MAFIA KING
The room went dead silent the moment Don Carlo walked in. Kristen froze. She’d expected someone older. Maybe wrinkled, rough looking and scarred from violence. But the man in front of her was nothing like that. He was drop dead gorgeous. Tall, broad, sharp-jawed. His black suit fit like it was made just for him, and his blue eyes was cold and calculating. He moved through the room like he owned everything in it. Kristen’s skin crawled as his gaze swept over her, icy and full of power. No smile. No kindness. Just raw authority. She stood stiffly, trying not to shake. Carlo’s eyes paused on her. The white dress. Her red-painted lips. The way her hands trembled at her sides. But his face gave nothing away. Then he walked right past her like she wasn’t even there. “Welcome, Don Carlo,” her father said nervously. “Please, have a seat. The maid will bring your drink. Let’s talk about the deal” Carlo raised a hand, cutting him off. “No need for small talk, Mr. Wilson,” he said coldly. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got more important business.” Kristen stood frozen as Carlo picked up the pen and signed the papers like he was buying a car, not marrying a woman. When it was her turn, her fingers trembled so much she nearly dropped the pen. As soon as she signed, Madam Carolina clapped her hands. “It’s done! You’re husband and wife!” she squealed, fake joy dripping from every word. Kristen’s father looked at her—really looked and something flickered in his eyes. Maybe guilt. Maybe regret. But it was too late for either. He'd just sold his daughter to the devil. The car ride was silent. Carlo didn’t say a word. Kristen stared out the window, trying to blink away the tears. She had heard the rumors about Don Carlo, the mafia king. A man feared by everyone. Owner of casinos, clubs, and God knows what else. Ruthless. Dangerous. The kind of man you didn’t cross unless you had a death wish. Now he was her husband. She clutched the edge of her seat, praying he wouldn’t speak. The mansion was massive. Almost too perfect. Cold. Carlo stepped inside like he owned the world. The staff greeted him, but he didn’t even glance their way. “Show her to her room,” he told one of the maids. “Take her things.” Kristen moved to follow, numb and exhausted, when suddenly— A strong hand grabbed her arm. She gasped and looked up. Carlo’s eyes bore into hers. “Let’s get something straight,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “This is a business deal. That’s all. Don’t expect love. Don’t expect anything.” Kristen’s heart pounded in her chest. “You’re not allowed to leave this house without my permission. Ever. Do you understand?” “I’m not your prisoner!” she snapped, before she could stop herself. His eyes flared with rage. “What did you just say to me?” he growled, stepping closer. “I said I’m not—!” Before she could finish, he gripped her arm tighter, so tight it made her cry out. “You are my prisoner,” he hissed. “You belong to me now. Let that sink in.” “Let go! You’re hurting me!” Kristen cried, twisting in pain. Carlo leaned in, voice sharp and cruel. “This is what happens when you talk back.” He shoved her away. Kristen stumbled, clutching her red, aching arm. Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. “Get her out of my sight!” he snapped. The maid hurried over, guiding Kristen to her room. She didn’t say a word. Neither did Kristen. Once inside, Kristen locked the door and collapsed on the bed. The moment the pillow touched her face, the sobs broke free. She cried until her body gave out and sleep took over. The next morning Sunlight slipped through the curtains. Kristen woke slowly, her head pounding. Her eyes were swollen. Her body sore. It wasn’t a nightmare. She was still here. Still trapped. A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. “Come in,” she called, her voice hoarse. A young maid stepped in, eyes cautious. “Good morning, madam. The boss requests you join him for breakfast.” Kristen sat up, glaring. “Tell him I’m not interested.” The maid hesitated. “But madam... he may get angry.” Kristen’s voice rose. “I don’t care! Just go!” The maid bowed quickly and left the room, rushing to the dining hall where Don Carlo sat, alone at a grand table filled with food. “Well?” he asked, not looking up. “S-sir... the madam said she doesn’t want to come.” Carlo’s fork paused mid-air. His expression darkened. “What?” he said, voice cold. “She told me to leave... she’s upset.” He slammed his fist on the table. Dishes rattled. The maid jumped. “That ungrateful brat,” he muttered, standing. “She thinks she can embarrass me? In my house?” The maid stepped back, terrified. Carlo’s eyes burned as he stormed off. “She’ll learn who she married.”
