CHAPTER THREE: THE DEVIL'S FIRST CLAIM

I stood frozen at the entrance, hoping someone would notice my presence, but everyone seemed too frightened to pay attention to me.

My dad and nanny looked like they had just seen a ghost, while the mysterious man surrounded by countless guards sat comfortably on our couch as though he owned the entire mansion.

What exactly was going on here?

I glanced at my paint-covered uniform and wished the ground would open and swallow me.

Maybe I could sneak into the kitchen and escape upstairs without anyone noticing.

Yes, Carla. Brilliant idea!

I carefully took a step forward, trying not to attract attention, but unfortunately, luck wasn't on my side.

My foot landed on a pen lying on the marble floor.

The sharp sound echoed through the silent room.

Oh, God!

Every head turned in my direction.

My dad's eyes widened in horror, while my nanny covered her mouth with trembling hands.

Even the intimidating guards were staring at me.

I didn't know which was more embarrassing: the humiliation I suffered at school, my red-painted appearance, or the fact that I had just interrupted what looked like the most dangerous meeting in New York.

I forced a nervous smile.

"Hello, everyone," I whispered, waving awkwardly.

Nobody responded.

Wonderful!

Maybe I should turn around and pretend I had entered the wrong house.

"Carla!"

My father's sharp voice made me jump.

"What are you doing here, and why are you covered in red paint?"

I swallowed nervously.

"Hmm... Dad, it's not what you think."

"Then explain yourself!"

"It was an accident that happened while I was heading to school," I replied, avoiding his eyes.

Technically, it wasn't entirely a lie.

After all, I hadn't planned to receive a free paint bath from Ella and her friends.

My father opened his mouth to speak again, but a deep, commanding voice interrupted him.

"Why don't you introduce this beautiful girl to me, John Mayday?"

The entire room fell silent.

I slowly turned toward the voice.

And there he was.

Oh. My. Goodness.

Sitting on our expensive leather couch, with one leg crossed over the other, was the most dangerously handsome man I had ever seen.

Bryan De Luca.

The most feared, ruthless, and powerful mafia boss in New York.

The man whose name alone could make influential businessmen tremble.

The same man I had been thinking about earlier.

Was I dreaming?

His perfectly styled blonde hair looked incredibly soft, and his striking green eyes seemed capable of seeing straight through someone's soul.

His sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and expensive black suit made him look like a Greek god who had mistakenly wandered into the human world.

I couldn't stop staring.

How could someone so dangerous look so handsome?

I had imagined Bryan De Luca as an ugly monster with scars all over his face.

But the man sitting before me looked nothing like a monster.

Well, at least not physically.

I wondered what his hair would feel like if I touched it.

Probably softer than mine.

Carla!

Have you completely lost your mind?

Touching Bryan De Luca's hair was practically another way of requesting an early funeral.

I quickly lowered my eyes, hoping nobody noticed my shameless staring.

Unfortunately, Bryan was already watching me.

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

My stomach did a strange little flip.

Butterflies?

Seriously, Carla?

Of all the men in New York, you decided to have butterflies because of the devil himself?

I was brought back to reality by my father's trembling voice.

"She... she's no one, Mr. De Luca."

What?

Did my father just deny me?

I stared at him in disbelief.

The same man who proudly called me his princess had suddenly forgotten I was his daughter.

"Dad?" I whispered.

He refused to look at me.

Instead, he kept his head lowered, his hands trembling beside him.

I turned toward my nanny, hoping she would explain what was happening, but she quickly avoided my gaze.

Something was terribly wrong.

Maybe Dad had a reason for denying me.

Perhaps he was trying to protect me from the dangerous man sitting in our living room.

But why?

Bryan leaned back against the couch, his expression becoming dangerously calm.

"Do you take me for a fool, John?"

My father shook his head immediately.

"No, Mr. De Luca."

"Then explain why you're telling me you don't know a girl who just walked into your house."

My father's forehead was covered in sweat.

"I swear, Mr. De Luca, I don't know her."

My heart sank.

Even though I suspected he was protecting me, hearing him deny me repeatedly hurt more than I expected.

Bryan chuckled.

It wasn't a pleasant sound.

It was the kind of laughter that made someone question whether they would survive the next five minutes.

"Interesting."

He slowly uncrossed his legs.

"So, you're telling me she's a stranger?"

"Yes, Mr. De Luca."

"Very well."

Bryan stretched out his hand toward one of his guards.

"Give me your gun."

My breath caught in my throat.

Gun?

Why would he need a gun?

One of the guards immediately handed him a black pistol.

Bryan examined it casually before placing it on the table.

"Since you don't know her, John, take this gun and put three clean shots into her."

For a moment, I thought I had heard incorrectly.

Three what?

Shots?

Into who?

Me?

My eyes widened.

Was this man joking?

I glanced around, hoping someone would laugh and tell me it was some ridiculous prank.

