Daddy’s Little Obsession (The Don Who Owns Me)

FINA I was still warm from the gym when everything fell apart. That pleasant burn lingered in my thighs, my shoulders loose, my lungs open from the last run on the treadmill. I felt good—clear-headed, calm, almost light. I hadn’t realized how rare that feeling was until it was already slipping away. Bruno didn’t complain the entire drive home, which should have warned me. Normally, he always did. About my clothes. About men staring. About how my father would lose his mind if he knew what I wore outside the house. But this time, he said nothing. His hands stayed locked on the steering wheel, knuckles pale, jaw tight. “Cousin? Why are you so quiet?” I asked, taking a sip of water. “I’m not,” he said too quickly. I turned toward the window, watching the familiar road curve toward home. The gates were open. Wide open. My stomach dipped. Our gates were never open. The estate came into view, and my steps slowed even before the car stopped. Black vehicles filled the driveway—sle

FINA I couldn’t breathe. The video kept playing even after my mind refused to accept it—Dario standing in front of the gates, speaking calmly with the manager, his hand resting casually in his pocket like he belonged there. Like it had always been his. The sign above the entrance was clear. Casa Serena. My orphanage. My chest tightened painfully. “Dario why do you have a video of that place?” I whispered, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound steady. “What are you doing at my orphanage?” He watched me over the rim of his glass, eyes unreadable, then took a slow sip of whiskey. “Well,” he said calmly, “since your father decided to pay his debts with blood and flesh…” His gaze flicked to me briefly. “…everything attached to you now belongs to me.” I shook my head violently. “No. That’s not possible. I never signed anything to you.” “You didn’t need to,” he replied. “I bought it.” The words slammed into me. I lunged forward without thinking. “You had no

FinaI was still standing there, wrapped in nothing but shame and heat, when I felt it—a presence that wasn’t his.“Oh—”The gasp tore out of me before I could stop it.The woman didn’t flinch.She was older, calm, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a neat bun, eyes warm but observant. She took in the scene in one glance—me barefoot, shaken, the echo of something intimate still hanging in the air—and didn’t ask a single question.She only smiled gently.“Come, cara,” she said, already draping a soft blanket around my shoulders. “You’ll catch cold.”Her touch was motherly, grounding. I clutched the blanket like it was the only solid thing left in the world.I glanced around instinctively.He was truly gone.No sign of Dario. No sound. Just silence and the steady rhythm of my own breathing.“I’m Rita,” the woman said as she led me down the hallway. “I’ve been with this house for two years.”The mansion stretched endlessly before us. I remembered it from my childhood—running through t

The convoy moved like a quiet threat. One car in front. One behind. Ours in the middle.The car was a sleek black machine worth more than most people’s houses. Soft leather seats, dim gold lighting along the panels, tinted windows that turned the outside world into nothing but blurred lights. The engine purred instead of roared. Even the silence inside it felt expensive.I had grown up in luxury. Wealth was not new to me.But this — this was different. This wasn’t comfort. This was power on wheels.I sat stiffly by the window, watching the city lights streak past. My reflection stared back at me — red dress hugging every curve, neckline daring without being vulgar, hair pinned high in a clean bun that exposed my neck like an offering.I looked beautiful, while he looked devastating.Dark suit tailored perfectly. His hair braided back neatly. A watch on his wrist that probably cost more than my orphanage’s yearly expenses.My orphanage.The thought tightened something in my chest.This

FinaThe night air hit my skin as I stepped out.The mansion loomed ahead of us — massive, intimidating in its polished arrogance. Black stone walls. Tall glass windows glowing from within. The kind of place built not just for wealth, but for dominance.The driveway was lined with cars, sleek and dark, engines still ticking from recent arrival. Men stood in clusters, guns resting casually at their sides like accessories. Not hidden. Just there. A quiet reminder of what this world truly was.Security was everywhere.But this wasn’t the loud, flashy Nostra gatherings I’d attended with my parents. Those had music spilling into the gardens, laughter too loud, politics disguised as celebration. Those parties had champagne fountains and women dressed to outshine one another.This felt different.Quieter and controlled. Intimate in a way that made it more dangerous.Dario’s men were already positioned — near the entrance, along the perimeter, eyes scanning, hands resting close to their weapo