Mafia's Hollow Vow

{Elena's pov}

The chains were too tight. Iron cuffs dug into my wrists, holding my arms in place. The restriction cut deeper with every move, and my shoulders ached from being tied up.

I struggled to breathe, overwhelmed by the thick air, heavy with smoke, sweat, and greed. I had no idea of my memory of identity or my location.

A dull, throbbing pain pulsed at the back of my skull. Making it hard for me to think. I had woken up only minutes ago in this dimly lit room, chained like an animal, surrounded by faceless men in expensive suits. Their eyes devoured me, their whispers filled with dark amusement.

This isn't real. It can't be real. But the rough texture of the wooden stage beneath my knees was real. The too-tight chains were real. The way the men were looking at me– like I was a property, something to be bought– was terrifyingly real.

"She's a rare one," the auctioneer announced, pacing before me. "Untouched. Unspoiled. A woman of her beauty is hard to find these days.'

A shiver ran down my spine. "I'm sure you all know the rules," the auctioneer continued smoothly. "Bidding starts at one million dollars." The room was silenced.

"One million."

The first voice rose from the shadows, smooth and arrogant.

"Two."

Another man. The numbers climbed higher. Three million. Four. My pulse pounded in my ears, a steady rhythm of panic.

I struggled against the chains, my breath coming in short gasps. "P -please.." my voice cracked. "Let me go."

Laughter. I wasn't sure who laughed first, but soon, the entire room was filled with amusement.

"She speaks." one man chuckled. "That's cute."

"Begging won't get you anywhere sweetheart.'' another voice, this one was closer.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push down the terror clawing up my throat. Think, Elena think

The name slammed through into me like a fist. It was my name. I was sure of it.

More pieces clicked into place- flashes of a life I couldn't fully grasp. A warm smile. Laughter. A pair of strong arms lifted me. Then - pain. A whispered name on dying lips.

A sudden wave of nausea rolled over me.

Why couldn't I remember?

Why was I here?

"Five million."

The deep, velvety voice cut through the air laced with something sharp and dangerous.

I forced my eyes open.

A man sat at the far end of the room, encircled in darkness. The way he carried himself - the effortless authority, the cold control- made every other man In the room insignificant.

The air shifted.

Everyone knew him. Feared him.

Who is he?

Whispers murmured spread through the room.

"Moretti."

The name sent a chill through me. He sat motionless, his expression a mask, revealing nothing. The shades couldn't fully hide him- his sharp jawline, the expensive watch glimmering under the dim ray, the way his fingers relaxed against the armchair, soothed yet powerful.

His eyes black as midnight were fixed on me. My stomach twisted. Something about him felt familiar.

But before I could grasp the thought, another voice broke through the silence.

"Ten million."

I totter my head, my gaze landing on a man slouching lazily in his seat, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Unlike Moretti, this man was openly amused, enjoying the game.

Dante Romano.

I didn't know how I knew his name, but the moment I saw him, it clicked.

He was dangerous - but in a different way than Moretti. Where Moretti was sharp-edged in silence, Romano was an arrogant charm wrapped in a blade.

And right now he was looking at Moretti, a taunt hidden in his smirk.

"You must want this one," Dante drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Or is it because I do?"

The tension in the room thickened. Moretti didn't react. He didn't even blink.

Then, "fifteen million."

The words were spoken without hesitation. I sucked in a breath.

Dante let out a slow, mocking laugh. "Well, well. Isn't this interesting?"

A beat of silence.

Then-

"Sold," the auctioneer declared. "To Nico Moretti."

The moment the gravel struck, Moretti rose to his feet.

Dante stood, taking slow steps towards Nico. His smirk had vanished, replaced by something sharper and darker.

Dante's voice cut through the air like a razor. "She was mine," he growled. "You have taken from me before, but this time, I'm taking her back." His eyes locked into mine, gleaming with malice. "And when I do, Moretti, you'll regret ever coming in my way."

The room crackled with anticipation. Nico didn't move. Didn't blink. He just raised his gun.

The shift was so smooth, so effortless that danger didn't fully register until-

Bang!

