His Mafia Possession

Avery There was something eerie about the silence in the air as I walked home. A heavy stillness, like the world was holding its breath and waiting for something to break. I tightened my grip on the strap of my backpack and kept moving, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the street. The house came into view-our small, two-bedroom place tucked at the edge of the neighborhood. My safe place. Except... something was wrong. The front door was wide open. My heart dropped into my stomach. Dad never left the door open. Never.

I hesitated on the porch, my hand hovering over the doorknob like it might bite me. "Dad?" I called out. No response. I stepped inside slowly, one foot at a time, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. It looked like a war had happened in our living room. Cushions were ripped from the couch and thrown across the floor. Picture frames shattered on the ground, broken glass glittering like ice in the dim light. The TV was smashed. A lamp lay in pieces beside the bookshelf, and all the drawers in the cabinet were hanging open, their contents spilled like guts onto the floor. "Dad?" My voice cracked. I dropped my backpack with a soft thud and moved deeper into the house, trying not to let panic overtake me. Every step I took made my legs feel heavier. The kitchen was worse-chairs overturned, the table flipped on its side. Cabinets stood open, plates and glasses shattered across the tile. My shoes crunched on something, and I looked down. Blood. A small smear of red, almost dried, just beside the fridge. I clamped a hand over my mouth, the sting of bile rising in my throat. No. No, no, no. This wasn't real. This was some kind of twisted nightmare. I stumbled back into the living room, gasping for air, when I heard it-the sharp crack of the floorboard behind me. I spun around just in time to see the first figure emerge from the hallway. Then another. And another. There were four of them. All dressed in black. All wearing masks. "W-who are you?!" I screamed, backing into the wall. My knees buckled. "What do you want?!" None of them answered. One of them moved too quickly for me to react. A thick arm wrapped around my waist, hoisting me up like I weighed nothing. "No! Let me go!" I kicked and screamed, trying to twist away. My fists slammed against his chest, but it was like punching a brick wall. "Sedate her," a deep voice barked. I didn't see the needle, only felt the sharp sting at my neck a second later. Burning. Cold. I blinked hard, my head spinning. Everything blurred. The faces twisted in my vision. I heard my own voice screaming-fading-slowing. Darkness came fast, drowning me in silence. I woke up to movement. The world tilted and rocked, and for a second, I thought I was dreaming. Then I felt the rough floor beneath me. Heard the low hum of an engine. Smelled gasoline, leather, and something sharp-like sweat and metal. My hands were bound behind my back. A blindfold covered my eyes. My mouth was taped shut. Panic erupted in my chest like wildfire. I thrashed, trying to sit up, but something-or someone-shoved me back down. "Easy, ragazza," a gruff voice said in an accent I couldn't place. "You'll tire yourself out before the boss even gets to see you." Boss? I tried to scream. My voice came out muffled, desperate. My throat burned. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might tear through my chest. Where was I? Where was my dad? What the hell was happening? I stayed like that for what felt like hours, the van rocking as it moved. Every second stretched endlessly. My wrists were raw from the rope. My tears soaked the blindfold. Eventually, the van stopped. Doors creaked open. Heavy boots stomped against the ground. The doors behind me were yanked open, and I was pulled out like a sack of potatoes, tossed over someone's shoulder. I screamed into the tape, kicked with everything I had left, but it was useless. They carried me through what sounded like a metal door, footsteps echoing down a hallway. The air smelled like cold marble and cigar smoke. Who were these people? Why me? I was dumped into a chair. The blindfold ripped off. The sudden light made my eyes water. I blinked, squinting, trying to focus. I was in a room. Large. Lavish. Dimly lit with gold chandeliers and crimson walls. Like something out of a mafia movie. And there he was. A man standing at the far end of the room, his back turned toward me as he poured dark liquid into a crystal glass. He turned slowly. Cool. Calm. Dangerous. His suit was tailored perfectly to his broad frame, his black shirt unbuttoned at the top just enough to show a sliver of his tattooed chest. He had sharp cheekbones, dark hair, and eyes so cold they made my blood freeze. He looked at me like I wasn't even human. Like I was a thing. An object. "Remove the tape," he ordered. One of the masked men stepped forward and yanked the tape from my mouth. I gasped, coughing, my lips raw. "Please," I whispered. "Please... just tell me what's going on." The man took a slow sip of his drink, then walked toward me, each step deliberate. "You don't need to understand right now," he said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "You only need to accept." "Accept what?" I croaked. "Where's my dad? What did you do to him?" His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something passing through them-contempt? Pity? He crouched in front of me, his face inches from mine. "You've been taken, Avery Coleman," he said. "Because your father owes a debt he can never repay." I froze. "What-what debt? What are you talking about?" He reached out and traced a finger along my cheek. And then he smiled. Dark. Cruel. Possessive. "You belong to me now."

