Wrong Sister Claimed By The Mafia King

The road ahead was long, cold, and eerily quiet. Jairo gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed forward as he pressed on the accelerator.

He was going to tell her today.

He took a right turn, and his gaze flicked to the pink box on the passenger seat. She was going to love it. The color was as innocent as her. Pure and surreal.

The dormitory was silent when he arrived. School had gone on holiday two days ago, but she had stayed behind because of him — to spend more time together while he planned to tell her who he truly was: heir to a Mafia empire.

If she wanted to stay by his side forever, she needed to know what it meant to become the Mafia Queen. He just needed five years. That’s all he needed to take over the empire and build a world safe enough for her.

He entered the elevator with the pink box, and reached her floor. Arriving at her door, he paused, noticing it was slightly ajar.

His pulse quickened as he carefully pushed it open, only to see a trail of blood drops on the floor, leading to a blood stained pink cardigan.

He dropped the pink box without thinking and rushed forward to grab the cardigan. It was hers.

He tore through the room in a panic. Most of her roommates were gone, and the silence pressed in.

“Emilia!” he shouted, bursting out of the room. He pulled out his phone to dial her number, but her phone started ringing from inside the room.

He ran through the hallway, desperate, before a muffled scream pierced the air.

He didn’t think twice.

He followed the sound, his heart thundering in his chest. It was coming from the second elevator.

“Emilia?!” He slammed his fists on the closed elevator doors, shouting her name, cursing under his breath as he continued to press the buttons.

He didn’t waste time going to the other elevator. He turned and bolted down the stairs, two steps at a time, praying for his instincts to be wrong.

Then he reached the bottom.

And froze in horror.

There she was. Inside a black car, banging her fists against the window. Tear-streaked. Terrified.

“Emilia!” he roared, his voice ripping from his throat.

Fear. Pain. Anguish.

Everything hit him all at once.

He sprinted toward the car as it began to move. His fingers instinctively searched his pockets for his car keys only to realize they must have fallen back in the room.

He picked up his pace and ran faster. Her eyes met his through the back window. She was screaming his name.

Then a masked man appeared beside her and jabbed a syringe into her neck.

Jairo watched helplessly as her body went limp, slumping into the seat and disappearing from view completely.

His heart dropped.

“Emilia…” he breathed like a prayer.

His foot struck a stone, and he crashed hard onto the ground. Blood had filled his mouth, but he didn’t care.

He pushed himself up and kept running, watching as the car disappeared into the distance. There was no plate number.

No clue.

Nothing but the sound of her voice echoing in his mind.