Claimed by the Ruthless Mafia Boss: Our Twisted Nights

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs.

"What did you just say?" My voice came out as barely a whisper, my hands gripping the edge of our kitchen table so hard my knuckles turned white.

Dad sat hunched in his chair, his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking. The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey clung to him like a second skin.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and hollow, the eyes of a man who had already sold his soul piece by piece.

"I owe them money, Peggy. A lot of money." His voice cracked on every word. "The Messina family... they don't just break legs anymore. They want collateral. Real collateral."

"How much?" I asked, though I already knew it would be bad.

"Enough that they're not just going to break my legs this time." He looked up, and I saw fear in his eyes—real fear. "They want more than money. They want... payment in kind."

"What does that mean?" Lily asked, her voice sharp with panic.

My father's gaze darted between us. "The Messina family runs more than just loan operations. They have... businesses. Places where men pay for entertainment."

The room went silent. Even my mother stopped breathing beside me.

"They want one of you, girls, " he finished.

-

The words hung in the air like poison. I felt dizzy, my stomach churning as I processed what he was saying.

"One of us?" Lily's voice was high, almost hysterical. "You mean..."

"If you… If one of you become a dancer at their nightclub," my father said, unable to meet our eyes. "It will offset part of my debt."

Lily was already shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. "No, no, no. I can't do that. I won't."

My mother made a small, broken sound beside me. I reached for her hand, trying to be strong even as my own world collapsed.

"Which one?" I asked quietly.

My father looked at Lily, who immediately jumped to her feet.

"Not me!" she cried, her pretty face contorted with fear and something else—calculation. I watched as her eyes darted between our father and me, a plan forming behind her tears.

"Peggy," she said suddenly, her voice steadying. "It should be Peggy."

I stared at her in disbelief. "What?"

"Peggy's stronger than me," Lily continued, moving to our father's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "She's always been tougher. And... well..."

"And what?" I demanded, though I already knew what was coming.

"And let's face it," Lily said, her voice hardening as she looked at me with cold eyes. "Even if they named me, they wouldn't know how I look like. Peggy could go there for me, just pretending she's Lily... She can do that!"

I felt sick. My own sister was selling me out to save herself.

"Dad," I said, turning to him with desperate hope that some shred of fatherly protection might remain. "You can't seriously consider—"

"I'm sorry, Peggy," he interrupted, not meeting my eyes. "I guess Lily's right. It's decided."

The room spun around me. My mother made another small sound, but even she seemed too shocked to speak.

-

Three days later, I stood outside the neon-lit entrance of The Velvet Room, the Messina family's nightclub. The bouncer—a huge man with cold eyes and a scar across his jaw—looked me up and down before nodding.

"New girl," he grunted. "Follow me."

Inside, the club pulsed with music and movement. Men in expensive suits sat at tables while women in various states of undress moved around them like ghosts.

"Boss wants to see you first," the bouncer said, leading me through a door marked 'Private.'

The office was surprisingly elegant—dark wood and leather, with a massive desk at the center. Behind it sat a man I recognized immediately from newspaper photos and whispered stories.

Giuseppe Messina.

He didn't look up when I entered, continuing to write something in a leather-bound book.

"Sir," the bouncer said deferentially. "The new girl from Santini's debt."

Finally, Messina looked up. His eyes were cold and assessing as they swept over me.

"Your name?" he asked, his voice surprisingly soft.

I hesitated. Lily had insisted I use her name—said it would be safer somehow.

"Lily," I lied, the name bitter on my tongue.

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded slightly. "You'll work the main floor tonight. Isabella will show you what to do."

As the door closed behind me, I made a silent promise to myself. Every dollar I earned would go to my mother's treatment. And when she was well enough to leave this city...

I would disappear forever.

That night, as I moved awkwardly on stage in clothes that felt too tight and too thin, I felt eyes on me from every direction. The men leered and called out crude suggestions that made my skin crawl.

But there was one pair of eyes that felt different—sharper, more intense. In the VIP booth at the back of the club, a man sat alone, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

Giuseppe Messina hadn't left his seat all night.

And for some reason, that scared me more than all the others combined.