Sold to the Mafia king
His eyes returned to me-slow, assessing. Then, without warning, his hands shot up and clamped around my throat.
I gasped, instinctively clawing at his arms. He didn't move. "Disobey me again," he said, voice low, stripped of warmth, "and we won't be counting next time."
Even shaking, I lifted my chin. "Then don't mistake silence for obedience," I said hoarsely.
Carlino's voice followed-calm, absolute, as if nothing had happened. "Lock her floor tonight."
That was when it settled. There was no mercy here. No exaggeration. Every word, every threat-he meant them.
He wasn't pretending to be the devil. He simply didn't bother hiding it.
---
She hates him.
He refuses to let himself want her.
Lina Gray never thought love would betray her. Until the man she trusted, traded her life to pay his debts. Delivered into the hands of Carlino Lacentra, the Mafia king whose name ends conversations. Lina is stripped of choice and crowned Donna to secure a throne she never asked for. In his world, power is law, loyalty is currency, and a woman beside the king is never just a woman.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
Lina's POV
What was he talking about?
I bent down until I was at his eye level.
"Excuse me, sir," I said carefully. "What do you mean? Who is Dwan? Is it a person... or a pet?" My eyes searched his tired, lined face for answers.
He didn't respond.
He only stared at me, confusion clouding his gaze, as though he were trying to place me somewhere in his memory and failing.
Slowly, he lifted his right hand.
Reached for my face.
His fingers brushed my cheek with a familiarity that made my breath hitch-like he knew this face. Like he had touched it before.
"I-" he started.
"Father, what are you doing outside?" The voice came from behind me. I didn't need to turn to know who it belonged to.
Carlino.
His presence closed in on the space instantly, heavy and suffocating.
"Get your hands off him," he ordered. Controlled. But the warning threaded through it was sharp enough to cut skin. I pulled my hand away at once, stepping back a little.
"Carlino," the old man said, turning toward him. "Who is she?" His voice didn't match his body. It wasn't frail. It was steady. Clear. Strong.
"Just a property, Father," Carlino replied coolly, without pause. "Let's go to your chambers. We'll speak there."
Property. The word landed harder than a slap.
I shifted aside immediately as they moved past me. The wheels of the chair whispered against the floor as they disappeared down the corridor.
He didn't have to tell me to return to my room.
Back inside, I sat on the bed, sinking into the mattress like my body had suddenly doubled in weight. The moment I did, my thoughts rushed in.
Were Mom and Dad looking for me?
Had they gone to the police?
Did they even know where to start?
It had been a day. Maybe two.
I clenched my fists.
I need a plan. A real one. I need to leave-soon. Take my family and disappear. Leave Italy. Leave everything. I won't let this nightmare become my life.
I lay back for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
That old man was his father?
The ex-
The blaring horns of multiple cars shattered the thought.
I bolted upright and rushed to the nearest window.
Below, a convoy of black vehicles rolled through the gates of the mansion-sleek, uniform, menacing.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Who were these people?
He told me not to leave the room.
I didn't care.
Standing still felt worse.
I slipped out into the hallway. It was quieter now. The men who'd been stationed there earlier were gone.
Good.
I kept walking.
The kitchen. That was where the answers would be. Maids talked. They always did. And if there was anywhere I could gather something-anything-it would be there. I just had to find it.
"You."
The word stopped me cold.
"I told you not to wander, didn't I?" His voice cut through the corridor before I even saw him-low, measured, carrying authority that didn't need volume to wound. I turned slowly.
He stood at the far end of the hall, dressed in black like the house itself had carved him out of shadow. Two men flanked him, silent and broad, eyes sharp enough to peel skin.
Behind them, through the tall windows, the courtyard crawled with movement. The black cars. Too many of them. Men stepping out in tailored suits, disciplined, purposeful.
My mouth opened. Closed.
I hadn't planned an excuse. I'd only planned my escape.
"I-" My voice failed. I swallowed. "I was just-"
He raised a hand.
Just like that, the conversation ended. "Just," he repeated quietly, as if tasting the word. His gaze slid over me-not hurried, not curious. Assessing. Measuring.
"You were instructed to stay in your room."
"Yes," I said, barely audible.
I lifted my chin anyway. "I didn't know your instructions came with handcuffs."
Silence snapped tight between us.
One of the men shifted.
Carlino's eyes darkened.
And then he smiled.
"Careful," he said softly. "Defiance has a cost here."
He took a step closer.
"And you're about to find out how expensive it is." He stopped in front of me.
Too close.
