I Sold Out a Mafia Boss

They say everyone has a debt to pay. Mine just happens to be my life.

My name is Lana Denver, and for the past six years, I've lived in the shadows, gathering secrets, playing roles, and finding my way into the hearts of dangerous men. I'm not a cop, not a hero, and definitely not someone who sleeps easy at night. But what I am is a survivor-a survivor indebted to one man: FBI agent Charles Gregory.

I remember flipping open yesterday's newspaper, with my coffee on the counter. As always, his name was splashed across the headlines in bold letters.

"FBI's Golden Detective Cracks Another Case: Charles Gregory Stays One Step Ahead of Crime"

I recall skimming through the article, already knowing what it will say:

"Gregory's instincts and exceptional dedication have once again led to a major breakthrough in a case that baffled authorities for months. Insiders at the Bureau describe him as a force to be reckoned with, a man who sees what others don't. His latest victory is evidence of his unmatched brilliance."

I remember tossing the paper aside and leaning back, laughing. Unmatched brilliance? Sure.

No one ever asks how Charles gets his leads, or why his "instincts" always seem so spot-on. He takes the credit, as he always does, and I stay in the shadows where I belong. Because that's the deal we made.

It was Charles who saved me when I was barely more than a kid, stumbling out of a mess I barely understood. It was Charles who gave me a purpose, or maybe a punishment, depending on how you see it. Because for all the years I've worked for him, for all the criminals I've seduced, outwitted, and sold out, it's always been to pay back the life I owe.

Now, here I am, sitting in the back booth of a fancy bar, swirling a cocktail I've barely touched. Across the room, my latest target is laughing, throwing back drinks with his goons, unaware that every word he whispers my way will end up in Charles' hands by morning. I watch, and I wait.

I don't need a name to know who he is-the arrogance, the expensive suit, and the way the men around him move as though he's a god all give him away.

And then, he spots me.

His dark eyes lock onto mine, and a slow smile plasters on his face. He bites his lower lip as if contemplating his next move. I hold his gaze, smirking slightly as I shift in my seat, with the fabric of my dress tightening in all the right places. The way he looks at me tells me I have his full attention.

This is what I do-what I've always done.

This life isn't glamorous. It's not thrilling. It's dangerous, dirty, and requires pieces of me I'll never get back. But if it keeps me out of the grave, if it keeps me from running... then it's worth it.

I notice him standing up from his table, with his drink in hand, and making his way towards me. Ricardo Borrelli. I don't know much about him, just that he's my target tonight. The man I need to charm, to disarm, and to leave vulnerable enough for me to get what I need.

He's tall, broad-shouldered, and moves with the kind of confidence that makes people step aside without a word. His suit is expensive, custom-made, the kind that screams power without trying too hard. His dark hair is slicked back, and his jawline is perfect.

And then there's his smile-slow, devious, and aimed directly at me.

I adjust in my seat, crossing my legs and tilting my head just so. My hair is perfectly styled, cascading over one shoulder, and my lips are painted blood-red, the color of temptation. The silver dress I'm wearing is so short and tight, enough to grab attention without looking desperate. I know I look good.

He looks at me from head to toe, lingering just long enough to tell me he likes what he sees. When he reaches me, he leans against the booth with a smirk on his face.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice is deep, the kind of charm that could disarm anyone.

I return his smile, gesturing to the seat across from me. "Be my guest."

He slides in, like he has all the time in the world. "You caught my attention the moment you walked in. What's your name?"

"Felicity," I reply with a soft tone.

"Felicity," he repeats. "Beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

I chuckle, leaning forward just enough to let the neckline of my dress do its job. "You don't waste time with subtlety, do you?"

"Why would I? Life's too short for games."

I lean in slightly, letting my flirtatious tone take center stage. "So, what do you want from me, sir?"

He smirks. "Don't call me sir. Call me daddy."

The boldness of his words makes me shudder, but I keep my composure. I tilt my head, biting my lip as I ask, "What do you want from me, then... daddy?"