Dante staggered clutching his left leg as he let out a sharp, pained groan.

Chairs erupted, and chairs scraped against the floor. The murmuring crowd turned into a wave of movement as people rushed towards the exit. The smell of gunpowder seared the air.

But Nico remained calm, unshaken. He lowered his gun with almost lazy precision and took a step forward, his polished shoes clicking against the wooden floor.

Dante, still clutching his wound glared up at him "You son of a -"

Nico crouched beside him, voice low, lethal. "If you try to stand between me and what's mine again," he murmured, pressing the still-warm barrel of the gun to Dante's jaw "I won't stop at your leg."

Dante's throat bobbed, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to retaliate.

Nico straightened and turned to me. He walked towards me slowly and deliberately. Each step felt like a countdown to what I did not know.

I wanted to move, To crawl away, To disappear. But the chains held in place. He stopped just inches from me, towering over me like a shadow. The air between us was thick- suffocating.

My pulse pounded, and I forced myself to look up.

And then I saw him. The unreadable face. The sharp, midnight-blue eyes pinned me in place. A man carved from control, from absolute power.

My stomach twisted. Something about him felt familiar.

A ghost of memory hovered just out of reach- a whisper of something dangerous. My breath hitched as his hand moved.

I flinched, his fingers wrapped around my waist- firm, but not cruel. Not yet. A sharp jolt of awareness shot through it before vanishing. His grip tightened- just enough to make a point.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, yet absolute. "You are coming with me, Elena." The words settled in my chest like a brand.

I wasn't sure if it was a promise- or a threat.

{Elena's pov}

The car ride was silent. I sat stiffly, wrists sore from chains. Leather and dark, powerful cologne-scented the air. Nico Moretti sat beside me, unreadable, his presence suffocating.

I should have been frantic, demanding answers, but my mind struggled to process the shocking truth: I'd been sold. Now I belonged to him. A chill ran down my spine.

I snuck a glance at him. He gazed out the window, fingers resting on his thigh, calm and detached. His demeanor made it clear this was nothing to him. Just another business transaction.

But why?

Why spend fifteen million dollars on me?

My stomach twisted. Was it because of Dante? Because of some rivalry between them? The way they had fought over me back there... the violence, the tension-it was personal.

I clenched my fists. I didn't want to be a pawn in whatever game they were playing.

The car pulled to a stop.

The car opened, and cool night air swept in, revealing a sprawling estate surrounded by high gates and armed guards.

A prison dressed as luxury.

Nico stepped out first, then turned back to me. His blue eyes met mine, a silent command.

I didn't move.

His jaw ticked. Then, with smooth, controlled movements, he leaned down, grasped my waists, and pulled me forward. I stumbled, briefly colliding with him, before regaining my balance. His grip was firm but not cruel. Just a reminder-he was in control here.

I wanted to rip my hand away. To fight. To scream.

But I did none of those things.

Because I needed to survive.

He led me inside, the grand doors opening into a lavish entrance hall. The marble floors shone under a soft light, and the air was scented with expensive wood and a hint of something cold and detached.

A home without warmth.

Footsteps approached. A suited man stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Mr Moretti," he said. His gaze flicked to me, then back to Nico. "Shall I prepare a room for her?"

Nico didn't answer right away. His grip on my wrist loosened, and then he finally released me. "She'll stay in the east wing. Make sure it's secure."

Secure.

I swallowed. He meant locked.

The man nodded and gestured for me to follow. I didn't move, instead, I turned to Nico, my voice sharper than I intended.

"What do you want from me?"

He didn't react, didn't even blink. "Go to your room Elena."

"I'm not your prisoner." A faint, humorless smile played on his lips. "Aren't you?"

His words slammed me like a stab.

I hated him. Hated the way he looked at me like I was something he had already claimed.

But hate wouldn't save me. I turned and followed the man down the hallway. One thought echoed in my mind. The room was stunning: high ceilings, rich wood furniture, and a king-sized bed of silk sheets. It resembled a magazine spread- elegant, expensive, and soulless.

