The Mafia's Mistress.

I always knew my mother didn't love me. Even as a small child, I could feel it. Other kids had mothers who held their hands, who smiled and laughed with them. But my mother barely looked at me, and when she did, her eyes were hard, as if she resented me just for being there.

I didn't understand why, not at first. But as I grew older, I started to understand the things she whispered to herself late at night, when she thought I was asleep. "If only I hadn't gotten pregnant," she'd say, her voice bitter, "my life wouldn't be like this." I didn't like hearing those words, but deep down, I knew she blamed me for everything that had gone wrong in her life.

My mother got pregnant with me out of wedlock, and my father didn't want a baby. I don't remember him; I've never even seen a picture of him. He left before I was born, long before I ever had a chance to meet him. I used to wonder if he thought about me, if he ever felt bad about leaving us. But I don't think he did. To him, I was a mistake-something he wanted to erase, something he walked away from without looking back.

It wasn't just my father who abandoned us. My mother's parents-the people who should've helped her-turned their backs on her, too. They said she'd brought shame to the family by getting pregnant without a husband. To them, I was proof of that shame. I was the child that shouldn't have happened, and because of that, they acted like neither of us existed. My mother was all alone, and she had no one to rely on.

So, we lived alone in a tiny apartment. It was dark and cramped, and everything inside was old and worn. The walls were thin, and we could hear our neighbors arguing or playing loud music late into the night. It was never a place that felt like home, not to me. Home should be warm, safe, and filled with love. But our apartment was just four walls that trapped us both inside.

As I got older, I noticed the bills piling up. They were everywhere-on the table, the countertops, even stuffed into drawers. My mother would stare at them for hours, her face tight with worry. And whenever I asked her if something was wrong, she'd snap at me, telling me to mind my own business. I didn't understand then, but I do now. Those bills were like a ticking clock, counting down to the moment when everything would fall apart.

It didn't help that I was there, just one more mouth to feed. I couldn't do anything to help, and to my mother, that made me a burden. I'd hear her talking to herself sometimes, saying things like, "If I didn't have to take care of her, I could get back on my feet." She acted like everything that had gone wrong in her life was because of me, like I was the reason she couldn't find happiness.

I tried to stay out of her way as much as I could. I'd keep quiet, do my chores, and stay in my room. But nothing I did was ever enough to make her happy. If I tried to talk to her, she'd push me away. If I asked her to spend time with me, she'd roll her eyes, as if I were just a nuisance. She made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with me, and over time, I stopped trying.

One night, when I was lying in bed, I overheard her talking to someone on the phone. Her voice was low, but I could hear the desperation in it. "I can't keep doing this," she said. "I don't have the money to take care of her." There was a long pause, and then she added, "She's useless to me. She's only making things harder."

My heart sank. I had always known she didn't love me, but hearing her say those words hurt in a way I couldn't describe. I curled up under my thin blanket, trying to block out her voice, but the words kept echoing in my head. "Useless." "A burden." I'd heard those words before, but hearing her say them so clearly felt like a knife to my heart.

The next morning, she barely looked at me. She seemed different, colder somehow, like she had already decided something and there was no going back. I wanted to ask her if something was wrong, but I was too afraid of what she might say. So, I stayed quiet and went about my day, hoping that whatever was bothering her would pass.

But it didn't.

A few days later, she told me to get dressed. She said we were going somewhere important, but she wouldn't tell me where. She just told me to hurry up, her voice sharp and impatient. I quickly put on my best dress-it was old and faded, but it was all I had. As we walked, I felt a strange sense of dread growing in my stomach. I didn't know what was happening, but I knew it wasn't going to be good.

We arrived at a large, dark building, and my mother led me inside without saying a word. The air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume, making me feel sick. A tall woman was waiting for us. She had a hard look in her eyes, and when she saw me, she sneered, as if she already knew everything about me. I didn't like the way she looked at me-it made me feel small and worthless.

"This is her?" the woman asked, looking at my mother. My mother nodded, barely glancing in my direction. The woman walked over to me, her eyes cold as she looked me up and down, like I was a piece of meat she was inspecting.

"She'll do," the woman said, a cruel smile playing on her lips. She pulled out a stack of money and handed it to my mother, who took it without a second thought. My heart stopped as I realized what was happening. She was selling me, trading me away like an old, unwanted object.

