CHAPTER- 3

Ace POV:

Ivan was bombarding me with questions, but honestly, she didn't seem dangerous at all.

I couldn't understand why Ivan was so serious about this.

Sure, I had found her in a strange situation, but she wasn't the kind of person who'd give us trouble.

Yet, he was treating her like she was some kind of high-risk target.

He kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he drove.

The girl and I sat in the back, the silence between us thick and awkward.

She kept her head down, her small frame practically curling into itself as if she wanted to disappear.

Despite her small size, I hoped she might be useful to me somehow.

I snapped my fingers to get her attention.

She flinched at the sound, her head jerking up slightly, but her eyes remained downcast, as if she was too scared or nervous to look at me.

Judging by her appearance, she couldn't have been more than 15 or 16 years old. Just a kid, really.

"Come ti chiami (What's your name?)", I asked, lighting a cigarette. The familiar scent of tobacco filled the car, mixing with the stale air.

I needed something to calm my nerves, and the cigarette was as good a solution as any.

The girl looked at me, her big doe eyes wide with confusion. It was clear she didn't understand Italian.

Great, just what I needed—another complication.

"Your name," I repeated. My voice came out rougher than I'd intended, a mixture of weariness and frustration.

She had this baby-faced appearance with doe eyes, pouty lips, fluffy cheeks, olive skin, slightly curly hair sticking to her head, and a red nose—probably from sniffing and rubbing it simultaneously.

"...I-Iris," she finally answered, her voice low and a little squeaky.

She spoke as if she was afraid of saying the wrong thing, her eyes darting around the car nervously.

I nodded, taking a long drag from my cigarette. "Age," I asked next, rubbing my temple with my free hand. The headache that had been building all day was getting worse.

"...17," she uttered, her gaze still fixed on my fingers as if they held some kind of secret she was trying to decipher.

I let out a slow breath, a mixture of relief and resignation washing over me.

"17," I muttered under my breath.

At least she wasn't 13.

That would have been a whole different mess to deal with. But still, she was young— too young to be mixed up in whatever had led her to this point.

I glanced at Iris once more, taking in her small, nervous frame. She seemed harmless, but something about the situation still nagged at me.

"Ottenere informazioni su di lei (Get information about her.)", I instructed Ivan, my voice low and firm.

"Si Capo (Yes boss.)," Ivan replied, his voice carrying the usual edge of professionalism.

He was always reliable, always efficient, but I could sense the confusion behind his sharp eyes. He didn't understand why I had brought her along, and frankly, I wasn't entirely sure myself. .

The car came to a smooth stop in front of the mansion, the grand structure looming in the dim evening light. Finally!

I instructed Ivan to take her to a room while I made some important calls.

He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before gesturing for Iris to follow him.

As they walked towards the mansion, I watched her small figure disappear through the doors, still trying to piece together why I felt compelled to bring her here.

Ivan POV:

I couldn't wrap my head around the boss's decision to bring this girl back with us. It was out of character for him.

I'd never seen him purchasing girls before. He never did or liked.

He was ruthless, calculated, always ten steps ahead. So what was he thinking?

As we walked through the mansion's grand halls, I kept glancing back at Iris. She followed quietly, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings.

She appeared innocent, but I wasn't going to fall for that trick.

I'd seen it too many times before—girls who appeared naïve, only to turn around and stab you in the back the moment you let your guard down.

When we reached the boss's room, I opened the door and motioned for her to enter. She hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, her movements cautious and unsure.

Once she was in, I closed the door behind us, making sure it clicked shut with a definitive sound.

"Stay here," I said, my voice firm as I stared her down. "The boss will be back soon. And don't try anything clever."

With that, I turned and left the room, shutting the door behind me. As I walked back through the hallways, I couldn't shake the feeling that this girl was going to bring trouble.

Ace POV:

It seemed like she didn't know proper etiquette.

