Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

Leya stood by the edge of her father's study, her fingers trailing along the smooth wood of the desk that had once been his. The room once filled with his presence, his laughter, his unwavering confidence, once alive, now felt like a tomb: cold, hollow, and lifeless. Almost, as if she heard the echo of his voice from the walls, reassuring her that steadiness that she always relied on.

But now nothing was stable anymore.

Nothing was all right.

The memory of his death came crashing upon her like a tide, of which the force threatened to drown her. She remembered the call, how her mom's face had slumped, folding in on itself, as the weight of the news had shattered everything.

Leya watched immobile, her world breaking into pieces. The moment before, her father was alive, vibrant, with plans and dreams. The next... he was gone.

A car accident: sudden, brutal.

Her hands were quivering while she reached for the framed picture lying on the desk, that of her father proudly in front of their family business. She could recall when she looked at the picture and how proud she was of herself. All this now served to remind her of everything they lost. The company that once had been the hallmark of his presence in this world started coming undone almost as quickly as his life did. The mountain of debts stood like some dark storm, unrelenting and devouring the family whole.

The letters from creditors came first, then the calls, then the threats. Each heavier than the last.

Leya watched as the light in her mother's eyes gradually waned, the withering of the spirit from the weight of it all. How she tried to hold on, but a battle she could never win at. They knew that, and so did she.

That was when he showed up.

Mr. Samuel Blackwood

Every millimeter of the space was filled when he stepped into their home. Dark. Ominous. The power just oozed from him, and Leya was sure the air gradually shifted that very instant his voice filtered through. His voice was low with a soothing cadence as he laid down his terms that would keep them safe. Terms that came with a price.

"I will settle your debts," he had said, icily calm. "But there is something I require in return."

Leya's heart had dropped, knowing what it would be without him finishing the sentence. The look in his eyes, the glance at her apparent.

"Your daughter will marry my son, Harrison."

The words hung in the air, her noose tightening around her neck. She turned to her mother, searching for an escape, for something, anything that could free her from this nightmare. But the tears were already welling up in her mother's eyes, her voice trembling in a whisper: "We have no choice, Leya."

No choice.

The words rang in Leya's mind, a cruel refrain that never seemed to fade. And whatever she did, however, she pleaded with her mother to change her mind, the fact was quite inexorable: they were drowning, and Samuel Blackwood was the only one flinging them a lifeline.

And so, she agreed.

But it hadn't been for herself. It had been for her three younger siblings, who looked to her now to keep them safe. They didn't deserve to suffer because of the collapse of their family's world. She'd do anything to protect them; even sacrificing her happiness was called for; even binding herself to Harrison Blackwood was a price she'd pay.

Harrison paced in great waves of tension, his feet eating away at the floor of his father's office. His fists were clenched, his knuckles white, his eyes darting ever towards the door. Behind the great oaken desk, his father sat, indifference to the whole thing exuding from him, just another deal to be handled and forgotten.

"I won't do this," Harrison grated in a low, angry voice. "You can't just simply expect me to marry some girl just because you've made some deal behind my back."

And Mr. Samuel Blackwood raised an eyebrow, his eyes cool and calculating as he looked at his son. "This has nothing to do with what you want, Harrison. This is about the future of our family. About keeping alliances and making sure the Blackwood name doesn't get tarnished."

Harrison's jaw clenched. "I am not going to care about alliances, nor am I going to marry some desperate woman just because her family has gone bankrupt.

"Careful," his father's voice came as a dangerous warning, "it would appear that you forget who is in control here."

It seemed to Harrison that a storm brewed between them, but he knew better than to press his luck any further. His father wasn't a man one crossed lightly unless he wanted the consequences at least.

"I won't love her," Harrison said finally, his voice hard and the last word hanging heavy with defiance. He leaned forward in his seat, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk, knuckles still pale. "You can force this," he said, "but you can't make me care about her."

Mr. Blackwood did not bat an eyelid. He regarded his son through the same detached expression he would if discussing little more than a business transaction and to his mind, he was.

This has nothing to do with love, Harrison," he said calmly. His tone was so even. "Love is nothing in this instance. This pertains to control Power. Ensuring our family remains untouchable. You will marry Leya Anderson and in turn, her family's debts will be erased, their reputation salvaged. You are merely securing their loyalty, nothing more.

Harrison stiffened, hands fisted at his sides. "She's a gold digger. You said it yourself. Why should I play into her hands?"