His cologne hit me then-dark, expensive, layered with smoke. His gaze dropped to my bare feet before lifting back to my face, slow and deliberate.
"You think rules don't apply to you?" he asked.
"No," I whispered. "I just thought-"
"Thinking," he cut in calmly, "is what gets people killed in houses like this." The words settled heavy between us.
Then he turned his head slightly. "They're waiting."
One of the men beside him nodded once.
I frowned. "Waiting for...?"
"For me," he said. "And now-for you."
My heart stuttered. "Me?"
"You've inconvenienced me," he replied evenly. "Which means you're going to be useful. So you don't get punished."
Useful.
He stepped past me, already moving, already certain.
"Kitchen," he said over his shoulder. "Now."
I hesitated-just a second. Then I followed. Hesitation felt like a gamble, and I didn't have the luxury of losing.
The kitchen was vast. Steel. Stone. Spotless. No maids. No voices. Just silence and the steady hum of refrigeration.
He entered behind me, shrugging off his coat and handing it to one of the guards. "You'll prepare something light," he said. "Fast."
I stared at him. "I-I don't know what-"
His eyes snapped to mine. "You know how to cook," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Good." He leaned against the counter, arms folding. "Enough for my guests. Nothing elaborate. They're here to talk, not dine."
My hands trembled as I moved toward the counter. I opened drawers at random, forcing myself to slow down.
Breathe.
Bread. Tomatoes. Olive oil. Cheese.
I could do this.
Behind me, I could feel his gaze-steady, unblinking. Not impatient. Not distracted. As if this moment mattered.
"Do you know who they are?" he asked.
I stiffened. "No."
"That's good," he said. "It'll keep you alive."
I sliced the tomatoes too thin at first. Corrected myself. My fingers slipped-the knife nicked skin.
I sucked in a breath.
"Careful," he said mildly. "Blood doesn't belong in food."
I pressed my finger to my lips. Iron bloomed on my tongue. The embarrassment burned worse than the cut.
Voices drifted in from the adjoining room-deep, accented, confident. Laughter without warmth. Chair scraping. Power settling into place.
I arranged the bread, drizzled oil, laid out cheese and cured meat the way my mother had taught me. Simple. Respectful. Italian without trying too hard.
When I finished, I stepped back. He approached the counter, inspected the spread.
For a moment, I braced myself.
Then he nodded once.
"You learn quickly," he said. After a beat, quieter, "Disobedience aside."
Our eyes met. Something unreadable passed between us.
"You will serve," he added. "You'll speak only if spoken to. You'll keep your eyes down."
"Yes."
"And Lina."
I froze with the tray half-lifted. I looked at him.
"Let this be the last time you mistake curiosity for freedom."
His voice wasn't cruel.
That was the worst part.
I lifted the tray with both hands and followed him into the room full of men who could decide my fate without ever learning my name.
As the doors closed behind me, something settled into place with terrifying clarity.
In this house, even punishment was precise.
And survival would demand more than obedience.
You may also like
8.7
Alessia Marino is a regular nanny until she is hired to care for the Mafia King's children.
Enzo Rossi is the stunningly attractive King of Mafia, but his ex-wife cheated on him. He would have murdered her, but he does not want his children to know he killed their mother.
He has no time for children, and every nanny that comes along tries to cling to him rather than the children; this is his final straw, and maybe his second love.
What if they become entangled in a love that refuses to end?
8.9
Isabella Romano is the neglected princess of her family, casted away unknowingly by her father, she has lived with her mother all her life, seeking some fatherly love but she learnt to stop caring. Now after a reckless night she finds herself tangled in the sheets of a man she was told to always hate. Vladimir Volkov. A man far more scary that what she has been told, he is not just the boogeyman he is the one you send to kill the boogeyman. Imagine her shock when she finds out she hasn't just gotten the attention of The Russian Don but is also carrying his child
Follow the hate to love relationship of isabella and Vladimir and watch how they navigate their life in his dark world that he dragged her to, making her and his unborn child a target to the new arising enemy that aims to destroy both the Italians and the Russians.
9.3
She's sin wrapped in a nun habit.
He is the devil who makes her want to confess.
Luciano Moretti, the mafia's most feared enforcer, kills without hesitation, prays to no god, and bleeds for the Cosa Nostra.
Sister Elizabeth has spent her life behind church walls, burying her desires under layers of penance and prayer. She is supposed to be untouchable-a quiet, secluded nun devoted to faith.
But when she finds him bleeding on the altar one night, their worlds collide in a sin neither heaven nor hell can cleanse.