She sat on the floor with her legs crossed, her small frame huddled close to the ground as if she were trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

It was an odd sight, one that I wasn't used to seeing.

Most people who found themselves in my presence either stood with a bravado that reeked of false confidence or shrunk back in terror, but this girl... she was different.

Her movements were jittery, unsure, as if she was trying to navigate through a minefield.

"Why are you sitting on the floor?" I asked, my voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity mixed with irritation.

I expected her to explain herself with the usual excuses, maybe even throw in some tears to gain sympathy, but she did something else entirely.

She quickly scrambled to her feet, almost tripping over herself in her haste to comply.

"I-I am sorry, sir," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly. "I don't think... it would be g-good manners to sit in your house without... y-your permission." The words came out rushed, each one laced with anxiety, as if she feared she was already treading on thin ice.

Her response caught me off guard.

There was something almost old-fashioned about the way she spoke, like she'd been taught to be overly cautious, to never assume she had the right to comfort or space without explicit permission.

It was unusual, especially in this world where most people were either defiant or deceptive, always trying to get the upper hand.

I couldn't help but be impressed. A submissive girl, indeed.

"Whatever," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm stressed out, so let's just get this over with." I wasn't in the mood to play games or deal with any unnecessary pleasantries.

She stared at me, her expression shifting to one of confusion. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she tilted her head.

"I don't understand, sir," she said, her frown deepening.

I glanced at her, annoyance creeping back into my tone. "I want you to kneel down and use your mouth for something more productive than talking," I said, my teeth clenching in frustration.

It was a blunt command, one I had given many times before, and I expected her to understand what I meant without further explanation.

She might look innocent, but in this world, appearances were often deceiving. But surely she would have understood what men like me wanted.

To my surprise, she immediately knelt before me. But instead of unzipping my pants or making any move toward what I had expected, she began to massage my legs.

Her small hands moved carefully, tentatively, as if she were unsure whether she was doing the right thing but determined to follow through anyway.

"What on earth are you doing?" I asked, bewildered by her actions.

"Y-You said you're stressed... so I am massaging your... l-legs, sir," she responded, her voice soft and uncertain.

She looked up at me with those same wide eyes, filled with a mix of nervousness and genuine concern, as if she were truly trying to help in the only way she knew how.

I blinked, taken aback. It wasn't just that she had misunderstood my command—it was the sincerity behind her actions.

There was no trace of cunning or deceit behind those gaze, no hint that she was trying to play a game.

She really didn't understand what I had meant, and instead, she was doing what she thought would ease my stress in the most innocent way possible.

"Get up, before I rip your eyes out of their sockets," I spat out, unable to mask the irritation in my voice.

She sat a few feet away now, her small body tense, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Her eyes were wide with fear, but she made no move to get up or run away.

Instead, she stayed there, staring at me with a mix of confusion and worry, as if she were trying to figure out what she had done wrong and how she could fix it.

For a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence. I stared down at her, my mind racing as I tried to process what had just happened.

She wasn't what I had expected at all, and that threw me off balance.

"Do you know why you're here and who I am?" I asked, rubbing my temples in an attempt to ease the throbbing headache that had been tormenting me for hours.

The dull ache behind my eyes was relentless, only adding to the irritation I felt toward the situation at hand.

My head is hurting. Fucking headaches.

She shook her head, her wide, innocent eyes reflecting a mixture of confusion and fear.

I couldn't tell if her naivety was genuine or if she was just pretending to be clueless. It was almost hard to believe someone could be this oblivious to the gravity of their situation.

"I'm Ace Salvatore, a Mafia leader," I stated bluntly, letting the weight of my words sink in. "You're here because the boy who brought you to the club sold you to me for one week."

Her eyes grew even wider, if that was possible, and her lips parted in shock. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, completely out of her depth.

"...M-Mafia, like the man who kills...people and...phew, phew...uses guns?" she asked, her voice trembling as she mimicked the sound of gunfire with her hands, making small, uncertain gestures.

