Claimed By The Mafia King

I learned a long time ago that bruises disappear.

It's the memories that never do.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the long crack stretching across the stained ceiling above my bed. It seemed wider than yesterday, as if the house was slowly giving up.

Some days, I felt like doing the same.

I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling while the dull ache in my body reminded me of last night. My ribs hurt every time I breathed too deeply, and my left cheek was still swollen from where my father had struck me.

I gently touched the bruise and winced.

Another day, another reminder. A loud bang echoed through the house.

"Ava!" He barked like a raging dog.

"You'd better not still be sleeping!"

I hurried out of bed, ignoring the pain shooting through my body. I couldn't afford to make him angry this early in the morning.

Standing in front of the old mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back at me. My brown hair was a tangled mess, my eyes were dull from too many sleepless nights, and the dark circles beneath them made me look years older than I was.

I forced my hair into a ponytail and slipped into a faded sweater with long sleeves. It covered most of the bruises. Not that anyone ever looked closely enough to notice.

I rushed into the kitchen.

My father was already sitting at the table with a bottle of whiskey beside him, even though it wasn't yet eight in the morning.

He looked up.

"What took you so long?"

"I'm sorry. I overslept."

Before I could blink, his hand connected with my face.

The force sent me stumbling backward.

Pain burned across my cheek.

"I didn't ask for excuses," he growled.

"I'm sorry." I said, balancing myself.

The apology came automatically. It always did.

I walked to the stove and began making breakfast with trembling hands, praying I wouldn't make a mistake.

Behind me, I heard him pour himself another drink.

Ever since he lost his job, alcohol had become more important to him than anything else.

Including me.

"You've become a burden," he said after a long silence.

My hands froze over the frying pan.

"I... I try to help."

"You call that helping?" he scoffed. "Your tiny café salary can't even pay half the bills."

"I can ask for more shifts." I murmured almost.

"You won't need to."

Something about the way he said those words made my stomach knot.

I slowly turned to face him.

"What do you mean?"

A strange smile spread across his face. It wasn't kind and it was anything but loving. It was the smile of someone who had already made a decision. A sickening one.

"You'll understand tonight."

My heartbeat quickened.

"Tonight?"

He stood, grabbed his jacket, and walked toward the door. Before leaving, he looked back at me.

"Wear something pretty."

Then he walked out.

The front door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the silent house. I stared after him, my heart pounding.

For years, I'd survived his anger.

But today...

Something felt different.

And somehow, I knew my life was about to change forever.

...

The rest of the day dragged by like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. No matter how hard I tried to focus on my shift at the café, my father's words kept echoing in my head.

"Wear something pretty."

He had never cared about what I wore before.

So why now?

I wiped down another table, forcing myself to smile at a customer before carrying a tray of coffees to a family sitting by the window.

The little girl at the table couldn't have been older than six. She giggled as her father tucked a loose curl behind her ear, and her mother laughed when the little girl stole a bite of her cake.

I looked away.

Once upon a time, I used to wonder what it felt like to have a father who looked at you with love instead of resentment. I stopped asking that question years ago.

"Ava?"

I turned to see my manager, Mrs. Lewis, watching me with concern.

"You've been distracted all afternoon."

"I'm sorry, ma'am." I apologized.

She frowned gently.

"Are you alright?"

The lie came easily.

"I'm just tired."

She studied my face for a moment. I caught her eyes lingering on the fading bruise near my jaw, the one I hadn't managed to hide completely.

"You know," she said softly, "if you ever need someone to talk to..."

My chest tightened.

For one reckless second, I wanted to tell her everything.About the shouting, the drinking,the beatings. The fear that followed me everywhere.

Instead, I forced a smile.

"I'm okay."

She didn't look convinced.

But she nodded anyway.

"Go home after your shift. Get some rest."

If only home was a place where people rested.

By the time my shift ended, the sky had turned a deep shade of orange. The walk home felt longer than usual. Every step filled me with dread.

When I pushed open the front door, I immediately knew something was wrong.

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

"My room," my father called from the hallway.

I swallowed hard and walked toward his bedroom.

He was standing beside the bed with a large black garment bag hanging from his hand. Without a word, he threw it at me. I barely caught it.

"What is this?"

"A dress."

I blinked.

"I don't understand."

"You don't need to."

He pointed toward the bathroom.

"Take a shower."

"I already took one this morning."