But the real detail wasn't in the decor. It was in security. The moment the door closed behind me, I heard the faint click of a lock. A test twist of the handle confirmed it. I was trapped.

I clenched my fists, forcing down the panic threatening to rise. Think, Elena.

I turned slowly, taking in every detail. The windows were large, but a glance outside showed an unsettling drop. Three stories high. Even if I broke the glass, I wouldn't survive the fall.

I scanned the room, searching for anything-a weapon, a weakness, a way out.

Nothing.

They had thought of everything.

I sat on the bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin, but I felt numb. My mind was racing trying to process everything.

Nico Moretti.

I barely knew him, yet his name sent a shiver through me. The way he looked at me, the way the entire room had feared him.

What did he want?

Why had he bought me?

I wrapped my arms around my knees, holding them tightly. The auction replayed in my mind: the chains, the mocking laughter, and the men bidding on me like I was a possession.

I squeezed my eyes shut. There had to be a reason. A way out and then, another thought struck me.

Dante Romano.

He had fought for me too. But not the way Nico had.

Dante had enjoyed it, the game, the challenge. He hadn't cared about me-only about winning. The way he had smirked, and taunted Nico, it was all just another power play.

But Nico...

I shivered at the memory of his gaze, dark and unreadable. Unlike Dante, he hadn't played. He had simply claimed.

And now I was here, locked away like a possession. My nails dug into my palms. No. I am not a possession.

A knock at the door broke my thoughts. A woman dressed in black entered, carrying a tray of food.

"You should eat," she said, her voice empty. I didn't move.

"Who are you?" She ignored me and turned to leave, but I blocked her path.

"Wait," She hesitated, glancing at the door. "Do you know why I'm here?" I asked.

A pause. Then, a quiet reply.

"I know you belong to Nico Moretti now."

The words sent a cold chill down my spine.

Belong.

Like I was nothing more than an object, something that could be bought, owned, or controlled.

Anger gushed inside me, shrinking my throat. But I compelled myself to stay calm. If I wanted answers, I couldn't lose control.

"What does he want from me?" I pressed.

The woman hung back again, then shook her head. "That's not for me to say."

I exhaled slowly, stepping aside. She slipped past me, disappearing through the door, locking it behind her.

I stared at the tray of food, my stomach twisting. I wasn't stupid. I needed my strength. If I were going to fight, I couldn't afford to be weak.

So, I sat down and picked up the fork, but as I brought the first bite to my lips, a single thought echoed in my mind.

I won't be his prisoner.

Not for long.

{Nico's POV}

Elena Ricci.

The name meant something to me. Yet, something about her had kept my hand raised when I should have walked away. Something about her had made me put a bullet in Dante Romano's leg instead of letting him have her.

I hadn't planned to start a war over a woman.

And yet, here we were.

She was watching me.

Assessing. Calculating.

Smart girl.

But instead of demanding answers, she simply asked, "What do you want from me?"

A smirk played on my lips.

She already knew. Not the full picture, maybe, but enough. The name Moretti meant something to her-I could see it in the way her pupils shrank, the way her breathing hitched.

I stepped inside, my presence filling the room like a storm cloud.

I didn't speak at first. I simply stood there, watching her eat. Her gown-silk, delicate-was still intact, though the chaos of the auction had left her in disarray. Strands of dark hair clung to her skin, her emerald-green eyes sharp despite the exhaustion she tried to hide.

I met her gaze. She swallowed, forcing herself to mask whatever fear crept up her throat. She didn't want me to see it.

Too late.

"You're awake." My voice was smooth, and controlled.

She lifted her chin. "Obviously."

A hint of amusement sparked in her eyes, only to vanish instantly.

I stepped further inside, closing the door behind me with eerie calm. The soft click of the lock sent a shiver through her, though she kept her shoulders squared.

I was in control. And I wanted her to know it.

I walked toward her, my steps slow, deliberate. She didn't shrink away, even as the air between us grew impossibly heavy.

"Do you know why you're here?" I asked.

She held my gaze, defiant. "Because you bought me."

