Reluctantly Ruined & Owned By The Mafia Novels & Stories

His form eclipsed my dad’s as he stepped forward. “Your dad was foolish enough to gamble all his money away. He desperately auctioned you to bounce back. Standing before you is Lorenzo De Luca, the Black Rose of the Sicilian Mafia. Your new owner,” he explained, his face devoid of emotion. Auction? Mafia? Owner? “Owner? What is that supposed to mean?” “I bought you. Now I own you,” he proclaimed. There was definitely a problem, but it couldn’t be this horrible nonsense I just heard. Of course, he’s just messing with me.

Sandro roared, his body trembling as pain clawed through him. Ace chuckled, savoring every crack in his enemy’s resolve. “Ohhh… I almost forgot. Allow me to reintroduce myself. Hi, Sandro. I’m Ace. Or should I say… Thane? Your college friend Thane.” Sandro’s eyes widened, his voice breaking. “What the hell are you talking about!?” Ace’s laugh echoed like a blade carving into bone. “I can’t believe this. The mighty mafia boss of the Dark Domain—reduced to nothing. Vulnerable. Broken. Betrayed. And all by me.” He leaned close, voice dripping venom.

My room offered no comforts, just a chair by the window where I could watch the harbor lights dance on the water. I drank from my glass of tequila, it burned while going down my throat, Marco Bianchi's face floated in my mind, that smug smile he'd worn at my father's funeral. The same smile he'd probably worn while his brother turned a stolen child into his personal weapon. And now he was auctioning lives through our docks like they were crates of fish. Elisa's face surfaced in my memory the night she'd agreed to this madness, I remembered the hollow look in her eyes, like she'd already buried whatever softness she had left.

“I am not God Mack, you know the rules, you were warned.“ He picked two bare wires and brought them together causing an electric shock. “What is the second rule of the mafia society?“ He asked Mack whose eyes didn't leave the wires he was holding. “Never involve children in the act,” he muttered still staring at his hands. “And what did you do?“ Alex raised his brows. “I made children sell drugs.“ He muttered. “Good and now it is time you pay for your crimes,” he placed the bare wires on Mack's legs sending waves of electric shock through his body. The man yelled, he couldn't take his legs away because he was bounded. “Boss have mercy,” he yelled. Alex laughed, he has missed this, the cry fo

He responded, his voice low and rough. “You’re a monster,” I whispered. Greco didn’t flinch. “I’ve been called worse.” He walked past me toward a small table near the window and poured himself a drink. The liquid caught the light as he lifted the glass. “Why me?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. “You could have anyone. Why buy a broken girl whose own family hates her?” He took a slow sip, then set the glass down. When he turned back to me, his expression was unreadable.

The streets. On the way home, Aria sat close in the backseat, head on my shoulder. "Are we mafia wealthy?" she asked, quiet, like last night. I put my arm around her. Outside, Chicago flashing. "We are mafia," I said. "Mafia wealthy means you own the building where people eat, the lot where trucks park, the concrete they pour, and the street they drive it on. Velvet is just dinner people see, House is what we keep. We have more than you think”

I ask, turning my attention away from the tablet to look at Javier standing in front of me. "¿No lo reconoces?" Don't you recognize it? He asks in turn. I look back at the painting, wondering what it was and why Javier was bringing it to my attention. "Es el cuadro perdido." It's the missing painting. Javier states as if I should know what that means. "Llegar al punto. ¿Qué tiene de importante?" Get to the point. What's important about it? I ask. "El cuadro pertenece a la mafia italiana. Los sicilianos para ser exactos." The painting belongs to the Italian mafia. The Sicilians, to be exact. Javier explains.

“Wait. Moretti Moretti?” Riva frowned. “You know him?” “Are you—are you serious right now?” another friend asked, wide-eyed. “He’s Ares Moretti. That family runs half the illegal shit across borders. Mafia. Guns. Casinos. Black money. People disappear when they breathe wrong around them.” Riva’s stomach dropped. “You mean he’s like… actual mafia?” “Actual. Untouchable. Lethal. And you—” Nia looked her up and down. “What the hell did you do to end up in his car?”

He would dictate when I was touched, how I was touched, and I would have no right to refuse. No safe words. No questions. Just obedience. Total, unquestioning obedience. I would be his plaything, molded by his desires, trained to respond only to him. And if I dared resist, he would break me until I learned how to kneel. In exchange, he’d erase every debt my father owed, and offer me protection. But I would be owned by him forever. He wanted to make me his personal whore for life. This contract was written like I was just property. What sick lawyer drew this up? I was certain this wasn’t even legal. But I guess in the mafia world, anything was.

They will pay the price. I am Don Necolai Rosu Lupei, one of the most feared Mafia Bosses in London. My gang The Romanesco owns this part of the city. I don’t tolerate competition, especially not from scum like these human traffickers. I am going to bathe in their blood. Last night we raided their little organization and freed seven underaged girls and two teenage boys. Those kids were lucky nothing bad had happened to them yet. My men made sure they were returned safely to their families.