His eyes darkened.

"And I said take another one."

I didn't argue.

I wanted to prevent that as much as possible.

So I went without pushing it, I left.

Twenty minutes later, I stepped out wearing the dress. It was dark emerald green, fitted around my waist, with delicate sleeves that fell just below my shoulders. It was far too expensive for someone like me.

I stared at my reflection in disbelief. It didn't even look like me.

When I walked back into the room, my father looked me over with a satisfied nod.

For the first time in years...

He smiled.

The sight made my skin crawl.

"Perfect," he muttered.

My stomach dropped.

"Where are we going?"

"To meet someone."

"Who?"

"You'll know soon enough."

He grabbed his car keys and headed for the door.

"Come on."

I hesitated.

Every instinct screamed that I shouldn't go. That I should run. That I should disappear before it was too late.

But where would I go?

I had no savings. No family willing to take me in.

No home besides this one.

Taking a shaky breath, I followed him outside. I climbed into the passenger seat and we drove.

The drive was silent.

Not because there was nothing to say, but because I had learned long ago that silence was safer than questions.

Streetlights flashed past the car window as we drove farther away from the part of the city I knew. The familiar shops disappeared, replaced by expensive buildings and quiet streets lined with luxury cars.

My father never came to places like this.

So why tonight?

After nearly forty minutes, he pulled up in front of an enormous mansion surrounded by iron gates. Men in black suits stood outside with earpieces, checking invitations before allowing guests inside.

The driveway was packed with sleek cars that probably cost more than I would earn in a lifetime.

I stared through the window.

"What is this place?"

My father ignored me.

He climbed out of the car, walked around to my side, and opened the door.

"Get out."

I obeyed.

The moment my heels touched the pavement, I felt completely out of place.

Women in glittering gowns laughed as they stepped out of expensive cars, their jewelry sparkling beneath the lights. Powerful-looking men greeted one another with firm handshakes and practiced smiles.

Everyone looked like they belonged.

Everyone….except me.

My father gripped my wrist tightly and pulled me toward the entrance.

"You're hurting me," I whispered.

His grip only tightened.

Inside, the mansion was breathtaking.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, marble floors reflected the lights above, and soft classical music floated through the air.

But despite its beauty, something felt... wrong. The smiles around me didn't reach anyone's eyes. Conversations stopped whenever certain men walked by. Fear lingered beneath the polished surface.

I suddenly wished I had never come.

A man in a black suit approached us.

"Invitation?"

My father handed him a black envelope.

The man checked a list, nodded once, and stepped aside.

"This way."

We followed him through a long hallway until we reached two massive wooden doors.

When they opened, my breath caught.

Rows of luxurious chairs surrounded a raised stage at the front of the room. People were already taking their seats, murmuring quietly as if waiting for a performance to begin. Instead of a stage curtain, there was only a single spotlight.

Cold. Bright. Unforgiving.

My heart started beating faster.

"This doesn't look like a party," I whispered.

"It isn't," my father replied.

His voice was strangely calm. He led me toward the front row. I tried to sit beside him, but before I could, he stopped me.

"No."

Confused, I looked up.

"Stand there."

He pointed toward the side of the stage.

A knot formed in my stomach.

"Why?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. A man wearing a headset walked over. My father handed him the paper. The man glanced at me, then back at my father.

"She's the one?"

My father nodded.

"Yes."

The man scribbled something onto a clipboard.

Then he looked at me with an expression I couldn't understand.

"Pity," he muttered under his breath.

Ice flooded my veins.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Neither of them answered. The lights in the room dimmed. The conversations faded into silence.

A man stepped onto the stage and adjusted the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced with a smile, "welcome to tonight's auction."

Auction?

I frowned.

People don't auction houses here...

Or cars...

My eyes drifted toward the stage again.

Then I noticed the other girls. There were six of them. Each stood in elegant dresses, their faces pale with fear. Some were crying. Some stared blankly at the floor.

One looked no older than eighteen. A cold wave of terror washed over me.

No...

No.

My father couldn't...

I turned toward him, panic rising in my chest.

"Dad..."

He refused to meet my eyes. The man on stage smiled wider.

"Our first item will be presented shortly."

My father's hand suddenly pushed me forward. I stumbled into the light. The entire room turned to look at me.

And in that moment...

I realized I wasn't here as a guest...

I was here to be sold.