Forced love: A billionaire Mafia enemies to lovers story

Claire's POV:

The house was way too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt loud in my ears, buzzing under my skin like a warning. Dad was home. And he was drunk again.

I tiptoed down the hallway, knowing the exact spots to avoid so the floor wouldn't creak. I'd learned that over the years-the art of moving silently in my own house. The clock on the wall said I was already late for work, but who cared? I had bigger problems.

I spotted the empty bottle first. Lying on its side, like a clue that something had gone wrong. My stomach twisted as my eyes landed on the shattered glass next to it. Great. Another mess, another reminder of last night's chaos.

I bent down to pick up the larger shards, careful not to cut myself. Cleaning up after him had become part of my morning routine-like brushing my teeth or grabbing my backpack. Except, instead of toothpaste, I got broken glass and spilled beer.

My hands shook as I grabbed the broom. Each swipe of the bristles on the floor echoed in the silence, making the house feel even emptier. I hated this. The constant fear. The pretending. How I had to make sure no one knew the truth because people wouldn't get it. They'd never understand.

I could still remember when he wasn't like this-back when I was younger and he actually smiled. But those days felt like a different lifetime. Now it was just me and him, the drunk version, who never smiled, never laughed. Just yelled, broke things, and passed out.

A groan from down the hall made my heart leap to my throat. Crap. He was awake.

I glanced at the clock again. I still had time. If I moved fast enough, I could get out before-

"Claire."

Too late. I froze, the door handle cool in my grip. My pulse thudded in my ears, drowning out everything else. His voice was rough, the kind of rough that came from too many late nights and too many beers. I didn't turn around, hoping if I stayed still long enough, he'd just let me go.

"I love you, you know that, right?" His words were slurred, barely coherent.

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the wave of emotions threatening to drown me. He always said this-only after a few too many beers, when he could barely stand. Like the words meant something when he was this far gone.

I should say something. I should turn around, face him, and tell him how much I needed him to actually mean it. Sober. But what was the point? We'd been through this too many times, and I was too tired to fight today.

My hand tightened on the door handle as I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Yeah," I muttered, not even sure if he could hear me.

For a second, I wondered if I should do more. Maybe say goodbye properly or look him in the eye and make sure he knew how much it hurt to hear those words like that. But then I remembered the last time I tried to talk to him-really talk to him. The black eye I had for a week. The silence that stretched on after, like the distance between us could never be fixed.

I couldn't do it again. Not today.

Before I left, I opened my purse and fished out a few crumpled bills. The same ones I'd been setting aside for groceries. I hesitated for a moment, staring at them in my hand, knowing full well what they'd be used for. There was no food in the house, but the money wouldn't go toward that. It never did.

I placed the bills next to the empty cereal box on the counter, a bitter taste rising in my throat. It felt like I was enabling him, feeding the cycle, but what choice did I have? He'd find a way to get his beer, with or without my help. At least this way, I wouldn't come home to more broken glass or worse.

I nodded, once, even though he couldn't see me. Then I stepped outside, letting the cool morning air wash over me. One more day, one more step away from the mess I couldn't clean up anymore.

Claire's POV:

"You're late, Claire."

"I know, I'm really sorry, Rocco."

"You're never late. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Rocco," I replied, lying through my teeth.

At six foot five, Rocco was a massive wall of muscle with an intimidating aura, but he'd always been like a father figure to me-something I sorely needed since my own father was practically a ghost. He took me in when no one else would hire me because of my lack of experience, and I felt forever indebted to him.

"Okay, if you say so," Rocco replied, shrugging, probably realizing after years of working with me that I was like a locked vault.

I quickly went behind the bar and started serving patrons their drinks. At this point, it was almost muscle memory-just another monotonous day. If it were up to me, I wouldn't be working somewhere surrounded by alcohol, but Rocco paid me well enough.

As I was serving drinks, one of the men at a particularly loud table shouted, "Look at that sexy ass!"

I ignored them, even as he continued making crude gestures. However, when I passed their table, he grabbed my wrist hard.

"Hey! I was talking to you," he sneered.

"If you're not buying a drink, then leave, asshole!" I shot back.

"You little bitch! You wear a short skirt like that; you're begging for attention."

I was used to the catcalls and sexist comments, but this guy seemed insistent and a lot more aggressive than usual. I scanned the room for Rocco or any of my male colleagues, frantically hoping someone would notice me when a cold voice cut through the tension.