He's meant to marry her sister to seal a deal between two mafia empires.
She's meant to keep her vows and distance.
But temptation has a cruel sense of humour...
Because he's the last man she should want.
She's the only woman he can't have.
But one touch, one look, and everything sacred begins to crumble.
Luciano does not seek salvation. Instead, he lures her into a dangerous path, one that includes everything she is meant to avoid, and everytime she whispers "forgive me, Father," her soul sinks deeper into him.
As bloodlines clash and loyalty turns to betrayal, Elizabeth learns that the war outside the chapel isn't the only one she must survive. Because Luciano's world is built on violence and secrets, one of which binds her fate to his in ways neither of them saw coming.
Desire clashes with devotion.
Duty turns to betrayal.
And when they're both drowning in a love so forbidden, not even God can save them.
7.7
My husband, Hudson Higgins, used my dowry to buy his way into the Chicago underworld while his family treated me like a servant in my own home. I endured their insults for the sake of my five-year-old daughter, Josie.
But then, the unthinkable happened. I found Josie's small, lifeless body by the garden fountain, while my sister-in-law Karly and mother-in-law Eleanor stood by, complaining about their party plans.
"She was just too naughty," Karly sneered, adjusting her pearls over my dead child.
When I turned to Hudson for help, he looked at me with dead eyes and told me it was just her fate. In that moment of absolute grief, I remembered the words of the ruthless Don Damien Falcone: "Your husband is a man who knows how to close a deal."
The truth sliced through me like a blade. Hudson hadn't just ignored the Don's interest in me; he had actively sold me to the Devil of Chicago to buy his seat at the table. He let his family punish me for the very sin he committed.
I had lost everything-my dignity, my mother, and now my baby-all sacrificed for a man who traded his wife's body for power. The sorrow in my chest evaporated, replaced by a scorching, blinding thirst for a blood vendetta.
After lunging at Hudson and feeling the world explode into white, I opened my eyes to find myself back in the winter of 1928. It was the exact night the nightmare began, and Don Damien Falcone was walking toward me in his penthouse.
This time, I won't be the broken bird in his gilded cage. If Hudson wants to use me to climb the ranks, I will use the Don's dark obsession to burn the Higgins family to the ground.
8.9
I spent five years protecting Grafton Mcleod, the ruthless King of Chicago. Not because I loved him, but because I swore a blood oath to his dying brother to keep him alive.
On the day my contract ended, I placed my resignation on his desk.
Grafton didn't just refuse it; he laughed.
"You don't resign, Cayla. You belong to me."
He thought I was a jealous, obsessed assistant in love with him. He let his cruel fiancée, Cherrelle, torment me daily.
He forced me to drain my own blood to save her after she faked an accident.
He threw me into a freezing fountain when she lied about me pushing her.
But the final straw came when he dragged me to a syndicate gala. He didn't take me as a guest. He put me on stage, in a silk dress and a collar, and sold me to his enemy for five million dollars.
"This is what happens to property that misbehaves," he sneered as the gavel came down.
I escaped that night, but I didn't run away. I drove to the bridge where his brother died.
I left my phone on the railing and let the icy water take me, finally free of my debt.
It was only when Grafton stood on that bridge, holding my cracked phone, that he learned the truth.
He unlocked it and saw my wallpaper. It wasn't him. It was his dead brother.
And the diary inside revealed that the woman he was about to marry was the one who had ordered the hit that killed him.
7.1
"You broke the first rule, Princess. That means I get to take something from you. I'll start with this," he said, tugging at my panties and a needy throb ran straight through my core.
"Kyren, don't," I tried but it was to no avail.
He roughly pulled at the flimsy material, covering my most intimate part. The sound of lace ripping, filled the room. And the cool air from the AC bit into my exposed skin.
His hands slid up my back. He unclasped my bra with ease and it soundlessly dropped to the floor. His gaze raked over my trembling form with a satisfied hunger.
"You're not a cheerleader tonight. You're just mine. And I'm going to spend the next few hours showing you exactly what happens when you break my rules," he stated, before pushing my legs wide open with his knee.
××
Hailey thought she could handle the "Ice King." She thought she could seduce him, win the bet, and walk away with her heart intact. But Kyren sees right through her games. He doesn't want her seduction, he wants her submission.
As the lines between a dare and reality blur, Hailey finds herself trapped between her father's expectations and a man who wants to claim every inch of her. In a game where the rules keep changing, Hailey is about to learn that the Ice King doesn't just freeze people out... he burns them down.