His dark eyes are filled with amusement, and he raises a finger, signaling for me to come closer. I obey, leaning in until his lips are near my ear.

"I wanna fuck you," he whispers.

A coy smile appears on my face as I lean back and whisper in return, "Took the words right out of my mouth."

I stand, letting the silver dress do its job as I walk towards the door seductively. I can feel his eyes on me. When I glance back, I see the hunger in his expression.

Ricardo signals the bartender, tossing a few crisp bills onto the counter. "Tieni il resto, bellissima." ("Keep the change, gorgeous.")

He rises from his seat and follows me outside.

As I step outside, I pull out my phone and quickly dial Charles.

"What did I tell you about calling me when you're on a mission?" he snaps the moment he picks up.

"I know, I know," I say, lowering my voice so Ricardo doesn't overhear. "I just wanted you to wish me good luck."

Charles sighs, his tone is indifferent. "Good luck. Now can I go?"

His words sting, but I swallow the hurt. "Okay," I murmur, before the line goes dead.

Sliding my phone back into my clutch, I turn to see Ricardo stepping out of the bar, with his eyes on me.

"Who were you talking to?" he asks with an edge to his tone.

"A friend," I reply with a soft smile. "Just letting her know I won't be coming home tonight."

He smirks, clearly pleased by my answer. Moments later, his car pulls up-a sleek, black Rolls-Royce Phantom. The driver steps out, hurrying to open the door.

"Sir, the car is ready," the driver announces, holding the door for him.

Ricardo waves him off with a slight shake of his head. "I'll sit in the back tonight."

He steps aside, gesturing for me to get in first. I glance at him with a smile, and he returns it with one of his own- an expression that shows me that Charles is going to get what he wants, yet again.

Charles calls me his secret weapon, his golden ticket to taking down the worst criminals this city has to offer. They think he's a genius, always a step ahead, but they don't know it's me who does the dirty work.

The music in the car is barely audible over the sounds I'm making. Ricardo's head is buried between my thighs, with his hands gripping my hips like he owns me, he is eating me out, leaving me gasping for air. My back arches against the seat, with my fingers tangled in his dark hair. I can't stop the moans spilling from my lips, they were loud and shameless.

Up front, the driver is uncomfortable, his eyes are fixed on the road, but when I let out another cry, he fumbles for his earbuds and jams them in, pretending we're not even here.

When the car slows and pulls into the driveway of a five-star hotel, my legs are trembling. Ricardo sits up, straightens his jacket like nothing happened, and steps out of the car. Cool. Composed. Utterly infuriating.

I follow, adjusting my silver dress, trying to gather what's left of my dignity, but he grabs me before I can take another step. His hand takes my waist, pulling me close as we walk towards the entrance.

We barely make it through the doors before he starts kissing me again. His hands roam my body, and I shudder from pleasure.

"Sir," a security guard approaches, trying to mask his discomfort. "This is an establishment. That kind of behavior is-"

The man freezes when his eyes land on Ricardo.

"Mr. Borrelli," he stammers. "I-I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me."

Ricardo doesn't even acknowledge him. He brushes past with a smirk, his hand still firmly on my lower back.

Inside, the receptionist at the desk glances up, her eyes widening. She recovers quickly, putting on a nervous smile. "Welcome, Mr. Borrelli. Your usual suite is available. Here's the master key."

Her hand shakes as she slides the key across the counter. Ricardo takes it without a word, as his attention is already back on me.

We head towards the elevators, and as soon as the doors close, he's on me again. He's kissing me, touching me, almost like he can't get enough of me. By the time the elevator reaches the top floor, my dress strap is slipping down my shoulder, and his jacket is discarded on the floor.

When we step into the suite, I pause. The room is stunning. But Ricardo doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are on me, burning with desire.

I smirk, leaning back against the massive bed. "Are you some kind of god?"

He laughs. "You could say that."

Before I can reply, his hand is on my neck, firm but not quite rough, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. "Take off your fucking clothes," he commands me.

