Captured and claimed by the mafia Don

Kimberley POV:

I opened my eyes to find myself in a strange room. Dark but surprisingly well ventilated. It took me time to adjust to the new environment, I finally did but,..

Where am I? My pulse quickened. Suddenly, Memories of yesterday rushed in like a flood.

“My father!”

I wanted to scream, but my voice caught in my throat. Then, I heard it…a deep, commanding voice cutting through the stillness.

“Never! Never do more than I send you!”

“Who is that?” I held my breath, straining to listen.

“He was proving stubborn... getting in my way.” Another voice, shaky yet defiant, wavered as if someone were being choked.

Their conversation was muffled, words bouncing around like distorted whispers. Something about “D'Bon”... and “go ahead.” But I couldn’t fathom it.

“I never asked you to kill him!” The first voice rumbled with anger. Silence followed, thick and unbearable.

A sickening thud echoed, followed by a sharp hiss that made my neck prickle.

“Bury him,” the voice commanded coldly.

Fear surged through my veins, my hands trembling. Panic tightened its grip around my chest.

“Slave trade…” The thought slithered into my mind, unbidden. I had read about it, mafias dealing in human trafficking. Was this how my life would end? Reduced to a number, a transaction, someone’s property?

After what felt like ages, the doorknob twisted, the sound echoing in the silence.

A man entered, his eyes sweeping over me like I was an object to be appraised. His gaze locked on mine, cold and expressionless. I felt the heat of my anger.

“Bastard,” I spat.

“Stand up.” His voice was steady, dangerous.

“For what? Take me back to my father!”

“There’s no time for this. Even Cinderella had a deadline. Follow me before you make things worse for yourself.”

“Worse? Can anything be worse than this?” I asked sarcastically.

“Now,” he commanded.

“No.” My defiance echoed in the room.

He moved toward me, the steps calculating like the one from the night before, the memory is rushing back, is this trauma or something?

Suddenly, he lifted me and started moving towards the door.

I remember that feeling, “he carried me… I wanted to scream… but I couldn't, I was weak!

I didn't even try screaming anymore, I sank my sharp teeth in his neck, like a vampire ready to suck some sweet blood.

He hissed, then threw me to the floor. I landed hard, but a brief moment of triumph surged through me until a sharp slap landed across my face.

My ears rang. Tears welled in my eyes. His nails had left a tear on my cheek which was likely to scar.

“Follow me,” he repeated, voice so harsh.

This time, I obeyed.

We stepped out of the building. A car was already waiting. The monster who had stopped me earlier accompanied me as we entered the vehicle. The driver silently drove off.

The landscape was serene and breathtaking, the kind only the ultra-wealthy could afford. It was a view to admire, but fear churned in my gut, my mind spinning with possibilities of what awaited me.

When the car finally stopped, it was in front of a huge mansion. I couldn’t help but marvel at its grandeur. Majestic and intimidating, it was a palace for the powerful, not a place for someone like me.

“Get down,” the man beside me growled.

Inside, luxury deepened, every detail designed to intimidate.

“Mo?” the man I now recognized as ‘Beast’ called out sharply.

A small woman appeared almost instantly, bowing slightly.

“Yes, sire?”

Her eyes flicked toward me but she lowered it instantly.

“Prepare her. Don's coming tonight,” he said curtly, then disappeared down a hallway.

I swallowed hard. “Don?”

The woman was quiet and efficient, her expression a locked door. There was something about her, like even with a knife at her throat, she wouldn't betray a word. So I let her do what was needed.

Soon, I was dressed in a modest knee-length gown. The perfume she sprayed over me was cloying. My skin crawled with each spritz.

“If this Don thinks I'm going to be his plaything, he's in for a shock.” The defiance burned in my chest but was laced with dread.

She led me to a dining room. A lavish spread awaited on the table, but my eyes landed on the man sitting at the head. The Don.

He sat with perfect posture, his tailored suit accentuating his broad shoulders. His sharp features and cold, piercing eyes gave him an air of quiet dominance, as if he controlled the room without uttering a word.

He looked up, his cold gaze meeting mine. “Join me,” he said flatly, gesturing toward the seat across from him.

I crossed my arms, standing my ground. “Who are you?”

For a moment, he just looked at me, then returned to his plate, scooping scrambled eggs onto his fork. “Your master,” he said nonchalantly, as if that settled everything.

“I’m not sitting. And I’m certainly not eating.” My voice rose, fueled by anger and desperation. “If you think you can just abduct me and make me your sex slave, you can go to hell!”

He stood up slowly, his chair scraping against the floor. With measured steps, he walked toward me, his presence suffocating.

His voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “You're in my domain, and I rule here. I am the master, and I make the decisions. Don’t dare defy me.”

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. His voice was the same one I’d heard earlier that day.

He moved closer, reaching for the food, urging me to open my mouth. I turned away defiantly. But that’s when he noticed it.

The bruise.

For the first time, I saw his expression shift into something I couldn't decipher.