Wrong Sister Claimed By The Mafia King

The road ahead was long, cold, and eerily quiet. Jairo gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed forward as he pressed on the accelerator.

He was going to tell her today.

He took a right turn, and his gaze flicked to the pink box on the passenger seat. She was going to love it. The color was as innocent as her. Pure and surreal.

The dormitory was silent when he arrived. School had gone on holiday two days ago, but she had stayed behind because of him - to spend more time together while he planned to tell her who he truly was: heir to a Mafia empire.

If she wanted to stay by his side forever, she needed to know what it meant to become the Mafia Queen. He just needed five years. That's all he needed to take over the empire and build a world safe enough for her.

He entered the elevator with the pink box, and reached her floor. Arriving at her door, he paused, noticing it was slightly ajar.

His pulse quickened as he carefully pushed it open, only to see a trail of blood drops on the floor, leading to a blood stained pink cardigan.

He dropped the pink box without thinking and rushed forward to grab the cardigan. It was hers.

He tore through the room in a panic. Most of her roommates were gone, and the silence pressed in.

"Emilia!" he shouted, bursting out of the room. He pulled out his phone to dial her number, but her phone started ringing from inside the room.

He ran through the hallway, desperate, before a muffled scream pierced the air.

He didn't think twice.

He followed the sound, his heart thundering in his chest. It was coming from the second elevator.

"Emilia?!" He slammed his fists on the closed elevator doors, shouting her name, cursing under his breath as he continued to press the buttons.

He didn't waste time going to the other elevator. He turned and bolted down the stairs, two steps at a time, praying for his instincts to be wrong.

Then he reached the bottom.

And froze in horror.

There she was. Inside a black car, banging her fists against the window. Tear-streaked. Terrified.

"Emilia!" he roared, his voice ripping from his throat.

Fear. Pain. Anguish.

Everything hit him all at once.

He sprinted toward the car as it began to move. His fingers instinctively searched his pockets for his car keys only to realize they must have fallen back in the room.

He picked up his pace and ran faster. Her eyes met his through the back window. She was screaming his name.

Then a masked man appeared beside her and jabbed a syringe into her neck.

Jairo watched helplessly as her body went limp, slumping into the seat and disappearing from view completely.

His heart dropped.

"Emilia..." he breathed like a prayer.

His foot struck a stone, and he crashed hard onto the ground. Blood had filled his mouth, but he didn't care.

He pushed himself up and kept running, watching as the car disappeared into the distance. There was no plate number.

No clue.

Nothing but the sound of her voice echoing in his mind.

Seven Years Later

Kara stood at the front desk, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"But... I was told to come today," Her fingers clutched the strap of her bag like it was the only thing holding her up.

The receptionist didn't even look up right away. When she did, it was with an annoyed sigh. Her smile was forced, eyes tired.

"The job is no longer available," Her tone was robotic. "If we have another vacancy in the future, we'll send an email. Do have a nice day."

Her voice held finality with her eyes drifting to the next person behind Kara. Her posture made it clear that she was done talking.

Kara bit down on her lower lip, trying to stop the tears that were already building up.

"Please... just email me if anything comes up," she mumbled with hope, turning around before they could see the first tear fall.

She kept walking, head down, heart sinking. As soon as she stepped past the last glass door, she stopped pretending to be strong.

The tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks. She didn't even bother wiping them away. Her chest felt tight, and her throat ached from holding back sobs.

She managed to walk a short distance before her knees gave out. She crouched near a wall, burying her face in her hands, crying silently. People passed by, some slowing down to look, but she didn't care.

She wasn't embarrassed but scared and tired. Scared of hunger. Scared of being homeless, and tired of wondering if she would be sleeping on the street next week.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, stood up after a few minutes, and kept walking. Her heels pinched with every step, so she took them off and held them in one hand. The cold pavement stung her feet, but it still hurt less than everything else.

Seven years outside the orphanage, and nothing to show for it. She had spent the first three years saving every penny just to get a small apartment. And now she was about to lose that too if she didn't come up with the rent by the end of the month. Two weeks left. No money. No job.

Thinking about it only made her cry more. Every job turned her down. She didn't have enough work experience, and her one certificate didn't get her far.

Her phone rang suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She sniffled, brushed her messy hair aside, and dug through her bag to find it.

It was her roommate calling.

She ended the call with a hiss. Lina was the last person she wanted to talk to right now. But the call came in again. And again.

With a frustrated groan, she finally answered.

"Why the hell are you calling me?" she snapped, her voice raw.

"And you think I'm jobless like you to keep calling for fun?" Lina's voice fired back. "I just paid my part of the rent. The landlady says we'll be kicked out if you don't pay..."

Kara hung up.

She didn't have the strength for her jabs today. The girl never passed up a chance to remind her she was broke. Her words hit harder now, especially when her last hope just shattered before her.

Her eyes blurred again with fresh tears, and her mouth turned downward in frustration. She wasn't watching where she was going anymore.

A loud screech of tires made her jump and before she could react, the car came to a sharp halt just a few inches in front of her. The shock sent her stumbling backward and falling on her butt.

For a second, she just sat there, stunned by how close it was. But then something inside her snapped. She hated how easy it was to imagine disappearing from this world.

"Just kill me," she whispered bitterly, slowly lifted her face to the car in front of her.

"Just hit me and drive off! It's not like anyone will bury me unless my bitch roommate suddenly grows a conscience."

Her voice cracked as she ranted, "I've got no one. Dying will save me from these bills and pain so just press the damn accelerator already!"

Her head dropped.

She didn't understand what she had done wrong to deserve a life like this. Why had her parents abandoned her at that orphanage? Why had she been left to suffer?