I do as he says, letting the silver dress slide to the floor, leaving me naked before him. His eyes scanned over me, like he's savoring every inch.

He undresses himself slowly. "Do you want to see what a god's dick looks like?" he asks with arrogance.

I bite my lip, nodding slowly. "Yes, daddy."

He pushes me onto the bed. He's rough in a way that fills me with adrenaline. But then it happens-too fast. His breathing is heavy, and he shudders against me. The room goes quiet for a while.

I lay there, my body still buzzing, but something feels... off. I glance at him, and it's all over his face. His jaw is clenched, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, he is frustrated.

For all his confidence, his climax comes too soon. It's clear he's not satisfied. Neither am I.

Just then, Ricardo's phone rings, breaking the silence. He pulls it out of his pocket, his expression shifts as he checks the screen. He answers, pacing a few steps away from the bed.

It's not on speaker, but his tone is low and he speaks with frustration. I pick up fragments, enough to piece together the conversation.

"Angelo, what the fuck do you want now?" Ricardo snaps, running a hand through his hair.

I shift quietly, slipping my hand under the pillow where I've hidden the tiny recording device Charles gave me. One press of a button, and it's on.

"Calmo, Calmo brother. I know, I know." Angelo's voice is muffled, but I catch enough to hear the panic in his words.

Ricardo yells into the phone. "But we're stuck. The senator's daughter? Having that bitch amongst the other girls has ruined everything. We can't move the other girls' until we figure out what to do with her."

"No, we can't kill her, Angelo. Do you have any idea what that would bring down on us? Charles Gregory's already sniffing around. You think we'd survive that kind of heat?" Ricardo's voice rises, then he drops his tone. "This is our punishment, remember? We're cleaning up someone else's mess, and we don't have a choice."

At the mention of Charles's name, I felt fear. My fingers tighten around the recording device as I hold my breath, praying Ricardo doesn't notice.

Angelo says something else, something that makes Ricardo exhale harshly.

"Look," Ricardo mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose, "once this batch is gone, we're out. That was the deal. We just need to keep everything quiet for a few more days. That's it!"

The call ends abruptly. Ricardo tosses the phone onto a nearby chair, dragging a hand down his face.

I stop the recording and slip the device back under the pillow, it is terrifying.

Ricardo stands there, silently. I kneel on the bed, moving towards him slowly. My fingers trace his chest, it is soothing for him I can tell.

"What's wrong?" I ask softly, with a sweet and curious tone. "Everything's going to be alright... if you tell me."

He clenches his jaw. "I don't even know you," he mutters. "Why the fuck would I tell you personal information?"

I nod, as my fingers trail lower. "You don't know me, but you can trust me." My tone turns hushed. "I've done some pretty bad shit myself."

My hand finds him, stroking his dick slowly. He moans softly from my touch and his defenses falter. "It's not my mess," he says, with his head tipping back slightly. "It's a punishment."

I tilt my head, feigning sympathy. "Punishment?"

He groans, with the words spilling out as I keep stroking him. "A deal went bad with someone... someone influential. They gave us a choice: deal with this... or lose everything. So, we're stuck with it-for now."

I hum softly, nodding as I keep stroking his dick. "What's this punishment, exactly? It has to do with girl's, right?"

"Yeah, lots of 'em." Ricardo replies.

"And... where are these girls?" I ask as I stroke him.

"They're in a safehouse... just for a few more days," he admits reluctantly. "After this batch, I'm done, fortunately. I just need to get them to him, and then I'm done."

He sighs. But just as I think I'm in control, his hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I gasp as he leans down, searching my eyes. "And nothing," he says, "can go wrong."

I swallow hard, nodding incessantly. "Yes, daddy. Nothing will go wrong." I whisper with my voice carrying just the right amount of conviction to make him believe me.

"I mean it," I add, stroking his dick with every word. "You're not the kind of man who lets things slip. I can tell-everything about you screams control. Power. Success." I let my hands drift down his chest. "I'd bet on you any day."

