The Devil's Deals

Elena's POV

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the smudge of dust on my cheek only the last of my troubles. I wiped it off with the back of my hand, feeling the coarseness of the maid's uniform scratch against my skin. This was my life now-a prisoner in my own home. A servant to my stepbrother's whims.

I had to remind myself that it wouldn't last forever. I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall: almost midnight. Victor would be back in a little while, reeking of alcohol and bad decisions. It was at this time of night that he always came back home, expecting everything to shine like new. If they weren't, he'd find some excuse to degradingly belittle me. I steeled myself as I always did for whatever cruelty he would shoot my way.

The house was curiously still, and although I had lived here for years, a sense of intruder injured through me. It had once been a very different place indeed. There was life in this place then, before the death of my father and stepmother, before Victor took over. I could still hear their voices sometimes, laughing in the corridors, calling my name.

I shook off the memory. That life was gone, and clinging to it only made the ache worse. One more year. Just one more year, and I'd inherit my grandfather's estate. With that money, I could finally escape Victor's control and start anew, far from here.

The sound of the front door slamming pulled me out of my reverie. I tensed, and instantly quickened my heartbeat. His heavy footsteps grew louder, a sharp click of his shoes on the tiled floor grating against my nerves.

"Elena!" Victor's voice slurred through the air like a knife. The stench of whiskey already filtered in the room well before he even appeared.

I took a steadying breath. "Victor," I said calmly as he entered the kitchen, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, his shirt untucked. He looked like he'd been in a bar fight, but I knew better. His disheveled appearance was from hours of gambling, drinking, and doing who knows what else with his equally repugnant friends.

He leaned casually against the counter, that cruel gleam in his eye, and grinned. "You've been quiet lately. Sulking around like a little mouse. Think you're better than everyone, don't you?"

"I don't think that," I replied steadily. Never give him the reaction he's looking for.

"Sure you don't," he answered with a bitter laugh. "You feel like some kind of princess waiting for her happy ending. Let me guess-you are just counting the days until you get your inheritance, aren't you?"

I tensed up at that, not really expecting him to bring it up quite so bluntly. "I'm just doing what needs to be done, Victor. That's all."

"Yeah? Well, I've got news for you, little sister. You're not going to be living off that money."

The room seemed to tilt a little. My eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Victor's smile went nasty. "You owe me, Elena. For everything. The roof over your head, the food you eat, the clothes on your back. You really think I'd let you coast for another year and not pay your debts?"

"

"I don't owe you anything," I snapped, my voice shriller than I meant it to be. "You've done nothing but-

He snatched my wrist and squeezed until I gasped in pain. Suddenly, his face was inches from mine, eyes wild. "You owe me everything."

I tugged my arm free and took a backward step. "What do you want, Victor?"

He straightened, preening his shirt as if he hadn't just assaulted me. "You're getting married.

The words landed like a kick in the gut. "What?" My voice came out a choked whisper. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, drawing out each word with the languid appreciation of a man savoring some delicacy, "you're going to marry Dante Moretti.

For a second, I couldn't breathe. Dante Moretti. The name was infamous. He was the head of one of the most feared mafia families in the country, rumored to be ruthless and deadly, untouchable. The rumors of people disappearing into thin air-the rivals wiped out in brutal acts of violence-were very well known, likely the stuff nightmares were made of. And Victor just signed me over to him like some sort of chattel.

"No..." My voice shook. "You can't do that."

"I already have," Victor said, his smile spreading further on his face. "In two days, you're going to marry Dante. He's agreed to clear my debts in exchange for you."

My legs buckled and I clutched the counter edge to hold myself up. Sold. I had been sold to the devil, and I hadn't even known it.

"You're lying," I whispered, shaking my head. "You can't sell me like... like a piece of furniture."

"You're right," Victor said, his tone mocking. "It's more like selling a cow. And guess what? Dante's going to milk every last drop out of you before he tosses you aside.

Tears seared my eyes, but I refused to cry in front of him. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. "Why would you do this? Why would you-"

"Because I can," Victor said coolly. "And because you're nothing but a burden. You've always been a burden, Elena. And now you're my ticket out of debt.

I just stood there numb. My heart raced fast with every second passing by. How was this possible? One year was all I needed, one year before I could get free, and now after two days, I was to be handed over to a man known to be cruel. A man who probably killed them after he got tired of them.

