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The glistening light of the ballroom pierced Elara Voss’s eyes as she descended the emerald staircase, one measured step at a time. Her crimson gown cascaded over her like spilled wine, clinging to every delicate curve of her slim figure.
To the crowd, she was the hidden princess of the Voss family. To the mafia leaders scattered among the crowd, she was the key to a permanent alliance with Heinrich Voss — and leverage against the most feared man in their world. Of course they stared. But beneath the calm, practiced warmth of her smile, Elara was unraveling. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of her dress, knuckles white, while her face held the serene mask she’d perfected over years of lessons. She had begged her father for years to let her attend an event like this. Now that she was here, she realized she wasn’t ready at all. But there was no retreat. At the bottom of the stairs, Heinrich Voss waited, his normally unreadable eyes glinting with rare pride as he assessed his most valuable asset. Her hand slid into his outstretched one, and Heinrich guided her into the sea of wavering, lustful men whose eyes lingered too long. But none of them mattered. He wove through the crowd with purpose, searching for tonight’s person of interest. “Ah, there he is.” A blonde haired man with bright blue suit stood out and although Elara could only see his side profile, she knew he was the reason her father had let her out of the estate, for the first time in her life. The said man turned, as if sensing their presence. His ocean blue eyes were the first thing she noticed about his face, followed by his small framed face that had tiny moustache and beard to it. Although he looked older than the pictures she saw, she had to admit that he was he was strikingly attractive—polished, confident, and... clean. Images of her being his 'perfect' wife flashed in her head but she shut them down. Heinrich’s grip on her hand tightened fractionally, a silent command: Smile. Be perfect. She did exactly that, although it almost wavered off her face when he picked her hand and brought it to his lips. " You must be Elara. Du bist atemberaubend schön – passend zu deinem Namen." ("You're breathtakingly beautiful – fitting for your name."). She was taken aback by his fluent, though awkward tone in her language, but she was quick to recover and bow slightly , like practiced "Vielen Dank( thank you)" "Ah, Valenti. Still a flattering mouth, I see". although her father words sound amused, his tone was dry and void of any form of emotions at all. It was the same tone he used whenever he was in business mode. Which was almost every time. " What can I say, Mr Voss. Your daughter brings out the flatterer in me". Alex Valenti chuckled " I'll like it to be fast. If it's gonna hold at all, then I want it done in two weeks". The sudden dive of the conversation made her heart hammer against her chest. Two weeks....just two weeks to get married to a man she just met. She always knew days like this would come , after all, she had been grommed to be a perfect Mafia leader 'wife' all her life but she never thought it'll happen so soon. And the fact that she had no say in it, made it sting more. She zoned out of the conversation she knew she was not required for. And for that moment, she let her eyes wander around the hall. The attention on her earlier seemed to have died down as everyone was going around with their business but just as she intended to look away, her eyes caught with an unfamiliar figure behind the crowd. And he was looking straight at her, his seemingly dark, hooded eyes eyeing her figure with shameless intrusion, before meeting with her eyes. She looked away. Immediately. _______ Elara briskly wiped her hands clean with the wipes from the restroom before trashing it away. She stood at the back entrance of the hall, her eyes fixated on the blonde man in front of the bar. Her father had left her with him, so they could 'get along' before the wedding but conversing with the shiny suit man was boring than she thought. He had spent the next minutes talking about himself and how he singlehandedly ' rule' the mafia world in his country and how his father was only the Don by name. None of the conversation actually pitched back to her except when he asked if she ever travelled beyond Germany. He didn't even let her answer the question before going on about how he had visited almost all int country in the whole continent. She had barely escaped his rambling by excusing herself to use the restroom. But the thought of going back to him was chilling. She sighed, realizing she had no choice. Her father will soon notice she was gone and he would not be happy about. She was almost halfway to the bar when a hard metal jabbed her stomach and liquid sloushed down on her already red gown . It took her a moment to realize what just happened and everyone eyes were already on her once she did. Oh God... " Oh my God. I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry". The waitress shaky hands tried wiping the wine off her her clothes but she stepped back instinctively, holding out her hand. " No..no...don't worry.... I'll... I'll just get it off". she turned away from the