Samuel's lips arced into the faintest shadow of a smile. "She's desperate, yes. But she is not the threat you seem to think she is. And besides, you will not be playing into her hands. You will hold all the cards."

Turning away, Harrison ran a hand through his hair as frustration boiled under his skin. He hated this, being manipulated, being pushed into a corner. The thought of marrying some woman he hardly knew, a woman whose family was hanging by a thread... It made him sick. But his father wasn't leaving him a choice.

"When is the wedding?" he asked tightly.

His father cast his eyes at the calendar; his voice was nearly all business, as if setting a date for a board of directors meeting. "Two weeks from today. Already everything is being arranged."

The stillness of his father's voice sent Harrison's blood into a boiling frenzy. Two weeks. Just two weeks before he would be chained to her, to this woman he did not want, did not trust. He strode out of the office, the future weighing upon him like a great press of suffocating air.

Closer to the wedding day, the Blackwood mansion became a beehive of activity as people scurried about making preparations.

Leya's mother insisted on trying to make the occasion beautiful, trying to appear and pretend that this was a joyous event instead of the transaction that it was. But Leya just could not find the tiniest speck of joy.

She stood in front of the mirror in her room, staring across the mannequin at her wedding dress. It was a silk and lace, delicate and intricate beautiful gown, the type of gown every girl dreamed of wearing. But to Leya, it felt like a cage.

Her mother fluttered into the room, hands flying nervously as she flitted over the dress to make sure that every detail was perfect.

You'd be beautiful, Leya, her mother said in a shaking voice smelling of false hope. This is. Going to save us. It is for the best.

Leya swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding dumbly. Her mother was only trying to keep up appearances, to keep the illusion going that all was going to be well. But Leya knew better. This had nothing to do with beauty. It had nothing to do with happiness. It was survival.

It was that knock on the door that finally broke the silence. Leya's mother opened it, and there in the hall stood Mr. Samuel Blackwood, a tall, imposing structure that seemed to fill the doorway. He smiled at Leya, and the kindness in his eyes was false.

"Leya, dear," he said, coming into the room, "I came to see how the preparations were going. You look... lovely." His eyes flickered towards the wedding gown.

Leya hunched a polite smile, her head barely nodding. "Thank you, Mr. Blackwood."

He came closer to her space, oppressed by the smallness of the room. "Call me Samuel," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We'll be family soon, after all."

Leya nodded. The word fell over her like a heavy blanket: family. How that sounded so hollow.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the mansion saw Harrison standing in front of his bedroom window, staring at the estate with a scowl on. He did not want this. Every bit of him rebelled against this very idea of marrying Leya Anderson: a woman he knew pretty much nothing about; a woman he felt convinced had agreed solely because of the money.

A light tap came to his door, and his sister Eleanor let herself in. She strode across the room with her face set in a mask of strained disapproval.

"I still cannot understand that Father is insisting you go through with this," she growled. "Leya Anderson? Of all people? A family who became bankrupt, who is barely worth the clothes on their backs.".

Harrison said nothing. His jaw set. He knew his sister was angry, but it was for him; truly, she was angry for herself, too. Eleanor had always taken huge pride in the power and prestige that their family represented, and this was against that, an indelible stain on the name of Blackwood.

"Father thinks he is doing what is best," Harrison finally replied, his voice low.

Father is playing his games, as usual," Eleanor sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "And you're the pawn. But doesn't it concern yourself, brother," she said, twisting her mouth up into a sly smile, "we will be sure to make Leya know her place in this house."

It was a thought that twisted Harrison's gut. He didn't want to be a pawn. He didn't want any of this. Yet the wheels were oiled long ago, and he could do nothing to stop them now.

DAY OF THE WEDDING

Finally, the big day of the wedding arrived, and the Blackwood estate turned out to be an explosion of opulence. Their guests flowed in flowing gowns and fitted tuxedos, abuzz in a multitude of gossip about this union to be.

Leya sat in the bridal suite, staring stupidly into the mirror at her reflection as the makeup artist finished. Her gown fit her to perfection, the veil trailed behind her like a whisper of something long forgotten.

But she felt nothing.

No excitement. No joy. Only cold sinking dreadful.

Her mother entered, her eyes agleam with unshed tears. "You look lovely, dear," she whispered, smoothing a stray curl from Leya's face. "Your father would be so proud of you."

Leya's heart twisted in pain at the mention of her father. What would he think of this? Would he have wanted this for her?