Victor spun around, about to head out of the kitchen, but I was frantic now. "You can't do this, Victor. You-"

""

I already have," he said back to me. "Pack your bags, Elena. Within two days, you will be a Moretti. If I were you, I'd pray he doesn't kill you on your wedding night."

---

The front door slammed shut behind him, wrapping me into smothering silence. I felt myself drowning, gasping for air and finding none. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, my mind spinning.

Sold.

I had been sold off as property to pay for Victor's debts. In two days, I was to marry a monster, a man who had no regret over killing others, who had more blood on his hands than I could ever imagine. And I had no way out.

I dropped into a chair, my hands falling to cover my face. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't marry him. But what could I do? Where could I go? Dante Moretti's reach was big. If I ran, he'd find me. And then... God, I didn't even want to think about what he'd do if I tried to escape.

I needed a plan. Something-anything-that would keep me from walking down that aisle.

The door creaked open again, and I jerked my head up, heart racing. Two men stepped inside, in black suits, their faces unreadable. They looked like bodyguards-or enforcers. The type of man that would do whatever they were told.

One of them stepped forward. "Elena?"

I swallowed hard. "Who are you?"

"We're here on behalf of Mr. Moretti," the man said, his voice flat and emotionless. "You're coming with us."

---

Dante's POV

The room was quiet, except the rhythmic tap of my fingers on the desk. Beyond the windowpane, the city sprawled in all its chaotic beauty-glittering lights, a hum of traffic, and wailing sirens that seemed to forever chase the shadows.

But none of that concerned me. I wasn't interested in the noise of the streets below. I was interested in the contract in front of me.

"Elena Moretti." I let the name roll off my tongue slowly, testing the weight of it. The sound was foreign, unfamiliar. Soon enough, though, it would become her reality.

I leaned back in my chair, narrowing my eyes as I focused my thoughts on her. I'd never met the girl, but I didn't need to. I knew her type-sheltered, naive, soft. And she had no idea what was waiting for her. But then again, that was kind of the point, wasn't it? I needed someone who wouldn't fight back, someone I could mold and bend. Someone to bear the brunt of my plan without even knowing it.

Victor had all but begged for the deal-his desperation apparent from the moment he stepped into my office two weeks prior. His debts were staggering, his weakness pathetic. The man had gambled away literally everything, to the last penny. I was glad to take advantage of his misery. It was, after all, the least he deserved.

But what he had offered me in exchange, his stepsister, proved to be an unexpected bonus. I didn't need the money, nor did I need Victor's loyalty. What I needed was leverage, and Elena was going to be that leverage.

My door creaked open, and Luca, my right-hand man, stepped inside. His expression was unreadable, as always, but by the flick of his eyes to the clock on the wall, I knew this was it-the moment I'd been waiting for.

"She's here," he stated flatly, his voice low.

I nodded, rising from my chair. "Bring her in."

Luca disappeared, and for one bright, beautiful instant, I savored the joy of anticipation. I wasn't the type who reveled in cruelty for its own merits-not anymore, at least-but there was something to be said for watching people walk into the traps they so elaborately set for themselves. And Elena was about to walk right into mine.

The door opened again, and there she was.

Elena.

She came into the room-wide-eyed, postures stiff. She was smaller than I had expected, but something in her gaze intrigued me more than I cared to admit-something fierce despite the apparent fear.

We stared at each other for a while longer, her eyes flicking over me as if taking in my features. I could almost see the questions swimming in her head, the panic below that smooth surface.

"Mr. Moretti," she finally said with a quiet voice, surprisingly steady.

I allowed myself a small smile, moving toward her slowly. "You should always expect the unexpected, Mrs. Moretti."

She flinched at the name but didn't correct me. Good. Smart enough to know arguing wouldn't buy her anywhere.

"I'm not your wife yet," she said after a long pause, her chin lifting slightly. "And if you think I'm just going to-"

"You don't have a choice," I cut in, cold. "You're mine now. Your stepbrother's debts are settled. You belong to me.

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with finality. She blinked once, the fight flickering in her eyes for a short second before it was smothered down by the reality of her situation. I watched as the weight of it hit her, saw the way her shoulders tensed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

"I didn't agree to this," she said, quieter now, with the edge of desperation creeping in.