"You heard her; let her go"

I looked up to see a man in a perfectly tailored suit, the kind that clung to his broad shoulders and slim waist like it was made for him-because it probably was. He had the kind of face that belonged on the cover of a magazine, all sharp angles and perfect symmetry, with striking blue eyes that were both piercing and intense. His tousled dark hair only added to the effortlessly cool vibe. Even in my predicament, I couldn't help but notice how insanely attractive he was, towering over my five-foot-six frame like he owned the room.

The handsy patron retorted, "Move along, Prince Charming; this ain't your business."

The attractive man just smirked and then punched him in the face, sending teeth flying. He kept punching him while I stood there to stunned to even say a thing, wondering why his display of brute strength was turning me on.

Rocco finally appeared, his towering presence slicing through the tension. "Alright, that's enough!" he barked, his voice booming across the bar. "Get out before I throw you out myself."

The patron, now cradling his busted lip, looked between Rocco and the man in the suit, clearly realizing he didn't stand a chance. Even next to Rocco, who usually dominated any room he entered, the man in the suit still exuded a calm yet dangerous authority.

Rocco gave me a quick glance. "You alright, kid?"

I nodded, though my heart was still hammering. "Yeah, I'm fine."

That's when the man in the suit turned his gaze on me, his piercing blue eyes scanning me with unnerving scrutiny. "You sure?" he asked, his voice smooth but holding an intensity that made my breath hitch. His eyes seemed to linger, taking in every detail, and the weight of his stare made me shift nervously.

He smirked slightly, as though sensing the effect he had on me. Before I could find my voice, he nodded to his henchmen, who hauled the patron away. With one last lingering glance, that smirk still playing on his lips, he turned and walked out.

This was not the type of drama I was expecting when I said I needed a break from my boring life.

Claire's POV:

I walked back to the bar feeling dazed when I saw my best-and admittedly, only-friend, Rebecca, just clocking in for her shift.

"You look like you've been in a trance. What's going on?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in concern.

"Just one of the patrons being handsy and aggressive," I muttered.

"Where is he?" Rebecca scanned the room, her posture shifting, ready to fight. Even with her small stature, she had always defended me against guys like that. She was fierce and took no crap from anyone, and I loved her for it.

"Don't worry about it. Rocco already handled it." I intentionally left out the part about the handsome stranger, knowing Rebecca would tease me mercilessly. Besides, I still didn't understand my sudden reaction to his presence.

"Do you want me to pick up the rest of your shift?" she asked, her voice softening.

"Really? You'd do that?"

"Of course, Claire. What are besties for?"

"Thank you," I said, genuinely grateful. I couldn't shake how rattled I still felt by the whole ordeal-and by the mystery man.

I hugged her before heading to collect my pay from Rocco.

"You sure you're okay, kid?" he asked, eyeing me with concern.

"Yeah, I'm good, Rocco. Have a good night," I said, giving him a quick smile before rushing out, desperate to avoid further questions.

The walk home was quiet, but I couldn't get the unsettling feeling out of my chest. I entered the apartment cautiously, hoping to sneak past my father unnoticed. But as I closed the door behind me, I could already smell the whiskey in the air.

"Claire," his slurred voice called from the living room. My heart sank.

I hesitated. "Yeah, Dad?"

He staggered toward me, his bloodshot eyes unfocused. "Where have you been?" His words were slow, his body swaying as he took another step toward me.

"At work," I replied quietly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just got off."

He glared at me, his expression hardening. "Work, huh? You think I'm an idiot?"

I stiffened, confusion creeping in. "What do you mean?"

"You're just like her," he spat, his voice suddenly venomous. "Thinkin' you're better than me, runnin' off, wearing those short skirts. You're not fooling me!" His hands were shaking now, his anger bubbling over.

"Dad, I'm not her," I said, panic rising in my chest. "I'm your daughter. You need to calm down."

"Shut up!" he shouted, grabbing my arm tightly, his grip painful. "You look just like her, acting like you're gonna leave me too. Well, I won't let you!"

Terror gripped me as he shoved me back against the wall, his face inches from mine, his breath hot and foul. His hand raised, and I knew what was coming next.

Without thinking, I twisted out of his grip, my heart pounding as I sprinted down the hallway. I could hear him stumbling after me, cursing under his breath, but I managed to slam my bedroom door shut just before he reached me.

I locked it and slumped down against the door, my chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. Tears welled in my eyes, but I bit them back, determined not to let them fall.

The muffled sound of his ranting faded as he eventually gave up, leaving me alone in the dark, shaken and terrified. I hoped I would get out of this soon.