piercing eyes of the crowd, somehow finding her way back to the small hallway that led to the restroom. Her brain was fogged as her father disappointed face flashed in her head and she didn't even realize she wasn't alone until a large hand grabbed her arm and pulled her harsly into a small room, right at the corner of the restroom.The tension in the room had settled but Elara's mind remained unsettled. She stared at the black dress on the bed, contemplating if she should wear it and go out there like he demanded or not. But she knew that if she was at all going to escape this place, it won't be with her handcuffed to the bed. At least he unlocked it. For now. His words still rang in her head — " What if it's from you? Will you give me?". She has no idea what he meant by that neither did she have any idea of what she could have, that he wants. But she will find out. The dress he wanted her to wear, was simple. Too simple. Black silk, sleeveless, cut to fall just above the knee. No embellishments or zipper in the back that she could see. It looked like something a man would choose when he wanted a woman to look elegant without looking like she had tried. She hated it. Her wrist still throbbed where the cuff had been. The skin was red and raw, a thin scab forming along the edge. She flexed h
Elara took a sharp intake of breath, her eyes suddenly opening. She grabbed her chest, feeling an immense amount of pain in it. It took a while for yesterday's memories to rush back into her head, but once they did, she panicked. The screech of tires. The gunshot. Lucas’s lifeless eyes staring straight through her. The cold metal of the gun butt cracking against her temple. Her heart slammed so hard it hurt more than the ache in her skull. She lunged upward—only to be yanked back down. Cold steel bit into her right wrist and she realized she was handcuffed. To the headboard. She twist and turned, hoping to unlock it somehow but nothing worked. “No—no—no—” The word came out in short, frantic bursts. One of her father's enemies must've gotten her... but which one could it be? She scanned the room for the first time since she got opened her eyes. The room was wide, unbelievable wide for where a prisoner should be kept. The walls and floor were covered with black wallpape
Elara Voss Elara picked her fork up gently, making sure it made no sound when she picked the salmon she never wanted, on the plate. Her stomach turned with uncertainty as her eyes watched the man kept yelling at the restaurant's waitress, who kept apologizing million times. But he kept berating her for the "undercooked" filet. He’d gained quite the attention from most people in the restaurant. A few of them even had their phones angled not so discreetly. Elara tried to act like it wasn’t any of her business, but heat crawled up neck anyway. This was supposed to be a quiet lunch. A chance for her and Alex Valenti to “connect” before the wedding fitting that afternoon. Instead, the air around them was tensed and if she had dreaded getting married before, she hated it now. She had thought him to be the nice gentleman like he portrayed at the gala but she should've known better. The said man sat across her, posture perfect, suit immaculate with no ounce of mistake in the ironi
Before she could let out a scream, a cold hand slapped over her lips, shutting her. Her frantic eyes were widely opened and the only thing that could rush through her mind in her panicked state was this is it — this is how I die. The small room was dim, lit only by the faint glow seeping under the door from the hallway. She could smell expensive cologne — dark, smoky, with a sharp bite of leather and something metallic underneath, like gun oil or blood. She could tell because she grew up around men in the mafia. The hand over her mouth was large, calloused, but somehow gentle. She thrashed once, instinct more than thought, but he pressed closer, chest to her back, his breath warm against her ear. “Shhh, principessa,” a low voice murmured, sending shivers down her spine “Scream and you’ll draw every guard in this place. And I promise you… I’m faster than they are.” The accent was unmistakably Italian — rich and undoubtedly dangerous. Not likr the polished American lilt of Alex V
The glistening light of the ballroom pierced Elara Voss’s eyes as she descended the emerald staircase, one measured step at a time. Her crimson gown cascaded over her like spilled wine, clinging to every delicate curve of her slim figure. To the crowd, she was the hidden princess of the Voss family. To the mafia leaders scattered among the crowd, she was the key to a permanent alliance with Heinrich Voss — and leverage against the most feared man in their world. Of course they stared. But beneath the calm, practiced warmth of her smile, Elara was unraveling. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of her dress, knuckles white, while her face held the serene mask she’d perfected over years of lessons. She had begged her father for years to let her attend an event like this. Now that she was here, she realized she wasn’t ready at all. But there was no retreat. At the bottom of the stairs, Heinrich Voss waited, his normally unreadable eyes glinting with rare pride as he assessed hi