"You didn't have to." I walked around her slowly, circling like a predator assessing its prey. "Your stepbrother did. He signed you over to me, and that's all I need. You belong to me now, Elena."

She followed my movements with her head, narrowing her eyes. "And exactly what do you want from me?"

I paused behind her, leaned in just close enough to see the catch in her breath. "Everything.

She froze, but did nothing. I could sense the tension radiating from her, the fear she was struggling so hard to keep inside. It was intoxicating in its own right-knowing that I held her whole life in my hands, that she was powerless to stop what was coming.

But what I wanted from her wasn't just fear. It was useful, yes, but it wasn't enough. I needed for her to trust me, even if the trust was carved out of a foundation of lies. I needed her to go into the trap willingly, thinking she had a choice when, in reality, she didn't.

I stepped back, giving her a bit of space to breathe again. She let her breath out more slowly now, her stance easing a fraction as I was no longer looming over her.

"You don't know a thing about me," she finally said in the long silence, turning to me more fully. "You think you can just. own me? Like I'm an object?"

"You're not an object," I returned, smooth. "You're a tool. And tools are meant to be used.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't argue. I watched her brain working, trying to figure out what kind of way out there might be from this. There wasn't one for her-not anymore.

"If you're going to use me," she said finally, picking her words with care, "then at least tell me why. Why me? Why this?

I shifted my head, curiosity raising my eyebrows at the question. Most people in her position would plead for mercy, cry, beg on their knees. But she was asking questions-trying to make it fit, trying to make sense of the madness.

"I have my reasons," I said flatly, moving back to my desk. "And you don't need to know them."

She watched me another moment, her face unreadable. Then she finally nodded. "Fine. If that's the way it's going to be."

I couldn't help but appreciate how cool she was playing it, even if that was all it was. She was tougher than I'd given her credit for, but that didn't change things. That just meant I needed to be careful-more careful than I had thus far considered.

"I'll have a room prepared for you," I said, waving my hand in dismissal. "You'll stay here until the wedding. After that, you'll be moved to the estate."

"And until then?" she asked, her tone sharp.

"You'll stay out of my way."

She hesitated, weighing her options, before giving a curt nod. "Fine. I'll stay out of your way."

Luca reappeared at the doorway, waiting to escort her out. She looked over at him then back at me. "One more thing," she said in a soft but sure voice. "This marriage... it may be forced, but don't expect me to make it easy for you."

I arched an eyebrow, surprised by her defiance. "Is that a threat, Elena?"

She met my gaze, her expression hard. "No. It's a promise."

With that, she turned on her heel and was out the door, leaving me standing there in the silence.

For a long, long moment, something inside churned around that I didn't know. Anger, amusement-and neither of those, either. Something else altogether. Something I sure as hell wasn't expecting.

Well. This may not be quite so black-and-white after all.

---

Elena's POV

I did not even realize that I had been holding my breath until I was halfway down the hall-my chest tight with pressure. I forced myself to exhale slowly, trying to dampen the storm of emotions raging inside of me.

Dante Moretti. I had anticipated cruelty, indifference, maybe even violence-but I hadn't anticipated him to be so.coldly calculating. There was something terrifying in the way he spoke, as if every word was carefully measured, every action part of some bigger plan that eluded me.

I glanced around the mansion as I walked, the echo of my footsteps loud against the long, empty corridors. Elegant, yes, in a way that made me feel smaller, farther out of place than I was. High ceilings, dark wood paneling, and expensive artwork I couldn't appreciate on any level. The place felt suffocating, cold despite the luxury.

Luca-the man who had escorted me in-followed a few steps behind me, which was the grim reminder of how trapped I was; his silence was what really made the house a prison. I didn't know whether to turn around and ask him where we were going or hold my tongue to just wait and see what was coming.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, skin stinging on the heels of my palms as my nails clawed at them. I wasn't going to let them see me break. Not Dante, and certainly not Luca. I just couldn't give them that satisfaction of knowing how scared I was.

We walked, but that phrase replayed over and over again in my head. "You belong to me now." The assuredness in his voice, the way he'd said it, sent a shiver down my spine. How could he think that? How could he believe, even for a second, I was something to be owned?

I wanted to scream, hit something, but what good would that do? Victor had sold me off like a piece of nothing, and now I was at Dante's mercy.