He seems to relax slightly, and his grip loosens in my hair. I smile at him, keeping my tone sweet. "Whatever's going on, daddy... you'll get through it. You always do, don't you?"

Ricardo nods. "You're fucking right. You know what, let's get some rest, it's getting late."

As I watch him sleep, I can't help but think how I'll ruin his life by the next morning. And I'll continue doing this over, and over again, 'cause this is what I am.

But deep down, I know one thing: debts always come due, and one day, my luck will run out. What I don't know is how soon that day is coming... or how unprepared I am for when it'll happen.

Ricardo's POV

The wail of sirens jolts me awake. My eyes snap open, and I sit up, the events of last night are still hazy in my mind.

"Felicity," I mutter, glancing at the other side of the bed. Empty.

Fuck.

I rake a hand through my hair, with the gravity of the situation settling in as the sirens grow louder outside. My jaw tightens, and my fists clench as I swing my legs out of bed.

"That fucking bitch!!!"

With anger, I throw the bedside lamp across the room and it shatters against the wall. My fists slam against the dresser, and the wood splinters under the force.

The door to the bedroom opens up, and one of my men-Luca-rushes in, his face is pale and panicked.

"Capo," he says. "The police are here. They've surrounded the building. We need to evacuate you now."

I freeze for a moment, then I start thinking. Running? Like a pussy? No. That's not who I am.

"No," I say. "I'm not running."

"But Capo-"

I cut him off with a glare. "What do they want?"

"They want to arrest you," Luca says.

"Fucking hell!!!! That fucking bitch!!!" My fists tighten, with my teeth grinding together. But even as anger clouds my judgment, I know there's no time to lose.

I take a deep breath. "Listen to me," I say firmly. "If things go south, make sure Antonella and the kids are safe. And my mama-get her out of here. Send them somewhere they can't be touched. Do you hear me?"

Luca nods. "I'll take care of it, Capo. You have my word."

"Good," I mutter, grabbing a shirt and throwing it on.

I walk over to the mirror, staring at my reflection. I adjust the collar of my shirt. There's no fear in my eyes. Taking a final look, I turn and head for the door. Downstairs, the officers are waiting.

I walk down the lobby with my head high, and my demeanor filled with indifference. I'm not the kind of man who shows weakness, even when the wolves are at my door.

I know who's waiting for me-Charles Gregory, the so-called "golden cop" who's made it his personal mission to dismantle my empire.

The officers part as I approach, with their hands resting on their holsters and eyes circling around me. And there he is-Charles, standing tall and composed, with that insufferable aura of righteousness he always carries.

"Mr. Ricardo Borrelli," Charles says with a fake smile on his face. "Nice seeing you again."

He extends a hand, like this is some casual business meeting. I glance at it, then back at him. I don't move.

"You bring a bunch of your men into my establishment," I say with disdain, "and for what? To harass me?"

Charles lowers his hand, his smile fades, and his expression turns serious. "Don't bullshit me. I finally cracked the case. Thirty-five of those missing girls, including the senator's daughter, are in your fucking custody."

I arc a brow, and I don't flinch. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say."I'm an-"

"Entrepreneur, right?" Charles interrupts with a smirk. "You own several hotels and resorts in the city. Yeah, that's the story you sell to the government, to the masses. But we both know this, is all just a front."

My anger is visible, but I supress it. I've learned to control the fire, to keep my composure. "You think you're untouchable, don't you?" I say with a lowered voice. "If you want to die, then go ahead-lay your filthy fingers on me."

Charles scoffs. "Ooooh, I'm scared."

I clench my fists. My city. My rules. This fool thinks he can come here and challenge me? The arrogance of this man, standing there like he has any real power.

"You're standing in my city. You think you can just walk in here and throw around accusations? I know the law, cop. You can't arrest me without proper representation. And you have no proof. Whatever story you think you've pieced together, it's just that-a story."

Charles doesn't blink. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper. "A warrant," he says, holding it up. "For your arrest. So all those laws you're throwing at me, all those rights you think you have?" He steps closer. "They're nullified."