But before she could reply a knock came from the door. A bridesmaid peeking inside. "It's time," she said. "

Leya's breath caught as she stood up from her chair, her trembling legs beneath her as he stood. This was it. No turning back anymore.

Harrison was standing like a statue at the altar of the church. All their closest friends, business associates, and other important people belonging to high society were filled in the church. But to Harrison, all that meant nothing. His eyes were focused on the far end of the door, of the aisle waiting for the moment Leya would walk across those doors.

When doors finally opened Leya came into view. Unkempt, there was a murmur rippled through the crowd; she was beautiful, there was no denying that, but all she was to Harrison was the woman who foisted on him, not of his choosing.

His jaw clenched as she moved toward him, eyes downcast. This would not be a wedding but a transaction.

It was all over before he knew it. He vaguely heard the voice of the priest-or so it seemed like the man was speaking underwater. The vows, the rings, word after word, gesture after gesture, were links in the chain to bind Leya and Harrison. Leya's heart was thundering against her chest as she repeated her vows in a voice shaking yet with enough connotation to be heard above the hushed whisper of the guests.

Now was the time for her to say something, and Leya looked up to him half daring to hope for something, a little modicum of humanity, some acknowledgment of their being in this together, for better or worse. What stared back at her was cold, calculating indifference.

"I do," Harrison said, the firm words emotionless as they lanced into her like shards of ice.

A strange stillness enveloped Leya when the priest pronounced them husband and wife. She was out of her body, looking in, it would seem this was not her life. It wasn't happening to her.

"You may kiss the bride," intoned the priest, his small, irrelevant smile making formality claw at the words over Leya's skin.

The only hesitation Harrison showed was one brief, passing moment. Then, leaned in, his cold lips against hers, pressing with precision. There was no warmth, no tenderness in the kiss. It was wholly for the benefit of the other occupants of the room who watched with eager eyes. It is done.

The round of applause rumbled from the guests in polite unison, murmurs that filled the air with a forced gaiety. Leya forced a smile onto her face, but inside her heart was heavy and hollow. This was no cause for celebration. This was a performance.

The reception had taken place in the great ballroom of the Blackwood estate, a lavish affair of crystal chandeliers casting shimmering light across polished marble floors. Leya swam through the crowd, accepting well-wishes from the guests she didn't know, nodding politely at their empty compliments. But all the while, she had the feeling that she was a ghost wafting through a life that wasn't hers.

She caught a glimpse of Harrison across the room, similarly flanked by his family and his business associates, wearing the same detached expression, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. A prisoner in this arrangement too, though his prison was one of power and expectation, not desperation.

As the evening wore on, she found herself standing beside the big bay window, looking down into the sprawling gardens below. Laughter and clinking glasses faded through the background as she allowed herself for a moment to breathe in the weight of everything that happened.

She felt her mother coming up to her, the softness in her eyes holding both pride and sadness. "You did well today, Leya," she says softly, laying a hand on her daughter's arm. "I know this isn't what you wanted, but. You've secured our future."

She turned to her mother, her throat tight as emotion forced its way up. "What future?" she asked, barely in a whisper. "All I feel is trapped.

Her mother's smile had faltered then, and in that split second, there was something beyond the veneer, the weight of guilt in her mother's heart. "I am so sorry darling," she whispered as her voice finally broke. "If your father were alive this wouldn't have happened.

Her father's mention made Leya's heart clenched.

She had tried being strong, tried doing what needed to be done for the sake of her and her family, but at that moment, she felt like a prisoner in a cage, wondering if the price she had to pay was too high. Somewhere right now, she had lost herself along the way and she wasn't sure that one day she would find her way back.

Harrison stood across the room, his back to the crowd, his mind as far away from festivity as possible. He heard congratulations, he heard toasts, but none of it mattered. He had done as his father had wished for, to be married to Leya; now he was consumed by bitterness, a disease he would have to suffer.

Then there was his sister, Eleanor, beside him, her face as keen-edged as ever. "I must say brother, you did well to conceal your repulsion," she said with heavy sarcasm.

Harrison had nothing to say; his jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on his half-emptied glass of whiskey. How he detested this charade, this show, the whole sham of everything being right when it was not.

"You are better at this game than you think," Eleanor teased further. "Father must be proud."

Harrison's gaze met his father, who stood across the room, surrounded by guests, looking every inch the powerful patriarch. His father had orchestrated this whole thing-had him hog-tied, he was being forced into a union he did not want, bound to a woman he had already made his mind up to detest.