I nodded, sitting back on the bed as I continued to watch her. Her fear seemed genuine, but there was something about her innocence that made me question how much she really understood.

It was as if she genuinely had no idea who I was or why she was here.

Her fear seemed real, but it was tinged with a childlike confusion that made me question everything about her.

"Sir, he is my...friend," she began, her voice quivering with anxiety.

"But he said you took me here to work...f-for you, and then you will...leave me," she finished, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes. She looked like she was on the verge of crying.

"So, you're telling me that you're okay with your so-called friend selling you to me?" I asked, my tone sharp and incredulous. "And you weren't forced?"

"No, sir! He... h-he tricked me," she stammered, her eyes darting around the room, avoiding my gaze. There was a desperation in her voice, a kind of raw vulnerability that made me pause.

It was clear she was scared, but there was also a strange sense of trust in her words, as if she believed that I might actually let her go.

She is naive and dumb for sure.

"How the fuck did he trick you, ragazza stupida (stupid girl)?" I asked, a trace of amusement creeping into my voice despite myself.

It was almost laughable how gullible she seemed.

"Well, sir," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Noah is my friend's friend, and he said we were going to get ice cream... but then he dragged me to a club, and... now I am h-here, sir," she explained, her voice laced with a mixture of confusion and resignation.

I stared at her for a moment, trying to process what I had just heard.

A 17-year-old girl, trusting a friend of a friend to take her out for ice cream, only to end up being sold to a Mafia leader.

Well, everything will be proven tomorrow.

"Sleep on the sofa and don't try to be smart," I ordered, my voice cold and detached. "If you do, I'll put six bullets in your fucking head without any mercy."

She nodded her head rapidly, her face pale with fear. She didn't argue or try to plead with me; she just accepted what I said with a quiet nod, as if she had already resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her.

My body was begging for rest, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with me.

If I had more energy, I might have pressed her for more details, tried to figure out if there was more to her story than what she was letting on.

But right now, all I wanted was to close my eyes and let sleep take over.

After freshening up, I settled into bed, the cool sheets a welcome relief against my aching muscles.

As I lay there, I glanced over at the sofa where she had curled up into a tight ball, her small frame trembling slightly.

She looked so fragile, so out of place in this world of violence and deception. It was almost hard to believe that someone like her could survive in a place like this.

The sound of her soft, stifled sobs was the last thing I heard before I drifted off into a restless slumber.

Iris POV:

I am dead for sure at this young age.

Maybe my back and shoulder hurts or whenever I stand up, my head spins for a few seconds but still! I am young.

Oh no, oh no...he's here.

What should I do? let's...pretend to sleep then he will leave eventually.

Nice plan! Iris sleep..sleep.

"Get up, your sleeping time is over. This is not your house," his abrasive voice pierces through my resolve, making me shiver to my core.

Mom, please save me – I promise never to leave home again if you do.

As I reluctantly stood up, the first thing my eyes landed on was his partially naked body, modestly covered only by a towel.

Disgusting! I immediately covered my eyes.

"Open your eyes, Piccola ragazza (Little girl). It's not like you haven't seen a man naked before," he said nonchalantly.

He's so shameless, God.

"Sir, could you please put something on? It's quite inappropriate. I...I mean it's y-your room...but it's inappropriate too...I am...here...to," I stammered, my anxiety evident in my voice.

"Una così piccola cosa innocente che ho qui (Such a little innocent thing I have here.)", he mocked, his tone dripping with condescension.

Slowly, I lowered my hands and saw that he had put on a shirt, though the towel still hung around his waist. Thank goodness.

I looked at him, puzzled, hoping he would explain what he had just said, but he offered no such clarification.

"When I come back, have the entire mansion cleaned and smelling fresh. Use the other bathroom and eat whatever the maids give you," he instructed before turning away and walking into another room.

Cleaning doesn't sound so bad; after all, it's something I've done my whole life.

How difficult can it be?