"That's one way to put it." I lowered myself into the chair across from her, one ankle resting on my knee, perfectly at ease. "Tell me, Elena. What do you remember?"

Her jaw tensed. "Does it matter?"

Her fingers clenched into fists and fleeting emotions-more than fear-crossed her face.

Rage.

Interesting.

I had expected terror, and submission. Maybe even desperation. But anger? That was unexpected.

"Why did you buy me?" she asked. Her voice was steady, but beneath it, I heard the strain. The question she really wanted to ask was: What are you going to do to me?

But she was too proud to say it out loud.

"I don't like leaving things with Dante," I said smoothly, watching her reaction. "You should be thanking me."

Her jaw tightened. "Thanking you?"

There it was again-that fire.

Most women in her position would tread carefully, weighing their words. But not her.

"I don't think you get it," she said, her voice edged with heat. "I was bought like an animal. I'm still a prisoner, no matter who holds the leash."

I tilted my head, considering her. "Is that what you think?"

She scoffed. "What else am I supposed to think?"

She was angry. Not just at me, but at the entire situation. At her helplessness.

I could respect that.

"Tell me, Elena," I murmured, my voice low, almost coaxing. "If I hadn't bought you, do you think you'd be sitting here, unharmed?"

She flinched-just barely-but I caught it.

She knew exactly what kind of men had been in that room. What they would have done to her.

A shadow of uncertainty passed through her eyes, but she buried it quickly.

"And what about you?" she challenged, forcing steel into her voice. "What do you want from me?"

The corner of my lips lifted, more amused than anything else.

What did I want from her?

That was the real question.

I had walked into that auction intending to observe, nothing more. I had no reason to involve myself in the filth of human trafficking. And yet, the moment I saw her, I acted.

Impulsively.

I wasn't one to make sudden decisions.

"I suppose you'll have to wait and see," I finally said, leaning back into the seat.

She laughed, dry and humorless, shaking her head. "That's not an answer."

"No," I agreed, "it's not."

She met my gaze, unwavering. "I'm not going to beg you."

I smirked. "I don't care what you do."

Her chin lifted. "But I won't beg."

I studied her for a long moment, letting the silence stretch.

"I don't want you to beg, Elena." My voice was quiet, lethal. "I want you to understand."

A frown creased her brow. "Understand what?"

I pushed to my feet, stepping closer, letting my presence consume the space between us.

"That I own you now."

Her breath hitched.

Not with fear.

With fury.

A slow, knowing smile spread across my face.

She had no clue what she'd just gotten herself into.

Elena didn't speak at first. Instead, she reached for the glass of water beside her plate and took a slow, deliberate sip. A calculated move.

Not fear. Not submission.

Defiance.

I watched her with mild interest, letting the silence stretch. Most people couldn't hold eye contact with me for long. But she did.

I could almost hear her thoughts. If you think I'm going to break, you're mistaken.

Amusing.

I leaned in slightly, just enough to crowd her space. "You're not afraid of me."

Her lips pressed into a firm line. "Should I be?"

The question was bold. Reckless.

But it wasn't a real question. It was a challenge.

I chuckled, dark and quiet. "Yes."

She didn't react, but I saw the way her grip tightened around the glass, knuckles whitening just slightly. She wasn't as unaffected as she wanted me to believe.

Good.

"Fear keeps people alive, Elena." I studied her, tilting my head. "You don't seem to have much of it."

She set the glass down with a soft clink, then leaned back against the chair, matching my posture.

"I learned a long time ago that fear is a weakness," she said. "People use it to control you."

Something about the way she said it made my interest deepen.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees. "And what do you think I will use?"

She stared at me, unblinking.

"The same thing every man in that auction house wanted to use," she said coldly.

I held her gaze, letting her words settle between us.

Then, I smirked.

"I don't need to force a woman, Elena." My voice dropped to a dark whisper. "They come to me willingly."

A flicker of something crossed her face-disgust, maybe.

But beneath it, there was something else.

Curiosity.

She would deny it. She would fight it.

But I saw it.

This was going to be fun.