Forced To Marry The King Of Mafia

“I’m so tired of this,” I whispered into the phone, my voice barely holding back the frustration as I spoke to Elena, my best friend. “John is taking me to another one of those stupid parties.”

Her reply crackled on the other end, her voice filled with anger. “Another party, Lucia? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I replied with a sigh as I glanced at the black dress John had thrown onto the bed earlier, the one he insisted I wear. It was barely enough to cover anything, he loves parading me in such skimpy dresses.

Mom married John when I was six, just a year after Dad died in a car crash. At first, John seemed decent—he played the role of the caring stepfather well enough. But it didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control. After losing his job, he started gambling, and our lives became a living nightmare.

To make things worse, he got involved with the mafia, running errands for them, and eventually, he started using the drugs he was supposed to deliver. The more he used, the deeper he sank into debt. These past few months have been the worst. Almost every day, some dangerous man shows up at our door, demanding what John owes.

Now, John’s brilliant idea is to parade me in front of the rich men in the mafia, hoping they’ll take a liking to me so he can pawn me off, maybe even score more work because of it. As if that would make them forget he’s a gambler and a screw-up.

Nobody wants to do business with a gambler, let alone one who uses the product he’s supposed to sell. In the mafia, there’s one unbreakable rule: you don’t touch the merchandise.  But John? He used, and gambled away their money.

It’s a miracle he’s still alive. Honestly, I’ve wished more than once that he’d just overdose or finally piss off the wrong guy—one who won’t hesitate to put an end to this hell.

It was sickening, the way he paraded me off all the time, but there was nothing I could do about it. That’s why he was so careful about where he hit me—always in places that could be hidden, places that wouldn’t leave visible marks. My ribcage, my abdomen, my thighs… all the bruises were hidden beneath my clothes, where no one would see.

“Will you be attending?” Elena’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

“I don’t have a choice,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

Elena sighed, her frustration reaching through the line. “You need to stand up to him. You’re not a prop.”

I laughed bitterly. “I’ve tried that, remember? The last time I stood up to him, I ended up with a broken rib. I still have the scars.”

Silence. I could hear Elena breathing, probably biting back words she knew wouldn’t be of any help. She knew about the bruises, the way John twisted my arm behind my back when he thought I was getting too bold, too defiant.

“How about you just run away? Take your mom and leave. Lucia, you can’t keep living like this.”

“And run where, exactly?” I continued, pacing the small room, my fingers trembling. “He has eyes everywhere, Elena. I wouldn’t even make it across town without someone reporting back to him. He’s got people watching me. I swear, sometimes I feel like even the walls are in on it.”

I knew she was right, but leaving wasn’t that simple. John was a volatile man, and every time I even hinted at leaving, he would threaten me—and worse, threaten my mom. He had her wrapped around his finger, convinced that he was her only chance at survival.

“I can’t leave her with him,” I whispered, staring at the door, already dreading the knock that would come any minute. “I don’t even have the money, he takes all the money that I make at the Diner.”

I don’t make much from my job as a waitress at the diner, but every night, without fail, John takes every single tip I manage to scrape together. When payday comes around, he’s right there, waiting to snatch my entire paycheck too. The one time I tried to stand up for myself, refused to hand it over, he slapped me so hard I flew across the room.

There was another pause on Elena’s end. “I just... I wish you didn’t have to live in fear. It’s not right. None of this is. You deserve better.”

“Yeah, well,” I forced a hollow laugh, “when has anything in my life ever been right? Ever since John came around, it’s been one long nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

“I wish I could help,” Elena whispered, her voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate him!”

“You and I both.” I closed my eyes, squeezing the phone tighter as I heard the heavy footsteps outside my door. My pulse quickened. “I have to go,” I said, the words rushing out before I could stop them. “John’s here.”

“Lucia, wait—” Elena’s voice faded as I hung up, dropping the phone onto the bed.

The door rattled, and his voice followed, cold and commanding. “I hope you’re getting ready? You’ve got two minutes!”

I stared at the skimpy dress lying on the bed like it was mocking me, taunting me with what I had become—a pawn, a puppet in John’s game. My hands shook as I reached for it, slipping the fabric over my body, the dress clinging to me in all the wrong ways.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of my room and into the suffocating atmosphere of the living room. My mom was sitting on the couch, staring blankly into space, lost in thought. When she saw me, a weak smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“You look beautiful, Lucia,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a sadness that mirrored my own.

I managed a smile in return, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Thanks, Mom, but I really don’t feel comfortable in this dress,” I respond trying to up the dress to cover my breasts.

My mom looked at me with a mix of love and sorrow, her gaze lingering on my face as if trying to memorize every detail before I left. “You should do what John says, he has our best interest at heart.”

Her words broke me but before I could say anything else, John strode out of the bedroom, dressed in a crisp suit that did nothing to hide the menace in his eyes. Without a word, he grabbed his keys and motioned for me to follow him. I shot my mom one last glance as I walked toward the door, her eyes following me as I nodded, following him out the door and into the cool night air.

As we got into the car, I couldn’t help but feel a pit of dread in my stomach. These parties were always the same—an endless parade of dangerous men, each one sizing me up as if I were a piece of merchandise. And John, ever the opportunist, was determined to sell me off to the highest bidder.

As we drove through the dark streets, John glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Make sure you smile at the men tonight,” he ordered, his voice laced with a threat.

“And don’t act uptight tonight like you always do. Richard Carpi’s wife just died and I heard he’s looking for a new wife and he will be at the party tonight, I’m sure he’s going to like you. So be nice.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied quietly, keeping my gaze fixed on the window. Richard Carpi is three times my age, but I dare not point that out to John. I knew better than to argue with him. So, I nodded along, keeping my thoughts to myself.