Claimed by the Ruthless Mafia Boss: Our Twisted Nights

The morning light streaming through the heavy curtains felt like an accusation. I sat on the edge of the bed, my wrists still raw from the handcuffs Giuseppe had finally removed an hour ago, staring at the crescent-shaped birthmark on my thigh that had changed everything.

But it didn't have to change everything. Not if I was smart about this.

When Giuseppe returned with his morning coffee, I was ready for him. I'd practiced the words in my head, rehearsed the indignation, the confusion, the righteous anger of an innocent woman caught in a case of mistaken identity.

"You have the wrong person," I said before he could speak, my voice stronger than I felt. "My name is Peggy Mills, not Lily. You've made a terrible mistake."

He paused with the coffee cup halfway to his lips, those dark eyes studying me with renewed interest. "Is that so?"

"Yes." I reached for my purse—the one Marco had brought back with the rest of my belongings—and pulled out my driver's license with shaking hands. "Look. Peggy Mills. Born March 15th, 1995. This is who I am."

Giuseppe set down his coffee and took the ID, examining it with the thoroughness of a man who'd seen plenty of forgeries. The silence stretched between us like a taut wire.

"Peggy Mills," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the name. "And yet you were working at my club under the name Lily. Curious."

"I—" My prepared explanation died in my throat. I hadn't expected him to know about that detail. "I needed the job. Sometimes people use different names in that kind of work. It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" He moved closer, and I fought the urge to shrink back. "Tell me, Peggy Mills, why would a respectable young woman need to work in a place like mine?"

The question was a trap, but I had to answer. "Money. My mother is sick, and we needed the money for her treatments."

"Ah, yes. The sick mother." His smile was cold, predatory. "And your father? What does he do?"

"He's... between jobs." The lie tasted bitter. "Look, I don't know what kind of arrangement you think you have, but there's been a mistake. I'm not whoever you think I am. I'm just someone who needed work, and now I want to go home."

Giuseppe laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "Home? To your sick mother and unemployed father? How noble." He leaned against the dresser, studying me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve. "Tell me about this birthmark."

My hand instinctively moved to cover my thigh. "What about it?"

"It's distinctive. Unusual. The kind of thing that would be mentioned in a detailed description of someone."

Panic fluttered in my chest, but I forced my voice to remain steady. "Lots of people have birthmarks. It doesn't prove anything."

"Perhaps not." He picked up his phone, scrolling through something. "But it's interesting that the girl I was told to expect—Lily—was described as having exactly such a mark in exactly such a place."

The room felt like it was closing in around me. "That's... that's just a coincidence."

"Is it?" His eyes met mine, and I saw the trap closing. "Because I'm starting to think there are no coincidences when it comes to you, cara mia."

I stood up abruptly, desperation making me bold. "I want to leave. Now. You have no right to keep me here."

"I have every right." His voice turned dangerous. "You see, someone owes me a very large sum of money. Someone promised me a daughter to settle that debt. Whether that daughter calls herself Lily or Peggy is irrelevant."

"You're insane." The words burst out of me before I could stop them. "You can't just keep people like property. This isn't the dark ages."

Something flickered in his expression—amusement, perhaps, or admiration for my defiance. "Can't I? You're in my house, in my room, wearing clothes I provided. Your family took my money and promised me something in return. What exactly do you think gives you the right to walk away?"

I backed toward the door, my heart hammering. "I'll call the police. I'll tell them you're holding me against my will."

"Go ahead." He didn't move to stop me. "Call them. Explain how you came to be here. Explain the debt your father owes, the contract he signed, the work you've already done for me. See how sympathetic they are to your plight."

The casual confidence in his voice stopped me cold. He was right, and we both knew it. Who would believe me? Who would care about one desperate girl caught up in her father's mistakes?

"I need to use the bathroom," I said finally, my voice small.

"No."

The simple word hit me like a slap. "What?"

"You ran once. You'll run again if I give you the chance." He settled into the chair by the window, making himself comfortable. "You can wait."

"That's... that's inhuman. You can't—"

"I can do whatever I want." His voice was matter-of-fact, terrifying in its certainty. "The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us."

I stared at him, this man who could discuss my basic human needs like they were privileges to be earned. The reality of my situation crashed over me like a wave. I wasn't just trapped in this room—I was trapped in a world where my wants, my needs, my very identity meant nothing.

"While we wait," Giuseppe continued, pulling out his phone again, "I think I'll have some people look into your background. Peggy Mills, you said? Born March 15th, 1995? It shouldn't take long to verify your story."

The blood drained from my face. If his people started digging, they'd find the truth. They'd find the connection to my father, to Lily, to the debt that had brought me here. All my desperate lies would unravel, and then...

"Don't," I whispered.

"Don't what?" His smile was sharp as a blade. "Don't investigate the woman who claims I have the wrong person? Don't verify the story you're so insistent is true?"

I couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe. The walls of the room seemed to be pressing in on me, and Giuseppe's dark eyes watched my every reaction with predatory interest.

"Marco," he said into his phone, never looking away from me. "I need you to run a full background check on someone. Peggy Mills, born March 15th, 1995. I want everything—family, employment history, medical records, everything. And Marco? I want it fast."

He hung up and leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Now we wait. And while we wait, you can think about whether you want to keep lying to me, or if you'd prefer to tell me the truth before I find it out myself."

The threat hung in the air between us, as real and tangible as the locked door behind me.

I was caught in a web of my own making, and with every lie I told, the strands pulled tighter around me.

All I could do was wait for the trap to spring shut.

What, I couldn’t help but wonder, awaited me in the future, anyway?