I ain't playing any games, Harrison growled low, his resentment lacing his words.

Eleanor queried a brow, the smirk deepening. "Oh, but you are, dear brother, whether you like it or not. You're in this neck deep now, and so is she.

His gaze strayed to Leya, who stood by the window, her back to him bathed in soft, silvery light from the chandelier. For a moment, a strange sense of guilt washed over him, a guilt he hadn't wanted to feel, and yet he felt guilty because he had not asked for this marriage, nor had she. They were both mere pawns in his father's game, both trapped in a life they had never chosen.

That didn't change the fact that he resented her, hated her for a part in this.

Harrison tossed back the remaining whiskey, the fire churning in his stomach doing little for the storm brewing inside. From the minute his father had announced this arrangement, a silent vow was made that he would never let Leya Anderson in. She was no more than a means to his end, a tool to lock in his father's empire. And he would make sure she knew that.

He watched her from across the room, standing alone, her shoulders tense with the weight of it all, a flicker of doubt crept onto his mind. Was she really the enemy he had convinced himself she was? Or was she just as much a victim in this as he was?

Harrison shook the thought away, refusing to let it take root. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

Finally, when the reception finally started to die down, Leya excused herself from the crowd, retreating to the quiet sanctuary of her new bedroom in the Blackwood mansion. It was a grand room, luxurious everything anyone could ever wish for. Still, to Leya, it felt cold and empty.

She sat on the edge of her queen-sized bed, her fingers trailing into the edges of her gown as she stared into the magnificent wallpaper opposite her.

This was her life now, married to a man who despises her more than anything, being trapped in a house that wasn't hers, bound to a family that would never accept her as their own.

It pricked at the edges of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She had promised herself she wasn't going to cry. Not here, Not in this house.

The creak of the door opening behind her made her stiffen. She knew who it was without having to turn around.

A sharp, cold Harrison's voice cut through the silence. "Don't get too comfortable," he said.

Leya swallowed hard while letting her racing heart face him. He stood framed in the doorway, his face unreadable, but his eyes gleamed with something dark. Something dangerous.

"This isn't your home," he went on, low and menacing. "And don't think for one second that I'll ever treat you like my wife."

His words fell onto her chest one by one, each heavier than the last. She opened her mouth to speak, but words would not come.

"I don't care why you agreed to this," Harrison said, taking a step closer so that he could stand directly in front of her, never once breaking his stare. "But let one thing be clear: you are nothing to me. Less than nothing."

And with that, he turned and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

She sat in the room, her breath under the silent desperation of the room choking her. It was no longer a matter of denial, it was the truth that had hit home, and the reality of her situation really sunken in. This wasn't a marriage of convenience; this was war. A war she isn't so sure she has the strength to win.

But as she let her tears finally break through her defenses, escaping down her cheek, the action of wiping it away seemed to steal a resolve in her chest. She had survived the loss of her father. She had survived the collapse of her family's world.

She would survive this too.

But as it got quieter, a figure shadowed stood into the night. Mr. Samuel Blackwood sat in his personal study with a glass of brandy on the rocks, his mind as far away from the plush wedding celebration as his thought could get.

He pulled open a drawer in his desk retrieving a file marked with one single name: Anderson.

Mr. Samuel Blackwood sat back in his dark leather chair. The poor light from the desk lamp cast sharp shadows across his face. His fingers drummed around the edge of the thick file labeled Anderson while his eyes were hard and calculating. He swirled the glass of brandy in his other hand, eyes narrowing while weighing his next move.

That wasn't some list of debts and bankruptcies. This dug a little deeper than that. For years, Samuel had been keeping tabs on the Anderson family, way back before Leya's father died in that tragic accident, before their business went belly-up. He knew fully well it would only be a matter of time before the bottom fell out from under them, and he was positioned just right to make the most of it.

Yet even more Leya did not know: secrets safely laid to rest, secrets her father had taken to his grave.

Samuel's eyes strayed to the picture inside the folder, the same framed smiling family photo that had once hung in the Anderson house. He touched his finger to the image of Leya's father, a man who was once his best friend. But Samuel had learned long ago that friendship was a fragile thing. Easily shattered. Easily betrayed.

He reached into the file and pulled out a document that had been hidden until now, an old contract with wear and tear, both his and Leya's father's ink at the bottom. The terms were clear. The consequences even clearer.