My nostrils twitch. For the first time, I feel the burn of true anger. But I keep my face calm, and I don't interrupt.

"Did you even stop to think about the rights of those thirty-five girls? Did they get to say yes or no to being kidnapped, to being sold like cattle? But here you are, talking about your rights."

I smile. It's not warm or genuine-it's the kind of smile that promises destruction. "You really think you've won, don't you?"

Charles steps forward, with handcuffs in one hand. "Hands out, Mr. Borrelli."

I glance around the lobby, at the thousands of officers and the cameras that are undoubtedly rolling. There's no way out. Not now. Not yet.

So, I hold out my wrists.

As Charles steps closer, I lean in, whispering into his ears. "You have no idea who the fuck you're messing with, golden cop."

Charles tightens the cuffs around my wrist with an impassive look on his face. "We'll see."

Lana's POV

Night time, and I sit cross-legged on the worn couch, toying with the little device that caught Ricardo spilling secrets, watching as the news unfolds.

"This morning, as early as 7 a.m., local police, led by none other than Charles Gregory-famously known as the golden cop-arrested Ricardo Borrelli, the owner of several prominent hotels and resorts. Borrelli is accused of harboring 35 missing girls, including the senator's daughter, whose disappearance has gripped the nation."

I watch with a solemn look on my face. Hearing it laid out like this feels surreal.

The newscaster pauses briefly. "Details of the case remain scarce, but we managed to secure an exclusive interview with Charles Gregory himself. Let's take a look."

The screen shifts to Charles, standing calmly in front of a camera with a straight posture.

"Detective Gregory, you're being hailed as a hero for this arrest," the interviewer starts. "How do you always manage to crack the toughest cases? And what makes you think a man as noble as Ricardo Borrelli could be capable of such absurd crimes?"

Charles doesn't even flinch at the question. He speaks with calm and coolness, as always. "The job isn't about what I think. It's about following the evidence, and in this case, the evidence led us to Mr. Borrelli. I can't speak of the details-it's an active investigation-but I will say this: the truth has a way of coming out, no matter how deeply it's buried."

He doesn't say more. He doesn't need to.

The screen flicks back to the newscaster, and her smile is wider. "A man of few words, but what a wonderful, handsome fellow. God bless Charles Gregory."

I snort softly at the praise, but I stop when I catch headlights flashing at me through the living room window. I sit up straight, squinting through the lights.

Someone's parking in my driveway.

I quickly turn off the TV and instinctively, I grab the gun Charles insisted I keep, with my fingers tightening around it. I move carefully to the window, peering out from behind the curtain.

It's Charles. Phew!

I sigh a sigh of relief, lowering the gun as I lean against the wall, waiting for Charles to make his way inside.

Charles doesn't bother knocking. Instead, he uses the spare key he gave me months ago and steps inside like he owns the place. The moment I see him, I run straight into his arms.

He hugs me back, and for a moment, everything feels okay. When we finally pull apart, he gently closes the door behind him, locking it. His eyes scan the room before settling on me, and a proud smile appeared on his lips.

"Look at you," he says, shaking his head as he leads me to the couch. We sit down, and he takes my hand in his. "My secret weapon. I don't know what I'd do without you, kid."

Before I can respond, he leans forward and kisses my forehead, the gesture almost brings tears to my eyes.

I lower my voice. "This guy, Ricardo... He seems dangerous. More powerful than the others I've helped you con. Are you sure I'm safe here?"

Charles tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You're more than safe here," he says firmly.

But, for some reason, I still don't believe. "I don't know..." I murmur.

He watches me carefully, then sighs. "If you're really not comfortable staying here, you could move in with me."

I blink, staring at him in disbelief. "Oh my God, really?"

"Yeah. But..." He pauses, holding up a finger. "You'll have to give me three days. I've got some loose ends to tie up first. After that, mi casa es su casa."

I laugh softly. Finally, I get to know what living with Charles feels like, again.