Nobody moved.

Nobody smiled.

My nanny looked ready to collapse.

Bryan continued as though he had merely requested a glass of water.

"I need something entertaining to watch before I sign the business contract."

My mouth fell open.

Entertainment?

Was killing an innocent girl his idea of entertainment?

I wanted to shout at him, but my voice had suddenly disappeared.

My father stared at the gun with trembling hands.

"Please, Mr. De Luca..."

Bryan raised an eyebrow.

"Please, what?"

"She's innocent."

"And?"

My father swallowed.

"I don't want to kill an innocent child."

Bryan's expression darkened.

"John, I don't remember asking whether you wanted to."

The room became unbearably quiet.

I could hear my heartbeat pounding against my chest.

Bryan tapped his fingers against the armrest.

"I'm waiting, John. Or have you suddenly forgotten how to handle a gun?"

My father shook his head desperately.

"Please, Mr. De Luca. I'm begging you."

Bryan's green eyes hardened.

"You have two choices. Kill her and sign the contract, or refuse and forget about the contract."

He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

"But understand something clearly. I won't leave this house without painting its walls with your blood if you waste my time."

A cold shiver travelled down my spine.

This wasn't the handsome businessman I had admired a few minutes ago.

This was the monster everyone feared.

The ruthless Bryan De Luca.

The devil disguised as a Greek god.

My father suddenly fell to his knees.

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Please, Mr. De Luca. Don't make me do this."

I stood there in complete shock.

Never in my twenty years had I seen my father cry like this.

John Mayday, the powerful billionaire who commanded respect everywhere he went, was kneeling before another man.

Begging.

Crying.

Trembling.

Was he afraid of losing his life?

Or was he afraid of losing me?

I looked toward my nanny.

She sat motionless, her eyes filled with tears, unable to say a single word.

For the first time, I understood that wealth couldn't protect us from everything.

Bryan sighed impatiently.

"Then tell me who this pretty girl is."

My father remained silent.

Bryan tilted his head.

"Still nothing?"

He pointed toward the gun.

"Fine. Take it and shoot her. I hate people interrupting my business deals."

My legs felt weak.

I wanted to run, but several guards stood near the entrance.

There was nowhere to escape.

I looked at my father again.

He seemed completely broken.

I couldn't bear watching him suffer because of me.

Perhaps if I apologized and quietly left, Bryan would forget about the whole incident.

Yes, that sounded reasonable.

Although reasoning with a psychopath probably wasn't the smartest idea.

I took a deep breath and gathered whatever courage I had left.

"Excuse me, Mr. De Luca?"

His green eyes immediately settled on me.

"Yes, beautiful?"

Beautiful?

Did he just call me beautiful?

Carla, focus!

Your life is in danger, and you're thinking about compliments!

I forced the sweetest smile I could manage.

"I'm really sorry for interrupting your business meeting. I didn't know my father... I mean, Mr. Mayday had an important visitor."

Bryan watched me silently.

I continued nervously.

"I promise I wasn't trying to disturb anyone. I'll just leave the same way I came."

Nobody spoke.

I took his silence as permission.

"Thank you, Mr. De Luca. Have a wonderful day."

Wonderful day?

Really, Carla?

I turned around and hurried toward the door.

Just a few more steps.

Three.

Two.

One.

Freedom!

Or so I thought.

"Where do you think you're going, Doll?"

The deep voice thundered across the room.

I stopped instantly.

Doll?

Did he just call me Doll?

I slowly turned around.

"Excuse me?"

Bryan was staring directly at me.

"I said, where are you going, Doll?"

I blinked.

"What did you call me?"

A dangerous smile appeared on his handsome face.

"Doll."

My heart skipped a beat.

Before I could think of another question, he rose from the couch.

The guards immediately stepped aside.

He walked toward me slowly, his expensive shoes making soft sounds against the marble floor.

With every step he took, my heartbeat grew louder.

I wanted to move backwards, but my legs refused to cooperate.

Within seconds, he was standing directly in front of me.

Goodness gracious!

He was even more handsome up close.

And tall.

Extremely tall.

I had to tilt my head to look into his beautiful green eyes.

Then I noticed his perfume.

Strawberries.

Wait a minute.

The most dangerous mafia boss in New York smelled like strawberries?

I almost laughed.

Who would have imagined that the devil smelled so delicious?

His gaze travelled over my paint-covered uniform before returning to my face.

He didn't seem disgusted.

Instead, he looked fascinated.

As though he had discovered something precious.

Something he had been searching for.

I swallowed nervously.

"Mr. De Luca?"

He leaned closer.

My breath caught.

Then, with a possessive smile and a voice that sent chills down my spine, he whispered:

"You are my Doll, Carla Mayday."

My eyes widened.

He knew my name.

He knew exactly who I was.

And judging by the dangerous obsession burning in his green eyes, I had a terrible feeling that my life was about to change forever.