CHAPTER 2 — THE MAFIA KING

The car smelled of leather and something faintly metallic. Amara kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, knuckles white, as the black SUV slid silently through the city streets. Outside, neon lights flickered over puddles and asphalt, but inside, the only illumination came from the dim overhead light, casting sharp shadows across Leonardo De Luca’s face.

He didn’t speak. He never had to. The weight of him was enough. She could feel it pressing into her, suffocating, like the world had shrunk to this small, moving cage.

Amara swallowed hard, trying to make sense of the impossible. He had bought her. For what? Revenge? Control? Punishment? The thought made bile rise again, but she forced it down. Panic had to wait. Survival came first.

“Do you understand why you’re here?” Leonardo’s voice finally broke the silence. Smooth, controlled, deadly. He didn’t look at her, eyes fixed on the road ahead, but every word carried authority, demanding obedience even without a glance.

Amara swallowed. “I—I suppose… to be married to you?”

A low, humorless chuckle escaped him. “Suppose? No. That’s exactly why you’re here. Don’t think of it as marriage. Think of it as… ownership. And ownership comes with rules.”

Her stomach twisted. Ownership. The word burned like acid in her chest. But she forced herself to sit straighter, forcing her terror into silence. “Rules?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “You follow them. You survive. You disobey… and you learn the consequences.”

He finally turned his eyes toward her, silver glinting under the car’s dim light. For a brief moment, Amara thought she saw something else there—curiosity? amusement? no… it was too cold to be anything warm. It was assessment. Like he was studying her, weighing her. Calculating whether she was worth the trouble.

The ride was long. Amara’s mind raced with every possible scenario of what awaited her: a mansion filled with guards, a gilded cage, endless rules, a life without freedom. And yet… a tiny spark of defiance flared inside her. She would survive him. Somehow.

“You need to learn quickly,” Leonardo said suddenly, his voice cutting through her thoughts. “I am not your protector. I am not your friend. I am… the storm that will decide whether you endure or break. Make no mistake, Amara—my patience has limits.”

Her throat tightened. His words were not threats—they were promises.

“I understand,” she whispered again, knowing full well that understanding nothing would save her.

He leaned back, hands on the wheel, eyes forward. Silence fell between them again, heavy and suffocating. Every instinct screamed at her to speak, to move, to escape. But she remembered the auction hall, the guns, the city that trembled at his name. There was no escape. Not now. Not ever.

Hours passed. Or perhaps minutes. Time felt distorted, stretched by fear. She tried to memorize every detail of the interior: the leather seats, the faint scent of gun oil and cologne, the cold silver of his eyes that haunted her memory even when he looked away.

Finally, they arrived.

The gates opened silently before them, automatic, and the vehicle rolled into a sprawling estate. High walls, cameras, guards in black suits, all meticulous, all vigilant. Amara’s heart sank. This wasn’t just a home—it was a fortress. A kingdom built for one man and the world’s fear of him.

Leonardo parked, killed the engine, and finally turned to her fully. The silver eyes were sharper now, piercing, assessing. “You will learn your room. Your rules. Your schedule. Your life starts tomorrow at sunrise. Until then… you stay silent, you stay out of trouble, and you stay alive.”

He opened the door and stepped out, his coat falling like a shadow behind him. She followed, every step echoing in the driveway, her mind spinning.

“You—” she began, but he cut her off with a look, sharp and precise. The kind of look that silenced screams and demanded obedience without words.

Amara bit her lip, swallowing her questions, her protests, her fear. She had no choice. Not now. Not with Leonardo De Luca.

Inside the mansion, her new life awaited. The halls were vast, cold, immaculate, every corner watched. Servants moved silently, guards stationed at precise intervals, and somewhere in the shadows, she knew, the rules of her survival would be written in obedience—or in pain.

Leonardo led her to a room at the far end of the hall. A key slid into the lock, the door opening to a space that was elegant, pristine, and entirely devoid of warmth. She took a cautious step inside.

“Your room,” he said simply. “Everything you need. But remember—nothing is yours. Not yet.”

Amara nodded, her stomach twisting. She realized that fear was only the beginning. Control, obsession, and danger had a face now. And that face was Leonardo De Luca.

As the door closed behind him, shutting her in, she pressed her back to it, trying to hold onto the last fragments of herself.

I will survive him.

I have to.

But deep in the mansion, somewhere in the shadows, Leonardo’s eyes lingered. And in those silver depths, a thought settled like a storm:

She will be mine. One way or another.