"Poor girl," Samuel muttered under his breath, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "She has no idea of what she'd walked into.

The thing was, Leya's father hadn't just mismanaged his company; he'd been into something far riskier, something that could ruin the Anderson name beyond financial collapse. Samuel had promised himself a long time ago that he would never let the Anderson family rise again. Not after what happened all those years ago.

But this quiet resilience of Leya was becoming far more of a barrier than he had anticipated. She had strength, much like her father had before his untimely death. Samuel could see it in the way she held herself at this wedding, even while being handed over as a lamb to the slaughter.

This was a strength that needed breaking.

His fingers danced lightly on the desk as he considered his next moves. Harrison's anger at Leya was useful, but that emotion would prove inadequate if he had to depend on it alone. He needed to play his cards with care, keeping both Harrison and Leya puppets in his greater game. And if Leya ever did find out the truth about her father, about what really happened to their family, the aftermath would be so much more disastrous than she could have ever imagined.

The sudden knock on the door pulled him out of his reverie.

"Come in," Samuel called out, his voice low but commanding.

The door creaked open, and in the doorway stood Eleanor, his daughter. Her usual icy demeanor was softened just a little by the dim lighting of the room as she stepped inside. She looked at the file in Samuel's hands, and her lips tightened into a thin line.

"You are still playing games, aren't you, Father?" she whispered, stepping closer to the desk. "Even now, after everything?"

Samuel chuckled, setting the file down. "This isn't a game, Eleanor. This is a strategy. And if I don't keep control of it, everything will fall apart."

Eleanor's gaze flashed to the file then back to her father. "Does Harrison know about all of this?" She waved a hand toward the file, her tone tight, her voice carrying a note of accusation.

Samuel leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. "Harrison knows what he needs to know. Nothing more.

"But Leya. she does not deserve this." For the first time, there was a shade of doubt in Eleanor's tone. She had hated Leya the moment she stepped foot into their world yet a part of her had canted after what she had seen her brother do to his new wife. "If she finds out,

"She won't," Samuel said curtly. "And even if she does, it won't matter. She's trapped now. The Andersons are finished."

Eleanor frowned, her fingers tapping listlessly on the desk. "And supposing Leya fights back?"

Samuel's smile broadened. "Let her try. She's not as strong as she thinks. And when the time comes, Harrison will handle her."

Eleanor had said nothing for a moment, her eyes on her father's face, the cold, unyielding expression that was armor worn to conceal all weaknesses. Then she turned on her heel and walked toward the door, but before she disappeared, she had stopped, her hand resting on the doorknob.

"If you push her too far, she won't just break, Father," she said, her voice very soft, not turning to face him. "She'll burn everything down around her.

And with that, Eleanor vanished from the room, leaving Samuel alone in his head and with her words that still hung in the air.

Leya sat on the bed and stared at the door Harrison had slammed shut. Her chest contracted in a mash of fear and anger. She replayed every word he said in her head, his cold indifference, the venom in his tone. She hadn't expected the heat or even affection from him; she was not naive enough to think this was a fairytale. But the frank scorn which flickered across his eyes shook the ground she stood on.

She bunched the material of her wedding gown into her fists, her knuckles bleaching white as she did so. She had agreed to this marriage to save her family, to protect her siblings from the terrors of their financial collapse. She had not, however, agreed to being treated like a prisoner. She wouldn't let him crush her.

A tear rolled down her cheek, but she wiped it off as she wasn't going to fall apart. Not here. Not now.

The mansion walls seemed to close in on her, suffocating her. The weight of it all, the death of her father, a desperate mother, and the hanging futures of her siblings threatened to buckle her knees. And she couldn't afford to be weak.

Not now.

Leya straightened her body taut with effort, holding herself together. She needed to think. She needed to find a way to survive this marriage, to outlast Harrison's cruelty. And if that means for now playing along, so be it. But she wouldn't let them break her.

She wouldn't let him win.

And as the night wore on, a preternaturally heavy blanket of silence had fallen across Blackwood Mansion, as if the weight of the day's events had finally decided to settle upon the household like a thick fog. But while the rest of the house slept, Leya couldn't shake off the feeling something much darker was at play, something far beyond the coldness of her new husband.

He could see across the distance, through darkness, there was a dark figure that continually watched from the shadows of the estate. Eyes fixed on the mansion, on Leya's window.

Watching. Waiting.

The game had only just begun.