SOLD TO THE BILLIONAIRE MAFIA KING
Elena was never meant to choose her own fate.
She was sold-not asked, not begged, just handed over to Lorenzo De Luca, the most feared man in the city.
A billionaire. A mafia king. Ruthless, possessive, and merciless.
To him, she is nothing more than a debt repaid... a possession to claim.
But Elena is fragile, unloved, and wary of every touch... yet her heart and body betray her, drawn to the man she swore to hate.
In a world where danger lurks in every shadow, secrets threaten to unravel everything, and betrayal waits behind every door, their bond grows-twisted, forbidden, irresistible.
Elena must decide: survive the intoxicating power and obsession of the man who owns her, or surrender completely-and risk losing herself forever to the billionaire mafia king
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Chapter 4
Elena didn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the man fall. Not the blood-she could survive that-but the calm on Lorenzo's face afterward. The way his hand had closed around hers, warm and certain, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.
Morning light crept in slowly, pale and intrusive. She sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet to her chest, heart still beating too fast for a quiet room.
She had known violence before. Not like this.
Her past had been quieter. Cracks in walls. Words sharpened into weapons. A hand raised not to kill-but to control, to erase. Pain that came slowly, methodically, teaching her how to disappear.
What frightened her most was not Lorenzo's brutality.
It was that some part of her hadn't disappeared at all.
It had woken.
The door opened without warning.
She flinched.
Lorenzo stepped in, jacket discarded, shirt open at the throat. He looked unchanged by the night-as if killing a man in a room full of witnesses was no more disruptive than a spilled drink.
"You're awake," he said.
She nodded.
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. He studied her in that way he had-like he wasn't just seeing her, but measuring what she might become.
"You didn't scream," he continued calmly. "Most people do, after their first taste of reality."
Her fingers tightened around the sheet. "I didn't know what sound to make."
Something flickered in his eyes then. Not pity. Interest.
He walked closer.
She didn't retreat this time.
That realization startled her.
He stopped a breath away, close enough that she felt the heat of him, the faint scent of smoke and rain still clinging to his skin.
"You were afraid," he said softly.
"Yes."
"And yet you stayed."
Her throat tightened. "I didn't want to be alone."
The admission hovered between them, fragile and dangerous.
His hand lifted-not touching her, just hovering near her jaw. Close enough that she felt it anyway.
"You're learning," he murmured. "Fear doesn't always mean run."
Her pulse skidded.
He stepped back, just enough to let her breathe again. "Get dressed. We're leaving."
"Where?"
"For air," he said. "Before the world starts knocking."
The city was different in daylight.
Less forgiving.
They walked through a private courtyard overlooking the water. Elena wore a soft coat he'd left on the chair for her-too big, heavy on her shoulders. She wrapped it tighter, breathing in the unfamiliar comfort of being covered by something that belonged to him.
"You didn't ask why," Lorenzo said suddenly.
"Why what?"
"Why I killed him."
She swallowed. "I already know."
He glanced at her, surprised.
"You didn't do it because he spoke to me," she continued quietly. "You did it because he forgot who you were."
A slow smile curved his mouth.
"Careful," he said. "That kind of understanding changes things."
She met his gaze then. Properly. Her eyes didn't drop.
"I don't want to disappear anymore."
The words left her before she could stop them.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he reached out and adjusted the collar of her coat-an intimate gesture disguised as nothing at all.
"Good," he said. "Because I don't keep things that fade."
Her breath caught.
They stopped near the railing. Wind teased loose strands of her hair, brushing them across her face. She tucked them back, hands trembling less than they had the night before.
He leaned in slightly-not touching-his voice low.
"Do you know what they saw last night?"
She shook her head.
"They saw restraint," he said. "They saw me choose where to end something."
His gaze dropped briefly-to her lips. Her throat. The place where her pulse fluttered beneath her skin.
"And they saw you standing when you should have broken."
Her stomach tightened.
She felt it then-not fear this time, but heat. Awareness. A slow, aching pull.
"Look at me," he said.
She did.
His hand lifted, finally touching her-two fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up. The contact was light. Controlled. Intentional.
"Tell me to stop," he said quietly.
Her lips parted.
She didn't speak.
His thumb brushed her jaw. Not a caress-more a promise. His breath warmed her cheek, close enough that she could feel it, smell him.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. A soft inhale. A barely there lean toward him.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
A knock echoed somewhere beyond the courtyard doors.
The moment snapped.
Lorenzo stepped back instantly, his expression shuttered. Whatever had been building retreated-but not gone.
A man approached from the entrance, posture rigid. "Sir. There's been... response."
Lorenzo nodded once. "I expected as much."
Elena's chest tightened-not with panic, but with something sharper. Awareness. This world was moving now, whether she was ready or not.
As they turned to leave, she caught her reflection in the glass doors.
She didn't look small.
She looked uncertain-but standing.
And somewhere deep inside her, beneath fear and history and hesitation, something new stirred.
Not innocence.
Intent.
Lorenzo glanced back at her, as if sensing the shift.
His voice dropped, meant only for her.
"Whatever you're becoming," he said, "don't rush it."
Then, softer-almost intimate-
"I'm watching."
And this time, she didn't shrink from it.....
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When both of them had secretive motives behind this marriage, trusting each other or falling in love was going to be hard.
But how can they resist each other when both of them got addicted to each other?
8.9
Sienna Jones only wanted a one week escape in Miami but woke up one morning legally married to a stranger who happens to be Eric Macmillan, a British Billionaire heir.
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7.7
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Seeing her so radiant and successful, her scumbag husband beg her to come back.
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His voice was cold, his presence imposing.
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Christine hit his chest playfully, her face turning red.