Zamian The scent of cigar smoke hung heavy in the private room of the abandoned cathedral-turned-hideout. Golden candlelight flickered across ancient stone walls and polished mahogany, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts of the past. Zamian stood with his back to the arched windows, the stained glass painting his tailored suit in hues of crimson and sapphire. His men stood in silence behind him, the tension palpable. Across from him, trembling but pretending otherwise, sat the man who had dared to cross him. Mr Coleman. Mid-forties. Widowed.

Recently gambling with money that didn't belong to him. Money that belonged to the Sicuro Famiglia-and by extension, to Zamian himself. Zamian's voice was like crushed velvet laced with venom. "Did you think you could steal from me and live?" "I-I didn't steal-" Mr. Coleman began, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I was going to repay-" "You're already late," Zamian cut in coldly. "You didn't come here to negotiate. You came to beg." Thomas swallowed hard. His hands shook as he reached into his coat pocket. One of Zamian's guards moved instinctively, but Thomas only pulled out a photograph-creased, smudged, but intact. "My daughter," he croaked. "Avery. She's... she's all I have left. Please, Zamian, you're a businessman. We can make a deal. Use her as leverage. She's innocent, but I-I'll do anything if it means she stays safe." Zamian took the photo without a word. His eyes narrowed. In the faded photo, the girl was sitting on the front porch of their modest home, school uniform wrinkled, earbuds in, head tilted as if listening to music. Her honey-brown skin glowed beneath the afternoon sun, her curly hair tied in a lazy bun. Something wild lingered in her posture-free, untamed. A jolt of recognition struck him like a knife to the gut. Her. Weeks ago. He'd been walking down the pier after a deal with the Albanian syndicate when she bumped into him. No apology. No fear. Just fire in her eyes. She'd looked up, called him an "arrogant b*st*rd," and stormed off. At the time, he let it slide. He hadn't known who she was. She didn't know who he was either. But fate... fate had a dark sense of humor. He stared at the photograph for a long moment before he finally spoke. "I've already seen her," he said slowly, eyes never leaving the image. "She was brave. Rude. Untouched by this world." His voice dropped to a whisper, like a vow. "That won't last." Thomas paled. "Please... don't hurt her. Just take what you want from me-" "You already gave me what I want." Zamian slid the photograph into his coat pocket and turned away. "She's mine now." Avery I sat curled on the cold velvet couch in that giant red-walled room, arms still tied, wrists burning. The door opened with a hiss, and I jerked my head toward it. He walked in again-the man from before. The one with eyes like winter and a face carved from authority. I expected to feel fear. I expected to cower. But I didn't. I stared right back. He watched me with a strange look, almost... fascinated. He set his drink on the table, sat across from me, legs spread slightly, hands resting on his thighs. Power radiated off of him in waves. "You don't recognize me, do you?" he asked after a moment. I blinked. My mouth was dry. "Should I?" He leaned in slowly. "Weeks ago. Down at the docks. You bumped into me. Called me an arrogant b*st*rd. Ring a bell?" I searched my memory-and then it hit me. That man in the designer suit. I'd been in a rush, earbuds blasting music, and I slammed into someone without caring. My breath caught. It was him. But this man... he was darker now. Meaner. More dangerous. "You were-" I faltered. "You're that guy from the pier?" He smirked. "I see your memory's coming back." "But... you're..." My voice faded. My skin crawled. "Mafia," he finished for me. I flinched. "You're catching on quickly," he murmured, rising from the chair and walking over to me. I swallowed hard, my spine stiffening as he towered over me. "Why me? What do you want?" He crouched beside me again, not touching, just watching. "Your father owed me something he couldn't pay. You're what he offered in exchange." My head reeled. "You're lying." "I don't lie, Avery. I don't need to." My stomach twisted violently. My father... gave me away? I wanted to scream, to fight, to claw my way out of this gilded cage. But part of me already knew-there was no escape. Zamian's fingers brushed a lock of hair from my cheek. "You didn't seem so delicate when you cursed me out at the docks. Where did that fire go?" I jerked my head away. "Why don't you untie me and find out?" He chuckled, low and dark. "There she is." He stood up and motioned for his men. "Take her to the rose room. Clean her up. I don't want her looking like she's been dragged through hell when I come to her next." I looked up sharply. "Come to me next?" His smile was all wolf. "You're not just payment, Avery. You're possession. And I don't leave my possessions untouched for long."

