The Mafia's Favourite Toy

Flourish write

Mafia | Ongoing

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Elena Hart's life is a delicate balance of survival and dreams, scraping by as an artist while raising her teenage brother after their parents' untimely deaths. But when her brother makes a fatal mistake stealing from the notorious Moretti mafia family their fragile world shatters. To protect him, Elena strikes a desperate bargain with the ruthless and enigmatic Dante Moretti, a man who commands loyalty with a glance and fear with a whisper. Bound to serve him in a shadowy, dangerous world she barely understands, Elena vows to keep her guard up against Dante's unnerving charm and steely control. But Dante has secrets of his own, and Elena is more than just a pawn in his game. As their lives intertwine, the lines between captor and captive blur, sparking a dangerous attraction that neither can resist. When betrayal and buried truths come to light, Elena must decide how far she's willing to go for love, for freedom, and for the one person she swore to protect. In a world where power is everything and trust is a luxury, who will come out on top and who will pay the ultimate price?

Modern Betrayal Forced love Sexual slave Mafia Arrogant/Dominant

Chapter 20 20

01-22 11:09

Chapter 1 1

The subway car rattled along its tracks, a screech of metal against metal reverberating through the stale air. Elena Hart clutched the strap of her worn leather bag, her other hand gripping the pole to steady herself against the erratic lurches. It was late-far later than she liked to be out-but the freelance life didn't allow for luxury, let alone security.

Her sketchpad was tucked beneath her arm, filled with the pencil strokes of a commission she wasn't even sure would pay her rent this month. The client was demanding, though the fee paled in comparison to her hours of effort. Still, it was work, and work was survival.

The train slowed, the overhead lights flickering. Elena glanced up at the garbled announcement of the next stop. She counted two more before she could walk the dimly lit blocks back to her apartment.

Her thoughts shifted to Jamie, her sixteen-year-old brother, probably still awake despite her warnings. He was always tinkering with something-an old laptop he was trying to resurrect, or the latest gaming console he'd somehow traded for online. She loved his restless energy, but it worried her too. There were rules to living in a city like this: keep your head down, don't draw attention, and for God's sake, don't owe anyone anything.

The train doors hissed open. A rush of cold air followed a pair of men in tailored suits as they entered. Something about them immediately set her nerves on edge. Maybe it was the confidence in their stride or the way their eyes swept the car with practiced detachment. They didn't belong here-not on this line, not at this hour.

Elena shifted her weight and looked away, pretending to examine the peeling advertisement above the seats. She could feel them though, their presence oppressive as they stood at the other end of the car. She wasn't sure why, but her stomach knotted.

Her stop couldn't come fast enough.

When the train finally screeched to a halt, she was the first to step out. The fluorescent lighting on the platform was as harsh as it was unreliable, casting shadows that seemed to reach for her as she hurried toward the stairs. Her heartbeat quickened, and she chided herself.

"Don't be paranoid," she muttered under her breath, the sound swallowed by the empty space around her.

But as she ascended the stairs to the street, her unease grew. The chilly November air nipped at her skin, and her boots clicked against the cracked pavement. She glanced over her shoulder.

No one.

Still, she picked up her pace, weaving through the sparse crowd of late-night pedestrians. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, and she told herself to focus on the light spilling out of the corner bodega up ahead.

As she reached for the handle of the store's door, a hand clamped over her wrist.

Her breath hitched, and she spun around, yanking free. A man stood before her, dressed in a sleek black suit, his face sharp and angular. He was taller than her by a head, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Elena Hart," he said, his voice smooth but cold.

Her name on his lips felt like a threat.

"I think you've got the wrong person," she replied, stepping back toward the door.

The man smirked. "I don't think I do."

Her stomach twisted. Who was this man, and how did he know her name?

"I don't know you," she said firmly. "Leave me alone."

Before she could take another step, he gestured. Out of the shadows, two more men appeared, boxing her in. The fluorescent lights above the bodega flickered, casting their silhouettes across the cracked pavement.

"Let's not make this harder than it has to be," the man said, his tone calm, almost conversational.

"What do you want?" Her voice was steady, though her heart hammered in her chest.

"Your brother," he replied, tilting his head slightly, as if studying her reaction. "Jamie Hart. Ring a bell?"

The blood drained from her face.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb, Miss Hart. It doesn't suit you." He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a sleek phone. He tapped the screen, then turned it toward her.

It was a grainy security photo of Jamie. He was in the back of a store, reaching into a cash register. Elena recognized the place-a convenience store a few blocks from their apartment.

Her world tilted.

"What-what did he do?" she stammered.

The man pocketed the phone, his expression hardening. "He stole from the wrong people. My employer doesn't take kindly to being crossed."

"Elena, right?" He took a step closer. "You're going to help us fix that."

Panic clawed at her chest, but she squared her shoulders. "I don't have anything to give you. We're barely scraping by as it is."

"You misunderstand," he said, his smile chilling. "This isn't about money. It's about loyalty."

Before she could respond, another voice cut through the tense air, smooth as velvet and steeped in authority.

"That's enough."

The men parted like the Red Sea, and a figure stepped into the light.

He was tall and imposing, his tailored suit fitting him perfectly, his dark hair neatly combed back. But it was his eyes that held her captive-piercing, calculating, and utterly devoid of mercy.

"Dante Moretti," he introduced himself, as though she should know who he was.

She did. Everyone in the city did. The head of the Moretti family, a man whispered about in dark corners and warned against in hushed tones.

Elena's knees nearly buckled. Whatever her brother had gotten into, it was far worse than she'd imagined.