Forbidden Claim: A Mafia King’s Obsession.

Nadia’s POV

The heavy, rhythmic bass of the VIP lounge vibrates through the soles of my sneakers. It is past midnight, and the air in The Crimson Lounge is a thick, heavy mix of expensive cologne, spilled scotch and the sweet scent of vape smoke.

I stand in front of the faded mirror in the staff restroom, clinging to the edge of the porcelain sink as if it is the only thing keeping me anchored to earth.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, I brush my dark bangs aside. There, slicing through my hairline is a thin, pale scar. A physical reminder of a night I couldn’t fully remember.

My aunt and uncle had forbidden me of ever speaking about that night, locking my past away in a box of silence.

Pulling my bangs back into place, I take a deep shuddering breath and adjust the golden bracelet on my wrist.

“Just a few more months,” I whisper to my reflection, trying to force a spark of hope into my dull, tired eyes.

I am taking every double shift Maddie, my supervisor hauls at me. I work until my feet bleeds and my muscles scream with exhaustion, all for the one goal I have in mind.

My university tuition. I had hidden the acceptance letter beneath the loose floorboards in my closet. My guardians, the wealthy Bennetts refuses to pay a single dime for my education.

They laugh at the idea of me going to college, claiming I am far more “useful” as their live-in housekeeper. This job, despite the tiring hours and the rowdy customers, is my golden ticket.

Suddenly, the heavy restroom door flings open,and Maddie, my supervisor bursts in, her face a mixture of panic and excitement.

“Nadia! What are you doing hiding in here?” she hisses, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the door. “The private VIP suite on the third floor has been booked out. The client specifically asked for our best, most discreet server. Get your tray, and get up there now!”

“Maddie, i just finished a six-hour floor shift,” I plead, my voice shaking with exhaustion. “Can’t Jaxon take it?”

“Jaxon is busy on the main floor, and this client is not someone we keep waiting,” Maddie snaps, her tone leaving no room for arguments. “He paid a reservation f*e that can cover this bar’s rent for a year. Do not mess this up, Nadia. Go!”

I swallow the heavy lump in my throat, nodding numbly, and walking out back to the bar. I load a silver tray with a crystal decanter of premium, aged whiskey, three heavy crystal tumblers, and a bucket of perfectly clear, hand-cut Ice.

As I ascend the spiral staircase to the private third floor, the noise of the main bar begins to fade, replaced by a heavy silence.

The hallway leading to the private suite is lined with a deep red velvet wallpaper, but the atmosphere feels almost suffocating.

Standing guard outside the double mahogany doors are two towering men who wore impeccable tailored black suits, their hands folded neatly in front of them.

Their cold and calculating eyes scans me as I approach. One of them silently pushes the heavy door open, gesturing for me to enter.

My breath hitches as I step in. The private suite is spacious, the only light within is the amber glow of a low burn fire place.

The air is rich with the scent of expensive hand-rolled tobacco, and a subtle metallic undertone that makes the hairs on my arm stand erect.

Three men are seated on the leather semi-circle booth. Two of them are speaking in low, hushed tones. But my attention is instantly drawn to the man sitting in the absolute center.

He is dangerously, breath-takingly handsome. He possesses a sharp jaw line, high cheek bones, and dark hair styled to absolute perfection.

But it is his eyes that keeps my feet frozen to a particular spot. They are a piercing — crystalline blue color, so cold it feels like ice water hitting my skin.

Even while sitting, the posture of his Italian suite cannot hide the raw, lethal power radiating from his broad shoulders and muscular frame.

“Good evening, gentleman. My name is Nadia, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight,” I say, forcing my voice to sound professional.

The two men on his side stops speaking and look up, they offer polite, charming smiles, but the man in the center simple stares.

His gaze is unwavering, heavy, and terrifyingly intense. It feels as though he isn’t just looking at me, but looking through me, the weight of his attention making my chest tighten.

“What would you like, sir?” I ask, my eyes darting down to the silver tray to avoid his suffocating stare.

“A bottle of your best whiskey,” he finally speaks.

His voice a deep baritone with a thick, Italian accent that vibrates through the floorboards and straight into my chest.

It sends a strange shiver down my spine. For a spilt second, a weird sense of familiarity washes over me, but I violently shake the thoughts away.

You are just exhausted, Nadia, I tell myself. You’ve never met a man like this in your life.

With hands that trembles despite my best efforts to keep them steady, I set the heavy, silver decanter on the low, glass table.

I place the three tumblers down with a soft clink, then pick up the silver ice tongs. I can feel his gaze tracking every single movements of my wrists, scanning the way my fingers grip the silver tong, the way my golden bracelet slid down my arm.

“Would you like ice, sir?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper as I look up to meet his icy gaze.

For an agonizing moment, he doesn’t respond. He simply stares, his gaze dropping to the faint scar peaking through my bangs, then to the bracelet on my wrist.

“No,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Just the pour.”

I nod, carefully pouring a generous amount of the amber liquid into his glass. I repeat the process for the other two men, my knees close to buckling under the pressure of the silence in the room.

“If… if you need anything else, please just ring the service bell,” I murmur, clutching my empty silver tray to my chest like a shield.

I take two shaky steps backward, keeping my face toward them out of sheer survival instincts, before turning around and slipping out of the door.

The moment the door clicks shut against me, I collapse against the wall of the quiet hallway, letting out a ragged, trembling breath. My heart is pounding violently against my chest I am certain the guards can hear it.

He is gorgeous, but there’s a darkness rolling off him in waves. He doesn’t look like a customer. He looks like a predator that has just spotted it’s prey.