Trapped with the Mafia Boss

ELENA'S POV

The scent of whiskey and cigar smoke clung to the air, thick and suffocating. My father’s trembling hands gripped my arm too tightly as he led me through the grand double doors of the De Luca estate. The mansion loomed ahead, its cold marble floors gleaming under the chandeliers, its towering walls a gilded cage I was being delivered into.

I had known this day would come, but the finality of it settled into my bones like ice.

The man waiting for me at the end of the long hall sat in a high-backed chair, one hand lazily resting on the armrest, the other swirling a glass of dark liquor. He did not rise when we entered. He didn’t have to. Power clung to him effortlessly, as natural as breathing.

Alessandro De Luca.

His name alone sent shivers down the spines of men who thought themselves untouchable. Ruthless, calculating, and feared. My father’s last bargaining chip in a debt he could never repay. And now, I was the payment.

"Mr. De Luca," my father stammered, squeezing my wrist like he could keep me tethered to the past. "This is my daughter, Elena. She—"

"I know who she is," Alessandro cut in, his deep voice a lazy drawl, but laced with steel. His gaze lifted to mine, dark and unreadable. "Come here."

My father hesitated, perhaps expecting me to cling to him, to beg. But I did neither. I knew there was no escape. So, I stepped forward, head held high, willing my knees not to shake.

Alessandro studied me with an air of indifference, as if assessing a business transaction rather than a living, breathing person. Then he reached for my chin, tilting it up just slightly, forcing me to hold his gaze.

"Good," he murmured. "You’ll do."

A single nod. A single sentence. And just like that, my fate was sealed.

The wedding took place a week later. It was not a celebration, but a transaction completed in front of witnesses.

I wore a dress worth more than my father’s entire estate, but it felt like a shroud. My husband did not smile. He did not whisper sweet nothings. He slipped the ring onto my finger with the same efficiency he would sign a contract. And when the priest declared us husband and wife, Alessandro leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he murmured, "You belong to me now, Elena. Learn to accept it."

The guests cheered. My heart remained silent.

That night, I sat at the edge of our grand bed, dressed in delicate lace, my hands folded in my lap. Waiting. Not for romance. Not for kindness. But for whatever would come next.

Alessandro entered, removing his jacket, unbuttoning his sleeves. He did not approach me immediately. Instead, he poured himself a drink and stood by the window, his gaze on the darkened city skyline.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, breaking the silence.

My throat tightened. "Should I be?"

He smirked, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. "Clever girl."

Silence stretched between us, heavy and unspoken. Then, to my utter shock, he simply said, "Sleep," before finishing his drink and walking into the adjoining room, closing the door behind him.

And just like that, I was alone.

---

The days blurred into weeks, the weeks into months. I learned the rules of my new existence. Obedience was expected. Defiance was punished, though not in the way I had feared. Alessandro never raised a hand to me. Instead, his punishments were cold, calculated withdrawals of his attention, of his protection, reminding me exactly how much I needed him.

I played my role well. The devoted wife, the quiet presence at his side, the beautiful accessory to his empire. And all the while, I planned.

I had not given up hope. Not yet.

Tonight was the night.

The glass of wine trembled in my hands as I poured the fine white powder into his drink, stirring it just enough to dissolve. My heartbeat roared in my ears, drowning out the low hum of the city beyond the estate walls. I had calculated everything. The dosage was enough to make him sleep deeply but not harm him. I had memorized the guard rotations, found the exact moment when I could slip away unnoticed.

Alessandro entered, rolling his sleeves up to his forearms. He looked at me with that unreadable expression, the one that always made me wonder what thoughts lurked behind those dark eyes.

"Pour me a drink," he said, his voice smooth, unknowingly sealing his own fate.

I handed him the glass, forcing my fingers not to shake. He took it, swirling the liquid, then raised it to his lips. My breath caught as he drank, every second stretching endlessly. When he finally placed the empty glass down, I had to fight not to exhale in relief.

"You look nervous tonight," he observed, tilting his head slightly. "Is there something on your mind?"

I forced a small smile. "Just tired."

He watched me for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Get some rest."

I did not sleep. I counted the minutes, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. When I was certain he was deep in slumber, I moved. Slipping out of bed, careful not to make a sound, I grabbed the small bag I had hidden away, containing just enough to get me far, far away from here.

The hallway was silent. My bare feet barely made a sound against the polished floors. Step by step, I made my way toward the back exit, the one place where I knew I could slip past the guards unnoticed.

Freedom was so close.

I reached for the door, my fingers just grazing the handle—

A shadow moved in front of me.

I froze. My pulse thundered in my ears.

And then I saw him.

Alessandro stood in the dim light, arms crossed, watching me. Not asleep. Not drugged. Awake. Fully aware.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

"Going somewhere, *cara mia*?" he murmured, his voice dark, laced with something dangerous.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until he was just inches from me. His fingers brushed my cheek, deceptively gentle, before trailing down to my throat. His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of exactly who he was.

And then, with a voice as smooth as silk and as sharp as a blade, he whispered, "It would be such a shame to ruin such a beautiful face. Come back home with me, won’t you?"

The last thing I saw was the glint in his eyes before everything went black.

[ FIVE YEARS BACK ]

The past had a way of creeping up, wrapping its cold fingers around my throat when I least expected it. I never thought my father—the man who once held my hand and promised to keep me safe—would be the source of my worst nightmare.

But life had a cruel sense of irony.

It started months ago.

I should’ve noticed the change in him sooner—the way he barely looked me in the eye anymore, the hushed phone calls behind locked doors, the growing number of empty whiskey bottles lining the kitchen counter. He had always been a gambler, but for as long as I could remember, his losses had been manageable. Never catastrophic.

At least, that’s what I believed.

Then, one night, I woke up to the sound of muffled voices.

I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent against the wooden floor as I crept toward the living room. The scent of cheap alcohol mixed with something sharper—desperation.

“I just need more time,” my father pleaded. His back was to me, his shoulders hunched forward as he spoke into the phone. “Please, I swear I’ll have it soon.”

A pause. A deep inhale.

“No, I can’t do that.” His voice trembled, his fingers gripping his thinning hair. “You don’t understand. I can’t.”

I pressed myself against the wall, my pulse hammering in my ears.

“Then maybe we can work something else out.” The words were so quiet I barely caught them. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

I had never heard my father beg before.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

The next morning, he avoided me. He barely spoke, and when I tried to ask about the call, he brushed me off.

But the late-night whispers continued. The anxiety in his face grew. And so did my fear.

Then came the night that changed everything.

I returned home from work to find him pacing the living room, a deep crease between his brows. The tension in the air was suffocating.

“Sit down, Elena,” he said, his voice low.

My stomach twisted. I obeyed.

“I need you to listen to me carefully,” he continued, rubbing his temples. “Whatever happens… you need to trust that I did this for us.”

“Papa, what are you talking about?” My heart pounded.

He looked at me then, his expression weary, aged beyond his years.

“I’m in trouble, Elena.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

I swallowed hard. “What kind of trouble?”

His silence stretched on, thick and heavy. Then, finally—

“I owe someone a debt.”

My breath hitched.

I wanted to ask how much? I wanted to demand why? But deep down, I already knew the answer. His gambling. His recklessness. It had finally caught up to him.

The sound of the clock ticking on the wall filled the silence.

And then, I made the mistake of asking, “Who?”

My father didn’t answer right away. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw locking.

Then, he whispered a name.

And the moment I heard it, my blood ran cold.