Bound To A Possessive Mafia Don

Rain soaked Anna's hair and slid down her face, cold and relentless. She didn't know how long she'd been standing on James's porch. Her arms hung limply by her sides, her fingers numb. Her eyes were swollen, lashes clumped, her skin blotchy and pale. The tears had stopped, but the exhaustion on her face made it clear she'd been crying for hours.

Her body trembled not just from the cold, but from the way everything had collapsed in one brutal night.

Six years, gone in seconds.

The man she was supposed to marry, the one she had stood beside through every high and low, had tossed it all aside like it never mattered. And the woman she called family, the one who knew every part of her, every scar and secret, had climbed into her fiancé's bed like it meant nothing.

They hadn't just betrayed her. They had torn her wide open and left her bleeding, like she was nothing, like she never meant a damn thing.

Anna's fingers curled into fists. The engagement ring she had waited three years for pressed into her palm. She looked down at it, her hands numb, then slipped it off and let it fall onto the rain-soaked steps.

When she noticed the rain had finally stopped, she wrapped her arms around herself and started walking into the cold night. Her heels clicked softly against the wet pavement, echoing in the empty street. Every step felt heavier than the last. She had no idea where she was headed. Her apartment was miles away, her phone was dead, she didn't have a car, and she couldn't stop shaking.

Anna continued walking down the street, her breaths unsteady and her arms still wrapped tightly around herself, until a cab finally came into view. She stopped, raised her arm and waved it down like her life depended on it.

The cab pulled up, its headlights slicing through the rain. Anna didn't say a word as she yanked the door open and slid into the backseat, her limbs heavy, her fingers stiff with cold. The leather felt cold against her skin as she leaned her head against the window, eyes blank as the street lights smeared across the glass.

Rain clung to the window like the tears she couldn't shed anymore. Her dress was soaked through, her hair plastered to her face, and her body shook with the chill. But none of that compared to the pain in her chest.

The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Where to?" he asked, voice flat.

Anna didn't answer right away. She didn't want to go home. Not to the empty apartment. Not to the silence. Not to the smell and memory of James still in the sheets. She swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the window.

Quietly, as if it hurt to speak, she gave him the only place she could think of. A downtown club her coworkers had dragged her to once. It was loud, dark, crowded, and perfect.

"Oblivion. 212 Mercer Street. Downtown."

The driver gave a small nod, pulled away from the curb with the tires hissing over the wet pavement, and the ride remained silent the whole way.

By the time the cab stopped outside the club, the streets were louder, darker, and slick with rain. Anna stepped out, handed the driver a few damp notes, and shut the door.

Outside, the club was filled with people laughing, stumbling, soaked and too drunk to care. Anna didn't stop or look at anyone. She just walked into the club as if her world hadn't just fallen apart.

Inside, heat and noise slammed into her. Lights flashed, bodies pressed close, the air thick with sweat and alcohol.

She went straight to the bar and dropped onto a stool like her legs had given out.

"Double vodka. Neat," Anna told the bartender.

He didn't ask any questions and just poured the drink. She downed the first in seconds. The second went down easier. By the third, the ache in her chest began to dull. Her dress clung to her damp skin, sweat slicked her thighs, and her head buzzed while her body burned.

Anna leaned on the bar, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and breath shallow. The fourth glass was already in her hand, half full, as her body moved with the club's rhythm, swaying without thinking, drunk and lost, until her gaze shifted and locked with the steady eyes of a man watching her.

He was sitting at the far end of the bar with his eyes locked on her. He was handsome, sexy and huge. A black shirt stretched tight across his chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos ran up both arms, his dark hair messy. His eyes were cold and unreadable, showing no emotion.

Two men stood on either side of him, broad-shouldered with faces unreadable in their tailored black suits. They were his bodyguards, the kind who wouldn't hesitate for a second when ordered to pull the trigger.

Anna stopped dancing and turned her head back, pretending not to notice, but her heart thudded harder when the man stood and started walking toward her.

He moved like he owned the place. Every step toward her felt deliberate, slow and powerful.

"Rough night?"

The man said as he approached her and leaned in, but Anna didn't respond. His cologne was dark and expensive, his voice deep and smooth, laced with a thick Italian accent.

"Drinking alone, cara? It doesn't suit you," he said again, his voice calm but direct.

Anna turned slightly, her eyes unfocused. The alcohol made everything slow and her tongue feel heavy as she replied to him. "Maybe I just don't want to be around people."

The man watched her carefully. "Or maybe you don't want to be alone, but you're trying to act like you do."

Anna didn't respond. Her eyes flicked to him, then dropped to her glass. Her fingers curled tighter around it, knuckles pale.

He leaned closer, his gaze moving over her without apology, from her bare shoulders to the way the dress clung to her body, and to how tired and puffy her eyes looked beneath the makeup.

"You've been crying," he said quietly.

Anna chuckled softly. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah... What happened?" he asked, his voice low but steady.

Anna stared at the bottom of her glass. "I just caught my fiancé cheating on me with my best friend. Then he broke up with me like I was the problem."

His jaw twitched. He reached out and touched her jaw gently, turning her face toward him. "How could he do that to a beautiful woman like you?"

She exhaled softly, her voice caught in her throat, leaving her silent and overwhelmed with sadness.

He leaned in close, his lips almost brushing against hers. "Forget about him. He's an idiot."

Before Anna could process what was happening, her lips were on his. Quick, impulsive, heat flaring in the space between them. She pulled back just as fast.

"Oh my God- I'm so sorry," she said, her voice shaky. "I didn't mean to. I guess I'm too drunk." She let out a breathy chuckle and ran a hand through her hair.

He didn't laugh. He just held her face in his hands steady. His gaze locked on hers.

"It's fine," he said. "You can go home and cry over your ex, or you can come with me."

She swallowed as her heart thudded hard in her chest.

"I'm not asking for anything you don't want," he added. "But if you want to stop thinking about him, I'll help you do that."

Anna wanted to say no, but she was too desperate to feel something other than betrayal. She needed something to help her forget everything that happened, even if it was just for a few hours.

She didn't speak. Just looked him in the eyes for a brief moment and nodded.

"How much is her drink?" the man asked the bartender, his deep voice cutting through the music.

The bartender glanced at Anna's glass. "Sixty-five dollars."

"Put it on my tab," he said without hesitation, his eyes still on her.

He took her hand. His fingers were warm and strong. He didn't pull. He just waited.

Anna slowly slid off the stool, took his hand and let him lead her.

He led her through the back, past the bathrooms and security, to a small, unmarked door. Behind it was a private elevator.

They stepped into the elevator. The ride was silent, tense. Her pulse thudded in her ears. His scent was clean, expensive, intoxicating. It wrapped around her like a noose. She didn't speak. Neither did he.

The elevator opened to a spacious suite bathed in soft golden light. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, reflected on sleek marble floors. A plush king-sized bed with crisp white linens sat center room. Velvet chairs remained untouched, and a stocked bar gleamed quietly. Above, a cold, perfect chandelier sparkled. The whole space was pristine, luxurious and expensive.

They stepped inside and the elevator doors closed behind them. The city burned beyond the glass, but in here, it was just him. Just them.

He moved closer to Anna, slow but sure, closing the space between them. His hand came up, firm and unhurried, gripping her jaw. His fingers were warm, slightly calloused. He tilted her face up, making her look at him.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, voice low and commanding.

Anna swallowed, her pulse racing as she replied. "Yes. I want you to fuck me so hard that I forget about my dickhead of a fiancé."