Avery I didn't know how long they kept me in that room-just that it smelled like expensive cologne, roses, and danger. Everything was too polished, too controlled. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a palace for a predator. And I was the offering. When the guards finally came for me again, I didn't resist. My wrists were red and sore, but at least they weren't tied anymore. I kept my head high, shoulders straight, even though my knees were shaking. They led me through a corridor that looked like it belonged in some five-star hotel-not a mafia lord's lair. Gold-framed art.

Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Marble so shiny I could see the reflection of my fear in every step. I was expecting Zamian. Dreading him, really. But instead, they led me into a room where I heard a voice I hadn't expected to hear again. "Please, I'm begging you. She's just a girl. Let her go. Take me instead-" My breath caught in my throat. Dad. He was on his knees, palms outstretched like a man praying to a god who'd already made up his mind. My feet moved on instinct. "Dad!" I rushed forward. Two men stepped to block me, but I didn't care. My voice broke as I looked at him-messy hair, sunken eyes, pain written all over his face. He turned at the sound of my voice. "Avery-oh God." His arms opened. I nearly collapsed into them. We held each other like we hadn't in years. But even in that moment, I could feel Zamian watching us-silent, still, and cold. Dad pulled away just enough to cup my face. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" I shook my head. "No. Not yet." "You shouldn't be here," he whispered. "This is my fault. I should've-" "You shouldn't have made deals with men like him," I said flatly, then looked past him at Zamian, who stood with his hands folded, calm as a storm before it breaks. I stepped out from behind my dad and faced Zamian. I didn't know where the courage came from. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was love. Or maybe it was fury. But I stood tall. And I looked him dead in the eyes. "You want someone to pay? Fine. But take me, not him." Dad gasped. "Avery, no!" "You'll die in this world," I snapped at him. "You're too soft. Too guilt-ridden. And too broke to fix this mess. Let me handle it." I turned to Zamian again. "Let him go. I'll stay." Zamian raised an eyebrow. Amused. Intrigued. That infuriating glint in his eyes. "You came in here ready to barter yourself?" he asked, his voice smooth and sharp like a razor wrapped in silk. "I came here to survive," I said. "And to give my dad a chance to fix the mess he made." Zamian stepped forward slowly, eyes never leaving mine. "You think you can survive me?" "I don't think," I said, my jaw clenched. "I know." He stopped just a few inches away. The heat from his body, the scent of him-dark, commanding-surrounded me. "You remember me now, don't you?" he murmured. "The dock. The bump. The insult." "Yes," I said without flinching. "And yet, here you are. Offering yourself up like a lamb." His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. "Interesting." Behind me, my dad was still pleading. "Please, Zamian-take me. I'll work for you. I'll pay you back every cent." Zamian didn't even glance his way. "She stays," he said simply. "No!" Dad tried to move forward, but the guards held him back. "She stays," Zamian repeated, this time turning toward him. "You had your chance, Mr. Coleman. You gave her up. You don't get to change your mind now." "I didn't know what you'd do to her-" "You knew exactly what it meant!" Zamian's voice snapped like thunder, sharp and final. "You don't gamble with your blood and expect to win." I stepped between them again. "Dad, go," I said firmly. His eyes were glassy, his voice shaking. "Avery, I can't-" "You can," I said, softer now. "You have to. You can't protect me in here. But you can fix this out there. Find the money. Pay it back. Get me out." He hesitated. "I'll be okay," I whispered, more to convince him than myself. After a long silence, he finally nodded, his shoulders sagging like a man who'd aged twenty years in twenty minutes. Zamian gave the nod. The guards began to escort Mr. Coleman out. As he passed, he turned one last time, eyes begging me to say something. I only nodded once, fiercely. We both knew if I said anything more, I might break. Then he was gone. The door shut behind him. And I was alone again with Zamian. For a moment, there was only silence. Then he stepped forward. "You surprised me," he said quietly. I lifted my chin. "I'm full of surprises." He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "You know most girls in your situation cry. Scream. Beg." "I'm not most girls." "No," he agreed. "You're not." A long pause settled between us. Then he walked past me toward the window, hands clasped behind his back like a king overlooking his empire. "You want to play tough?" he said. "Fine. But remember this-your survival depends on how well you learn the rules here." "I'll learn them," I said without hesitation. He turned back to me. "You're mine now, Avery. Not temporarily. Not conditionally. You live by my terms. You breathe by my grace. Do you understand that?" I swallowed the knot rising in my throat. "I understand." His eyes lingered on me a moment longer. Then he walked toward the door and paused. "Get her settled," he ordered someone outside. "She's going to be here a while." And then he was gone. The moment the door clicked shut, I exhaled for the first time in what felt like forever. My knees buckled, but I forced myself to stay upright. I'd just made a deal with the devil. And now, I had to survive the fire.