the medical file attached to that dossier. Someone had manipulated the psychological evaluation to pique the Dark Don's twisted interest. Someone who knew exactly what was written about my "purity" and mental state.

Dr. Julian Weaver.

The old acquaintance had rigged the board. Smoothing the skirt of my simple dress, I stepped out of the room, walking straight toward the devil's private sanctuary.

Giada POV

The Don's Penthouse was a monument to a cold soul. Stepping inside, I was met with a stark expanse of black, white, and gray, illuminated only by the sprawling Manhattan skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. There was no warmth here, only the suffocating weight of absolute power.

A silent guard directed me past the main living area and toward the heavy frosted glass doors of the private spa.

I pushed the doors open. Humid air, thick with the scent of eucalyptus, clung to my skin. In the center of the room, a Roman-style heated pool rippled under dim lighting. But Dante Blackwell wasn't waiting for me.

Katheryn was.

The self-proclaimed Mafia Queen and sister to a powerful Capo stood by the marble edge, flanked by two burly maids. Her eyes were venomous, fixated on the simple dress I wore. I knew Kelsey had paid off the Associates in the hallway to listen to my screams, hoping I would die tonight. They were all so predictable.

"You think you can skip the line, little Collateral?" Katheryn sneered, stepping forward. In her manicured hand, she held a small glass vial filled with a thick, yellowish liquid. High-grade corrosive acid.

"Hold her," Katheryn commanded.

The two maids lunged, their heavy hands twisting into my hair and forcing me to my knees on the cold marble. Katheryn pinched my jaw, her nails digging into my skin as she brought the vial toward my lips. She wanted to melt my face and my vocal cords.

I let out a muffled whimper, thrashing wildly with the desperate energy of cornered prey. As Katheryn leaned in, I jerked my head and violently slammed my shoulder into her wrist.

She shrieked. The glass vial slipped from her fingers, arcing through the humid air before plunging into the heated pool. The water erupted into a violent hiss, a plume of acrid white smoke billowing upward as the acid instantly reacted with the heated water. But within seconds, the massive pool's filtration system churned, and the toxic cloud was sucked into the vents. The surface stilled, the diluted chemicals rendered inert in the vast volume of water.

Katheryn stared at the ruined acid, her face twisting into pure, unadulterated rage. She grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. But as the dim light hit my face, she froze.

My hair was a tangled mess, and the pale, ashen foundation I had applied earlier made my skin look sickly and dull. The fake, ugly blemishes I had drawn on stood out starkly. Katheryn's furious panting slowed. The intense, murderous jealousy in her eyes flickered into disgusted amusement. I was no beauty threat to her reign.

"You're not even worth another vial," she spat, her vanity appeased. But her authority had still been challenged. She reached to the nearby lounge chair and uncoiled a thick, customized leather belt-the kind Enforcers used for discipline. "Put her on the floor."

The maids slammed me chest-down onto the hard marble.

*Crack.*

The heavy leather bit into my back, tearing through the thin fabric of my dress and slicing into my flesh. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, swallowing the scream.

*Crack.*

Fire exploded across my shoulder blades. I squeezed my eyes shut, my mind ruthlessly counting the seconds. *11:28 PM.* In my past life, I knew Dante's schedule flawlessly. He always finished his nightly briefings with his Consigliere at exactly half-past eleven.

*Crack.* Blood began to pool against the marble. *11:29 PM.*

Suddenly, the heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps echoed from the hallway, followed by the crisp, terrified voices of the guards. "The Don has arrived."

Katheryn's face drained of color. The belt slipped from her trembling hand. She knew Dante despised unauthorized torture in his sanctuary; his Don's Command was absolute.

This was my moment.

Before the maids could react, I shoved them aside with a burst of adrenaline. I stumbled toward the frosted glass doors just as they swung open, then intentionally let my foot slip on the wet marble. With a breathless cry, I plunged backward into the warm waters of the pool.

The water rushed over me, instantly dissolving the ashen foundation and washing away the ugly, drawn-on scars.

Strong, unyielding hands broke the surface, grabbing my arms and hauling me out of the water. I gasped, water streaming from my hair as I instinctively clung to the lapels of a custom dark suit.

I looked up through wet lashes. Dante Blackwell towered over me. His sharp, ruthless features were carved from stone, his dark eyes radiating a lethal danger. But as he looked down at my face-now completely bare, flawless, and bearing a haunting, seven-point resemblance to his dead Ellen-his breath hitched.

His gaze dropped to my back, where the torn dress revealed vicious, bleeding welts.

The air in the room plummeted to freezing. The Dark Don's eyes darkened into a pitch-black abyss of violent, possessive fury.

"Drag her out of my sight," Dante commanded, his voice a low, terrifying rumble directed at the guards staring at a sobbing Katheryn. He tightened his grip on my waist, pulling my bleeding body flush against his chest. "And get Dr. Weaver up here. Now."