Sold To The Devil: Escaping My Ruthless Husband

I was standing in the center of the gallery, holding a glass of expensive champagne, when the screens behind me flickered and my life ended. It was supposed to be an art unveiling, but the monitors shifted to fake footage of me handing evidence to the FBI. My fiancé, Ethan, looked at me like I was a sick dog that needed to be put down. My father slapped me across the face in front of everyone, disowning me to save his own skin. That was when Luca Vitti, the city’s most dangerous man, stepped in. He cleared the room and took my hand. I thought he was saving me. I didn't realize he was just collecting a new pet. I was locked in his estate, isolated and terrified. Then, my healthy mother suddenly "died" of pneumonia in a Vitti clinic. Days later, I saw Luca’s frail stepsister, Clara, breathing easily for the first time in her life. She had my mother’s lungs. I became nothing more than a breeding vessel. When I fell pregnant, I overheard Luca and Ethan planning my death. "Once the kid is cut out, she's a loose end," Luca had said. They were going to kill me and give my son to the woman who stole my mother's breath. I couldn't let that happen. So, I staged a tragedy. I induced labor in secret, hid my living son, and placed a fake corpse in the crib with a note: The Vitti Legacy. I escaped while they mourned. Five years later, Luca finally found the doctor’s confession. He learned that Clara had orchestrated everything. He opened the velvet box I left behind and realized it was empty. Now, he knows I didn't kill his son. I saved him from becoming a monster like his father. Chapter 1 Alessia POV I was standing in the center of the gallery, holding a glass of champagne that cost more than my father made in a month, when the screens behind me flickered and my life ended. It was supposed to be the unveiling of the Vitti family's legitimate art collection, a project I had spent two years curating to wash their blood money clean. My fiancé, Ethan, stood three feet away, adjusting his tie. He looked handsome in that rugged, soldier way that usually made my knees weak. But when the large monitors mounted on the pristine white walls shifted from a Renaissance Madonna to grainy black-and-white surveillance footage, his expression changed. The room went silent. The footage showed a woman with my hair and my coat handing a manila envelope to a man in a windbreaker. The timestamp was yesterday. The location was a known FBI meeting point. It was a lie. A digital fabrication. I had been in the studio all day yesterday. Ethan turned to me. The love in his eyes didn't just fade; it evaporated, replaced by the hollow, dead look of a man who knows he has to put down a sick dog. "Alessia," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a verdict. I shook my head, the champagne glass trembling in my hand. "Ethan, no. That isn't me. You know that isn't me." My father, Dante, stepped out from the crowd. He was a low-level soldier, a man who had spent his entire life scraping for crumbs from the high table. He looked at the screen, then at the disgusted faces of the Capos around us. He didn't look at me with concern. He looked at me like I was a bad investment. "You stupid girl," my father hissed. He raised his hand. The slap echoed through the silent gallery. I stumbled back, the glass shattering on the polished concrete floor. Shards of crystal sliced into my ankles, but I couldn't feel the pain. I could only feel the weight of a hundred predatory eyes stripping the flesh from my bones. Ethan didn't move to help me. He took a step back, aligning himself with the family, leaving me alone in the center of the room. Then the crowd parted. Luca Vitti walked through. He was the underboss, the Prince of the city, a man who wore violence like a tailored suit. He was beautiful in the way a tiger is beautiful right before it tears out your throat. He stopped in front of me, his polished shoes crunching on the broken glass. "Everyone out," Luca said. His voice was low, smooth, and terrifying. The room cleared in seconds. Even my father scurried away like a rat. Ethan hesitated, looked at me one last time, and then turned his back. The door clicked shut. Luca reached down and took my hand. His grip was firm, warm, and possessive. He pulled me up, not caring that my blood was dripping onto his expensive shoes. "They will kill you for this, Alessia," he said softly. "They will skin you alive and hang you from the bridge." "I didn't do it," I whispered. My voice was broken. "Luca, please." He brought his face close to mine. I could smell his cologne, something sharp and metallic like ozone. His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. "I know," he said. "But the truth doesn't matter. Only the perception matters. And right now, you are a liability. You are dead to them." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were dark voids. "But I can save you. I can make this go away. But you have to belong to me. No one else touches you. No one else speaks to you. You become mine." I looked at the door where Ethan had left. I looked at the screen where my reputation was burning. I looked at Luca, the man who I would later learn had orchestrated the entire show. I nodded. "Good," Luca said.