Owned By The Mafia King

I woke up the next day to the smell of pancakes.God I love Pancakes.For a second, I forgot where I was, until my gaze met the high ceiling, intricate moldings, and soft silk curtains of the guest room.With a soft groan, I sat up, stretching the soreness from my limbs. The bed was far softer than anything I’d slept in recently, too soft, too clean, too foreign. This wasn’t home. It never would be.After a quick shower, I stepped out, towel-drying my hair and rummaging through the small bag I brought. My only property. Everything I had left fit inside it, like my life had been stripped down to essentials, and even those were borrowed.My fingers landed on a pair of denim shorts. I slipped them on and pulled a white shirt over my head. Nothing fancy, but good enough. I didn’t come here to impress anyone, least of all him.This was my first official day in the Petrov mansion.I checked the time, 7:00 a.m. Still early.This was my first day in the Petrov mansion. I hadn't come for Andre

The sky was grey when I returned to the stables.Rain was threatening to fall, hovering above the mansion like a storm waiting for my permission. It was the kind of weather I liked, dull, heavy, quiet. Just the sound of hooves shifting in straw, the wet snort of a stallion, and my boots echoing on stone.I needed peace. After yesterday’s visit from the underground, I needed silence.I carried the feed bucket myself as i always did when I was restless. There was something honest in caring for the animals, no lies, no betrayal, no pretending. Just muscle, instinct, and survival.But I paused at the entrance of the stable.Emilie was there.She stood with her back to me, her fingers brushing the sleek muzzle of a black mare Storm. The horse was calm, nudging into her palm with soft affection. Emilie had removed her shawl, letting the breeze catch her curls. Her dress clung to her waist, modest but flattering. She looked too delicate for this place. Too soft.But softness could be a disgu

Emilie’s POV:The morning sun filtered through the penthouse windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor. I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of the deep emerald gown Milo had chosen for me. It hugged my frame tightly, the neckline plunging just enough to make me feel exposed, yet the elegance of it was undeniable. Tonight, I wasn’t just Emilie, the girl who’d traded her freedom for her father’s life. Tonight, I was Milo Petrov’s wife, and he intended for the world to know it.“Stop fidgeting,” Irina snapped, her voice sharp as she adjusted the diamond necklace around my throat. The stones glittered coldly, matching her gaze in the reflection. “You’ll ruin the look.”“I’m not fidgeting,” I replied, though my fingers betrayed me, twisting the hem of the dress. “I just don’t see why this is necessary.”Irina’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s a gathering of the families. Milo’s allies, his enemies—everyone who matters in this world. You’re not just arm ca

Milo’s POVThe meeting room was a den of wolves, each man at the table cloaked in ambition and deceit. The air hung heavy with cigar smoke, the acrid scent mingling with the faint metallic tang of tension. I sat at the head, my posture relaxed but my eyes sharp, scanning the faces of Russia’s most ruthless bosses. They spoke of territories, shipments, and profits, their voices a low rumble of greed, but my mind was elsewhere, back on that balcony, where Emilie’s trembling voice had declared her loyalty to me, even as her eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt. “I’m your wife. That’s where my loyalty lies.” The words should have anchored me, but they didn’t. They stirred a restlessness I hadn’t felt since the early days of building my empire, when every shadow held a knife.Dimitri’s voice sliced through my thoughts, his tone dripping with mockery. “Petrov, you’re awfully quiet tonight. Is it the new wife keeping you distracted?” The scar across his cheek twitched as he smirked, his eyes

Andrew’s POVI sat in a dark corner of a rundown bar, the kind of place where nobody asks your name. The air smelled like old beer and cigarette smoke. My glass of whiskey sat half-empty on the sticky table, but it wasn’t helping. Emilie’s words from last night kept playing in my head, over and over, like a song I couldn’t stop: “It’s too late, Andrew. I’m his wife now.” Every time I heard them, my chest tightened, like someone was squeezing my heart. I’d told her I still loved her, spilled my guts on that balcony, and she’d pushed me away. Her eyes had been full of guilt, but there was something else too, something for him. My father, milo Petrov. The man who’d taken her from me.Last night’s party was a blur of fancy suits and fake smiles, everyone watching Emilie like she was a prize to be won. She’d worn that green dress, looking beautiful but scared, like she was trying to hide how much she didn’t belong. I’d seen the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t noticing, and