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Owned by the Mafia Billionaire (A MxM erotica novel) Novel Cover

Owned by the Mafia Billionaire (A MxM erotica novel)

What the fuck—” I started. He looked up at me. His lips were wet, swollen. He licked them slowly, like he was savoring the taste. “Keep your hands where I left them,” he said. My jaw clenched. My knuckles went white against the bedsheets. I didn’t speak. I just watched him. He lowered his mouth again, slower this time. His tongue circled the tip, then slid down the side. I felt every second of it. Every inch. He paused halfway down and looked up at me again. “You like this too much.” My throat tightened. I didn’t answer. “Bet you’ve never let anyone make you beg.” *** Callum Kesington isn’t just a billionaire CEO. He doesn’t believe in love. He believes in control, power, and the silence of secrets buried deep enough to stay dead. But when his estranged brother resurfaces through a cryptic call, dragging him into a trail of files, threats, and old betrayals, everything he's built starts to crack. Remy Beckett, a rising star in the culinary world, is no stranger to heat, just not the kind that follows a glance across a church aisle. A single dinner at Remy’s restaurant ignites an attraction that shakes Callum’s carefully guarded world. He’s never wanted a man before. Never craved the scrape of stubble against his skin or the heat of rough hands pinning him down. But Remy? He’s all Callum can think about. Then the bullet hits. A shadowy attack leaves Remy bleeding in Callum’s arms, and suddenly, this isn’t about desire. It's about survival. Someone wants Remy dead, and Callum’s brother is at the center of it. Now, Callum must confront the ruthless empire he built, the family who betrayed him, and the truth he’s been denying: he’ll burn everything down to keep Remy alive. Even if it destroys them both.
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Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Micah's POV

“No. You just saved your life.”

The fuck does he mean?

I blinked hard, still sprawled flat on the cold marble floor, aching in places I didn’t know could ache. My stomach throbbed where that asshole had punched me. My skull pulsed with the memory of the blow that knocked me out.

But Elio Romano? He looked like he’d just gotten back from a gala.

I swallowed. My mouth was dry. “So… that’s it? I get to live?”

Elio stood and walked to his bar, pouring himself another drink. The soft clink of ice against the crystal glass echoed…

“That depends,” he said, turning back to me. “Living and breathing aren't the same thing.”

He took a slow sip from his drink. “You sold the location of my blood. My niece was on that ship. If I hadn't intercepted it, she would’ve been taken. Tortured. Maybe worse.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came.

“You didn’t know,” he repeated, walking toward me like a panther. “That’s the only reason you're not already in pieces.”

He crouched in front of me again, perfectly composed. His oud and sandalwood scent engulfed me strongly this time. God.

“But ignorance doesn't mean innocence,” he said, voice low, almost intimate. “And innocence won’t protect you from what you owe me.”

I swallowed. “You’re going to kill me anyway. So why not do it now instead?

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be in pieces.”

I flinched, the cuffs biting into my wrists. “Then why—why the hell am I here?”

His blue eyes locked on mine.

“Because,” he said simply, “I want to see what I can make out of you.”

I stared at him. “I’m not some project.”

He smirked faintly. “You’re whatever I say you are.”

The man was unreal. His gaze dipped to my mouth in just a fickle second. But I caught it.

Was he…? No. No way.

Before I could say anything, he rose and snapped his fingers once. Two guards I didn't notice before appeared from the shadows.

“Untie him," he said, not even looking at me.

One of the guards obeyed, crouching beside me and opening the cuffs at my wrists and ankles. My skin burned from the friction. I didn’t move. Not until Elio spoke again.

"Stand up."

My body didn’t want to. My head throbbed and my legs felt like rubber, but I pushed myself upright, if only because disobeying him didn’t seem like a survivable option.

He finally turned to face me fully. And fuck, there was something in his eyes that made my knees threaten to fold.

“Strip.”

I blinked. “What?”

His voice didn’t change. “I’m sure you heard me.”

I stared at him like he was joking, but nothing about Elio Romano suggested he ever joked.

“You don't want to kill me, fine. Torture me, okay. But what the hell is this?”

“You have nothing left to bargain with, Micah. Your body, your mind, your skills—those are mine now. I don’t need your consent. But I’ll give you the illusion of choice. Strip, or I’ll have my men do it for you.”

I could barely breathe.

This was it. This was the price of staying alive. And I had no fucking idea what he was going to do with me.

I reached for the hem of my hoodie with shaking hands and pulled it over my head. Then my shirt came next.

His eyes didn’t blink. He watched every inch of skin I exposed like he was calculating.

I dropped the shirt to the floor.

“Pants.” He commanded.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you need to learn what it means to belong to someone.”

Belong to—?

I bit down on my lip, my hands moving to the button of my jeans. My fingers shook, but I undid it, then slid them down. I stepped out of them, standing in just my briefs now. Exposed.

And God help me. My cock was stone hard. I hated it. Hated that some dark, buried part of me was... reacting to him. This wasn’t arousal. It was fear. It had to be.

Elio walked toward me again, slow and composed.

“You’re prettier than I expected.”

He reached out, running the back of his knuckles down my cheek. My skin lit up like I’d been scalded. My instinct told me to step back, but something worse told me not to move at all. That voice inside me, the one I never listened to, was curious.

“What are you going to do to me?” I whispered before I could stop myself.

He tilted his head slightly. “That depends on how well you behave.”

He turned to one of the guards in the room. Scars slashed across his face like someone had clawed him once and regretted not finishing the job.

“Take him to the guest suite,” he said, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to me again like I was nothing more than a temporary distraction.

One of the guards grabbed me roughly under the arm and yanked me up before I could finish. My legs were still shaky, and I stumbled.

They dragged me down a pristine hallway that smelled like lemon oil. I counted security cameras as I went—three in the hall, two in the elevator. Motion sensors by the vents. State-of-the-art lock system on every damn door.

Classy. There was no way out of here.

I was led to a massive bedroom—if you could call it that. It looked more like a hotel suite than anything else. A king-sized bed sat in the middle, draped in deep gray linen. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed off a city that didn’t even know I was gone.

“This is where you’ll stay,” one of the guards said, and turned to leave. The other one stayed behind, standing stiff by the door like some human surveillance camera.

I stood there for a beat, refusing to move. If I didn’t acknowledge it, maybe this place wouldn’t become real.

But it already was. Was I his prisoner….Or his possession?

I stumbled back until my knees hit the edge of the bed. My palms were slick. I should be calculating my next move like I’d been trained to.

But all I could think about was how his toned abs would feel under my fingers.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Thinking about his hands when I should be looking for exits?

I let out a shaky breath and sat down, only for the lights to dim—on their own.

The quiet hum of electricity filled the room as the monitor blinked awake. My name blinked across the screen in crimson red letters.

MICAH REED — STATUS: RECONDITIONING INITIATED.

My skin went cold. What the hell was this place?

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