His Possession: Don’s Reluctant Bride

The music was too loud. The lights were too dim. And Elena Romano’s heart was pounding like it was trying to claw its way out of her chest.

She didn’t belong here.

The room was full of men in expensive suits and women who looked like they walked out of a magazine. Every glance burned. Every whisper felt like a knife at her back.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, tugging her coat tighter. “Dad,” she whispered, pulling at Franco Romano’s sleeve, “can we go now?”

Her father didn’t look at her. His hands were shaking, a whiskey glass clutched between them. “Just one more drink. Then we’ll talk.”

She didn’t believe him. He hadn’t looked her in the eyes all night.

A tall man stepped onto the stage at the front of the private club. He raised his hands, silencing the room. “Gentlemen,” he said, voice smooth and sharp, “welcome to tonight’s exclusive offering.”

Elena’s stomach dropped.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d heard the rumors. She just never thought her father would sink this low.

“One item only,” the man continued. “Pure. Unspoiled. And priceless.”

Elena froze.

No. No way.

Her father still wouldn’t look at her.

The spotlight swung across the room—and landed on her.

Gasps. Laughter. Murmurs.

“Elena Romano,” the announcer said. “Nineteen years old. Daughter of the late Enzo Romano. Tonight, she goes to the highest bidder.”

“No,” she breathed. “Dad, please.”

But he was already stepping away from her.

She wanted to scream. Run. But her feet were glued to the floor.

“Starting bid: One million dollars.”

Hands went up. Money shouted out like it was nothing.

One point two. One point five. Two.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“Three million,” a cold voice called from the back.

Everything stopped.

The man stepped forward from the shadows. Tall. Dark suit. Cold blue eyes that looked through her like glass.

Luca Moretti.

She knew who he was. Everyone did. He wasn’t just a man—he was a monster in silk. The don of the Moretti family. Untouchable. Dangerous. Deadly.

No one dared outbid him.

“Sold,” the announcer said.

Luca didn’t smile. He just looked at her like she was already his.

And then he turned and walked out.

Two guards came for her.

“Wait—no, you can’t—!”

They didn’t listen.

“Dad!” she cried, twisting in their grip. “You can’t let them take me!”

But Franco Romano was gone—already downing another glass of whiskey at the bar, face turned away like she was never his daughter to begin with.

⸻

They shoved her into the back of a black car. She kicked, screamed, begged.

Nothing helped.

Luca Moretti sat beside her, calm like a man who had just ordered wine, not bought a girl.

“What do you want from me?” she spat, voice trembling.

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared out the window, fingers tapping on his knee.

Finally, he looked at her.

“I paid three million dollars,” he said quietly. “I expect you to act like you’re worth it.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. “I’m not a thing you can buy.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You are now.”