I looked at my mother, hoping she'd change her mind, hoping she'd look at me and realize what she was doing. But she didn't even meet my eyes. She just took the money, turned around, and walked away. The door slammed behind her, and the sound echoed in my ears, final and unforgiving. I was alone.

The woman's voice snapped me out of my shock. "Follow me," she ordered, and I had no choice but to obey. She led me down a dark hallway, the air thick with the smell of smoke and perfume. My heart was pounding, and I felt like I could barely breathe. I didn't know what was going to happen to me, but I knew it wouldn't be anything good.

She took me to a small, bare room with a cold metal bed and a thin, tattered blanket. She told me to stay there and locked the door behind me. I sank down onto the bed, my mind spinning with fear and anger. I couldn't believe what had just happened. My mother had sold me, just like that. She didn't even hesitate. To her, I was just a burden she could finally get rid of.

Sitting alone in that cold, dark room, I felt a wave of anger rise up inside me. I hated her for what she had done, for all the years she had made me feel worthless, for abandoning me like I was nothing. But that anger quickly turned to fear as I thought about what might come next. I didn't know where I was or what these people wanted from me, but I knew I was trapped.

For the first time in my life, I truly understood what it meant to be powerless. I was just a girl with no one to help her, no one who cared if she lived or died.

Aurora sat alone in the cold, dark room, the walls bare and the air thick with the stench of cigarettes and stale perfume. Her mother was gone-she had sold her like she was nothing more than a broken object, a quick escape from the debt and bitterness that had marked her mother's life. Aurora had known for years that her mother didn't care much for her, but never thought it would come to this.

The woman who had bought her, Madam Elena, was cold and strict, looking at Aurora as if she were just an item to be inspected. "Take her to the back," Madam Elena ordered a big guard, who grabbed Aurora's arm and pulled her down a hallway. The smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume was thick, making Aurora feel sick. The guard pushed her into a small, bare room with only a metal bed. He threw a torn blanket at her and locked the door behind her with a loud, final sound.

Aurora sat on the bed, her mind spinning with anger and fear. She felt a deep hatred for her mother, but the fear of what was ahead was even stronger. The walls felt like they were closing in, but she knew there was no escape. She was now a part of someone else's dark world.

Madam Elena's footsteps echoed down the hall, getting closer and closer. She stopped outside Aurora's cell, the sound of the key turning making Aurora's heart race. The door opened, and Madam Elena stepped in, looking at Aurora's scared face with a hard, unforgiving expression. "You're the new seductress," she said coldly. "Get cleaned up."

Aurora looked up, her face full of fear but also defiance. Madam Elena gave a mocking smile and threw a bundle of clothes at her feet. "Put this on. You're meeting Damian tonight," she said. The name was heavy with fear, and Aurora's stomach twisted as she remembered the whispers about Damian-a powerful and feared man who liked young girls like her.

With trembling hands, Aurora picked up the clothes: a dress that barely covered her and a pair of heels. She put them on, feeling exposed and vulnerable. The dress was tight and uncomfortable, leaving little to the imagination. As she changed, she felt like she was shedding her innocence.

Aurora's mind was filled with the reasons she was here. Her mother had gotten pregnant without a husband, and her father had left them. Her grandparents, who had once loved and supported her mother, abandoned them both. Alone and struggling, Aurora's mother had grown bitter, blaming Aurora for her misery. The bills piled up, and the shame grew until her mother decided to sell her daughter for a quick escape from her problems.

When Aurora entered the main room, other girls looked at her with pity. They all knew what it meant to be called to see Damian. Rumors said he was brutal and unkind, but that girls who survived his attention were treated better. Aurora felt sick realizing she was about to face this terrifying man.

Madam Elena looked Aurora over with a cruel smile. "You'll do," she said before signaling a guard to take her. They climbed a staircase, and Aurora's legs felt weak. The guard knocked on a thick, heavy door, and a deep voice from inside allowed them to enter. The door opened, revealing a room filled with luxury and the scent of cigars.

Damian sat in a grand chair, his sharp eyes studying Aurora like she was a mere possession. He was both handsome and intimidating, with a look that could freeze anyone in place. The room was filled with rich decorations, a sharp contrast to the bleak cell Aurora had just left. He didn't get up as she was led in, and his power filled the space.

"Take off your dress," he ordered, his voice quiet but commanding.