As we came to a door at the end of the hall, Luca finally spoke. "This will be your room."

He shoved the door open, revealing a huge, ornate bedroom: the bed was huge-the kind of thing royalties deserved-expensively silk-sheeted; a chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting soft, warm light over the room. Beautiful on any other occasion it might have been, but right now it felt like a golden cage.

I hesitated at the door, doubt welling in my chest. "And... I'm just supposed to stay here?" I asked; my voice was little more than a whisper.

Luca nodded, impassive. "You'll be safe here."

Safe? That word didn't mean what he thought it did. There was nothing safe about being in the same house as Dante Moretti. "How long?"

"Until the wedding," he returned, as if that explained everything.

I swallowed hard. The wedding. Two days. In just two days my life was going to be joined with a man who regarded me as no more than a tool in his plan. The thought created a sour taste in my stomach.

"And what if I don't go through with it?" I asked, my voice tight, as barely contained panic wasn't far behind. "What if I refuse?"

Luca's eyes flashed hard. "I wouldn't suggest that."

There it was-the veiled threat. I hadn't even met Dante until tonight, and I knew enough to understand denial wasn't an option. I would do it because the alternative... was worse.

"I'll have someone bring you dinner," he said, backing toward the door. "If you need anything, knock."

I glared at him, wanting to say anything that would just make it all go away. But what was the point? There was nothing I could do now. And I was trapped.

Luca gave me one final look before he closed the door softly behind him. I stood there, frozen, staring at the door as the silence pressed down on me.

The air is heavy, a layer of fog I must swim through. Unable to think what to do, wanting to scream or cry or break something-anything-to release the growing pressure inside my chest. Not yet.

I dropped down onto the edge of the bed, shaking, and buried my face in my hands. How had this all gone so wrong? How did I end up here, sold off like some sort of property to settle Victor's debts?

I hated him. God, I hated him more than I'd ever hated anybody in my life. Yet that didn't change anything; here I still was, stuck in this nightmare without a way out.

A moment, I cried-silent tears which coursed down my cheeks and wetted my palms. I hated crying, hated that weak sensation which overwhelmed me when I did. But I couldn't help it now. It all just hit me at once-what was happening, like the weight crushing my shoulders. I was going to marry a monster. In two days, my life would no longer be my own.

I know not how long I had sat so steeped in my own despair. The eventual sound of footsteps outside my door snapped me out of my reverie. Swiftly I rubbed my eyes, intent on at least partial composition before whoever it was entered the room.

The door slowly creaked open and a woman came in with a tray of food in her hands. Older, perhaps in her fifties, her eyes were kind and her smile soft and gentle. "I brought you something to eat, dear," she said softly, placing the tray on the small table by the window.

I didn't respond right away, too shocked by her friendliness. It was such a contrast to the icy aloofness that had been directed at me from every other person in this house.

"Thanks," I finally whispered, my voice hoarse from the tears.

She nodded slightly, regarding me for a moment. "You don't have to be scared," she said softly, her voice not much above a whisper.

I tried a weak smile, the obvious thing to say. "Easy for you to say."

She exhaled; her face softened. "I know you're scared, but Mr. Moretti... he isn't as cruel as people say."

I blinked, taken aback by her words. "He's a mafia leader."

The smile faltered, but she didn't back down. "He is, but there's more to him than that.

I wanted to debate, wanted to tell her she didn't know what she was talking about. Something about the chord in her voice kept me back. Her eyes seemed to be sincere, I sensed-a trait I really hadn't expected.

"Why do you tell me so?" I asked, my voice the quiet type.

She didn't answer, then offered a little sad smile. "Because I have seen what fear does to people. And I don't want you to make the same mistake."

Before I could utter a single word in response, she turned and strode from the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I sat in front of the food, on the table untouched, my head racing with confusion. Dante wasn't as cruel as people said? What did that even mean?

It didn't matter. I couldn't trust a soul within these walls. Not Dante. Not Luca. Not even this woman who had brought me dinner. They were all pieces of the same world-a world I wanted nothing to do with.

I rose and went to the window, putting my forehead against the cool glass. The city lights flickered in the distance, so close yet so far away.

I had two days to figure out what to do. Two days to come up with a plan.

Because no matter what happened, I wouldn't let Dante Moretti break me. I wouldn't let him own me.

I was going to survive this. Somehow.

---