She didn't notice the car door open, or the footsteps approaching, until a pair of black shoes appeared in front of her.

She looked up slowly. A man stood there, staring at her with a stunned expression. She quickly looked away and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"Don't look at me like that." Her voice was hoarse, "If you almost hit me and feel guilty, you can skip the pity. I promise my ghost won't haunt you if you run me over right now."

"Emilia..." the man almost cut her off.

She looked up again, confused. He had crouched in front of her now, holding her cheeks like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Her brows drew together. He was... weird.

Tall, good-looking, with a face that seemed both shocked and relieved at the same time. He smelled really nice too, like an expensive soap and sin. But there was this undeniable deadly aura about him. That moment, she forgot she was crying.

Before she could say anything, he pulled her into a hug.

She gasped. "Hey! What..."

"I found you," he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. He was hugging her too closely as if she was a treasure. She was too stunned to move.

Jairo could still feel his bones freezing from the cold shower he had taken all night long, trying to wash that damn drug out of his system. His skin was numb, but his mind was clear. He stepped into the bathroom again that morning, letting another round of cold water run down his body until the anger sitting on his chest thinned out just enough.

When he finally came out of the bathroom, his expression was stone-cold. He dressed slowly, fastening his cuffs with stiff fingers, slipping his gun into its holster. His movements were calm, but his jaw was locked tight.

There was a knock on the door, and a second later, his PA stepped in. Marco stood there, his eyes downcast and shoulders tense.

Jairo's green eyes found him, cold and cutting. The PA was about to speak;

"Not even a word." He warned, his voice low and cold. Marco's throat bobbed as he swallowed his apology back down.

Jairo walked to the vanity table and wore his Rolex, then picked up his phone and dialed his right hand.

"Track my father and tell me his whereabouts. While at it, find a suitable PA for my office work. This one is fired." he spat his last word, ending the call.

Behind him, Marco dropped to his knees.

"Boss, please... forgive me," he pleaded. "He pressured me to do it, I swear..."

"It's taking every ounce of my being not to blow your head off right now." He cut in sharply as he turned fully toward Marco.

Fury now visible on his forehead.

"I hate sneaky cunts who shiver at the mention of a little threat." he added with disgust. He could have killed him for what he did, but he knew his father's threat could be deadly.

Still, that doesn't justify what he did.

Marco's face turned pale at his words. He hated himself for not coming clean earlier.

Jairo's father, Salvatore Vitale, had told him to drug his son's drink with aphrodisiac. The old man was trying to confirm if Jairo was truly attracted to women, hoping to silence the rumors about him being gay once and for all.

Jairo had already taken the drink before Marco confessed. But even with the drug burning through him, he couldn't bring himself to touch any woman. Instead, he stood under an ice-cold shower, forcing the desire out of his body. He would rather go handsy with himself than touch any woman.

Dressed and fully composed on the outside, he threw one last furious glance at the weakling before marching out of the room.

He entered his car and sped out of the hotel without hesitation. His jaw stayed clenched as he gripped the wheel, his mind racing. He had barely been on the road for five minutes when his phone dinged with a message from Donald.

Without slowing down, he reached for his phone and checked the screen. His father's location flashed on the display.

That old man needed to stop meddling in his life.

He dropped the phone on the seat beside him and focused back on the road, only to spot a woman removing her phone from her ear, clearly upset. She looked distracted, her face red, her steps uneven.

He was about to take a turn onto the next street when she suddenly stumbled straight into the path of his car without looking.

His foot slammed hard on the brake.

The car jolted.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles going white. He was already on edge, and now this.

He stayed in the seat for a second, trying to catch his breath and collect himself. He was about to reverse and drive off when he heard her voice.

"Just hit me and drive off! It's not like anyone will bury me unless my bitch roommate suddenly grows conscience."

His breath caught.

That voice.

Everything around him seemed to stop. His chest tightened as he tried to register what he heard. Before he knew it, he was out of the car, walking toward the girl on the ground without even thinking.

Then he saw her, she was crying bitterly with her palm on the floor, her shoulders shaking.

She raised her head to him and that was when Jairo felt like he was struck by lightning.

"Don't look at me like that. If you almost hit me and feel guilty, you can skip the pity. I promise my ghost won't haunt you if you run me over right now."

He can't do that.

"Emilia..." He whispered her name. His gaze was locked on her face.

When she looked away, he crouched down in front of her and gently held her cheeks, lifting her head. His heart, however, was hammering in his chest.

The same sapphire blue eyes stared back at him. His heart stilled.

But something was off.

There was no warmth in her eyes. No recognition or admiration. Only shock and confusion.

Same voice. Same hair. Same face. The only difference was the tiny dark mole below her bottom lip.

He remembered the last time he saw her. The fear in her eyes, the blood-soaked cardigan. All the years of searching, almost losing his sanity - all rushed back, choking him.

And now she was here. He couldn't lose her again. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms.

"Hey, what..."

"I found you," he interrupted, holding her close. His voice quivered as he held the only woman who ever mattered.

Relief. Disbelief. It all hit him at once. What if this was another nightmare? What if he was hallucinating again?

He had searched every corner of the world. Every lead turned up futile. It was like she never existed. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face again, looking at her like she might vanish.

His heart felt it was stabbed by a sharp knife seeing how red her eyes were.

"A..are.. y-you hurt? Tell me. I-I can..." He asked in a shaky breath.

Kara held his gaze a moment longer than she meant to. There was something... desperate in his eyes.

"Who's... Emilia?" she asked gently.

That made him freeze.

His grip loosened, and his eyes locked on hers. Neither of them spoke the next second.