Sold To The Mafia Don

Lucy POV

Years have passed...

I went in and out of consciousness. My mind was clouded, and my body was numb. I relaxed as much as I could by slowing my breathing. My body gradually regained sensation as my thoughts cleared. My arms and legs were chained while I lay on my side. A cloth was put across my lips, and a sack was slung over my head. I'd guess there were three persons with me based on the strange heat on both sides of my legs and someplace towards my back. I was sleeping on a cold metal surface, and I knew we were in a vehicle or van.

The sensation was similar to déjà vu. I hadn't been in a vehicle in a long time. It was a bittersweet sensation at the time, but it vanished as I pondered where I was being transported. People were never taken out of the "safe house" until they were about to be murdered. I made an effort not to move or bring attention to myself. They mistook me for sleeping. That was excellent. I believed I might escape for a little period.

For a brief minute, I wished it was horrible. That's terrible. I hadn't felt optimistic in a long time. I had forgotten and would soon forget what it was like. Hope was perilous. Hope gets the better of me. It leads to my death. It ignites a little flame inside me that can only be controlled. I can't handle another meltdown. Not right now. Not ever again. So I did what I was told and gave up. But only for a short time.

* * *

Cars came to a halt gradually. "Wake up!" someone said, kicking my back. I sighed and balled up, grumbling. A strong hand grasped my arm, followed by another, and I was pushed to my feet. If the corners cutting into my knees meant anything, my head hung as I was hauled up what seemed like steps.

Sharp lights flashed through the opposite side of my headbang. We came to a halt after I was pulled over. A ding went off, and my stomach fell with a familiar sensation. We were taking an elevator up. My heart pounded faster. I was at a loss for words. My heart was racing, but my emotions were failing me. I was socialized to be dispassionate. And I'm sorry to say that I wasn't taught properly.

We exited the elevator, and I was pulled along a corridor. I could hear the faint sound of heavy pounding music and voices for a brief period before the sound of a door opening reached my ears. I was hauled inside the new room and thrown down.

"My gift has finally arrived," said a voice I recognized. That voice was the catalyst for my downfall, the only monster larger than myself residing in the depths of my psyche.

As the sack was being removed from my head, I was dragged to my knees. As the strong light in the room blinded me, I growled. I blinked, attempting to adapt my eyes to the brightness. I hadn't seen something that brilliant in a long time. I glanced up once I could see without the black specks covering my eyes. His hair had greyed, he was skinnier, and he had more wrinkles on his face, yet he remained the same.

"It's good to see you again, my little spitfire." "How are you doing?" My thoughts came to a halt. After all this time, he was standing right in front of me. "I'm sorry for not introducing myself sooner. Antonio Martinelli is my name. "It's a few years late, but at least you know my name," he said.

Martinelli, Antonio. What could I possibly say? No, it was my father who wrecked my life. He was just the loser in their transaction. He didn't think I was worth what he gave my father. I'd rather be on the streets than back with him.

Because you are nothing, you feel nothing! Do it again! Now!

Those words resonated in my brain like the guy who uttered them was standing right in front of me. I am nothing, thus I feel nothing, I reminded myself. I raised my eyes to Antonio. My eyes were cold and soulless as if they were haunted. He grinned. "I see Damien did a good job teaching you. "I can tell he got in your head by the dead look in your eyes, right?" he murmured, touching my cheek.

He was correct. Damien did enter my thoughts, but one thing remained. One vow I refused to keep was to allow myself to forget or let go. My flame was attempting to get stronger as Antonio gazed at me, what he believed was a damaged toy. He was going to have to pay. They were all.

"Well, now that we're acquainted, I think we can go see my son." You know, I purchased you for him. "A perfect specimen, perfect for an heir," he murmured, a nasty smirk on his face. I wasn't a breeder. He was mistaken about my having whatever heir he believed I would have. My father had no idea about my medical condition. Violet was the only one who knew. Violet, Violet... I'm not sure where she was or whether she even noticed I was gone. Violet and I were as tight as thieves, so my father had to have hushed it up. There was nothing I didn't tell her.

Antonio flicked his wrist and spun on his heel, and his thugs drew me along with him. "Tell my son that I need him in my office." "I have a small gift for him," he told one of the guards, who instantly departed. "You, my little spitfire, are going to change this mafia as we know it."

He stated it jokingly, his thick Italian accent never faltering, but he didn't realize how truthful he was.

Because nothing would be the same for any of us once his kid stepped through that door.