One guard hesitated and tried to speak, "But, sir-"

Damian's cold stare silenced him immediately. "I said take it off," he repeated, this time with no room for argument.

The guards exchanged nervous looks and then left the room, closing the door with a chilling finality. Aurora was now alone with this man, the one who had bought her like an object. Her dress felt heavy, her heels like chains. Taking a shaky step toward him, her breathing echoed in the silence.

"Please," Aurora whispered, dropping to her knees. "I'm only eighteen. Don't do this." Her voice was small, trembling, but she knew he held all the power.

But instead of pity, Aurora's pleas only seemed to excite Damian more. His smile grew, a dark gleam in his eyes. "Your innocence is what I paid for, little one," he said, his voice a low purr. "Now, stand up and let me see what I bought."

Aurora's heart pounded as she clutched the dress to her chest, the thin fabric barely covering her shaking body. She knew she had no choice but to obey, so she slowly rose to her feet. Each step she took backward only brought Damian closer, his tall figure casting a shadow over her. She could feel his breath on her neck, smell the faint scent of whiskey. He reached out, his hand brushing her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Slowly," he said in a dark whisper that felt like it wrapped around her. "I want to savor this."

Aurora swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she started to unbutton the dress. The fabric slid down, leaving her body bare in the cold air. She tried to keep her eyes on the floor, not wanting to see the hunger in his stare, but she could feel it like a touch. When the dress pooled around her feet, she was left only in the thin lingerie Madam Elena had given her.

Without waiting, Damian stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. His hands were strong, like iron bands around her waist. She struggled, her legs kicking as she tried to find balance on the carpet, but he was too strong. "Please, no!" she cried, her voice thick with fear. But he ignored her.

Eyes shut tightly, Aurora felt the wall of his chest against her back, his breath hot on her neck. He chuckled at her attempts to escape, his grip tightening as he seemed to enjoy her fear. "You're only making it better," he murmured, his voice rough in her ear. "I love a good fight."

With tears in her eyes, Aurora whispered, "Please, I'll do anything, just not this." Her voice was barely a whisper, lost in her fear. She didn't look up, afraid of the coldness she'd see in his eyes.

Damian tightened his grip on her chin, forcing her to look at him. He looked into her eyes, searching for a spark of resistance, a hint of defiance. But all he saw was a girl on the brink of breaking. He felt a thrill at the power he held over her, but also something else stirred at her vulnerability. He wasn't used to his conquests being so... innocent. "Why are you so unwilling?" he asked, his voice amused. "Many women beg for my attention."

Aurora's eyes were filled with unshed tears, her lip trembling. "Because I'm not a whore," she spat. "I'm not here by choice."

Damian's face grew cold at her words, his grip on her chin almost painful. "Choices are a luxury for those who can afford them," he said. "You belong to me now. And I will do with you as I please."

With a strength that shocked her, he tossed Aurora onto the bed. She landed with a thud, her breath knocked out of her. Before she could move, he was on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. Aurora's eyes widened in terror as she pushed against him. "Please," she begged again, her voice shaking, "I'll do anything. I'll be your servant, your maid, your... anything." But she didn't want this.

Damian's smile was cruel as he leaned close, his nose brushing hers. "You'll be what I want you to be," he whispered, his voice a seductive threat. He began to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. Aurora flinched, her whole body tense. She could feel his hardness pressing against her, a reminder of what was coming.

Summoning her strength, Aurora shoved against his chest with all she had, pushing him back. He stumbled, giving her a chance to scramble off the bed. She backed away, her heels catching as the room spun around her.

Damian's smile widened, a glint in his eyes. "You think you can fight me?" he asked, amused. He took a step forward, his movements slow and predatory. "You're mine now, Aurora. You'll learn to submit or you'll regret it."

Aurora's back hit the wall, her eyes wild with fear. She knew she had no chance against him. She could feel the heat of his body closing in, his breath hot on her skin. Panic took hold, her mind racing for an escape. But she was trapped, like a butterfly pinned down, with him ready to capture her.

"Very well," he said, his voice low and dark. "Put on your clothes."

The words were unexpected, a sudden relief from the horror she'd felt. She blinked, unsure if she had heard him right. She grabbed the dress from the floor and quickly slipped it on, the rough fabric scratching her skin. Each movement felt like a small victory, a tiny step toward reclaiming her dignity.