OWNED BY THE VICIOUS MAFIA LORD: Sold to the highest bidder

There are times in your life when everything feels too perfect to go wrong. Mine wasn’t like that. At the height of perfection, it all shattered.

One moment, I was in my home, surrounded by warmth, laughter, and the smell of fresh paint on my canvas. The next, I was drowning in the stench of death, mold, and something far more sinister.

The world I knew was gone. Now, I existed in a nightmare.

A sudden explosion of ice-cold water crashed against my body, wrenching me back to reality. I gasped, choking on the bitter, metallic taste that seeped into my mouth. Blood. Sweat. Dirt. It slid down my skin like a second layer of filth, making me shudder violently.

"Up, whore."

The voice was sharp, dripping with cruel amusement. A heavy boot pressed against my ribs, nudging me like I was nothing more than a discarded rag. My body jerked, but my hands—bound in thick, rusted chains—held me in place.

A sharp sting ran through my wrists where the metal bit into my skin. The scent of rotting flesh, damp wood, and stale sex clung to the air, suffocating me. A wave of nausea rolled through me.

I was blindfolded. But I didn’t need my eyes to know where I was.

A hellhole. A place where women were stripped of their dignity, their screams swallowed by the decay around them.

"It would be a shame to kill her. A face like that is worth too much to waste..."

I sucked in a breath as I remembered the very last word said to me before I passed out. I swallowed, trying to stay calm, but the images rushed back. My parents. Their blood trailing behind me as I was dragged away.

They had killed them all! My parents were murdered right in my very face.

And that moment, every thought I had to stay calm gave way to the anger and pain pulling me to the abyss. I thrashed against the chains, ignoring the pain slicing through my skin. "Where the fuck am I?!" My voice cracked, raw and hoarse. "What did you do to my family?!"

A hand shot out, grabbing my chin. The grip was crushing, forcing my head up. Fingers—rough, filthy, and reeking of old sweat—dug into my skin."

Shut it, bitch," the man spat. His breath was rancid, a mixture of alcohol and rot. "Or I’ll gladly stuff that filthy little mouth of yours with every cock I can find.”

"Ricco." Another voice. Colder. Sharper. Deadly. "Don’t touch my merchandise."

Ice slid down my spine. I knew that voice. That voice had pulled the trigger. That voice had slit my sister’s throat open like she was nothing. 

"You—" My voice shook, not from fear, but from the sheer force of hatred surging through me. "You fucking bastard! You killed them! You killed them!"

"Ah, you remember." A slow chuckle followed, devoid of warmth. The kind of laugh that belonged to someone who had never felt remorse a day in his life. "Good. But you’re still asking the wrong questions."

A deep, menacing silence followed. God I hated myself. My family was killed by him, I would recognize him anywhere. 

I felt him step closer. The air grew thick, suffocating, his presence swallowing the room whole like a looming shadow. My breath hitched, but not out of fear—never fear.

Hell, the only thing I wanted was to drive my fingers deep into his chest and rip his heart out myself.

"You should be asking why you’re still alive," he murmured. "Because, Angel, that’s the real tragedy."

“You bast—”

A crack of pain exploded across my face cutting my words short. My head snapped to the side, heat blooming where his palm struck me. The sharp sting should have made me flinch, should have made me cower.

But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

A low chuckle slithered through the air. "While I appreciate others calling me a bastard, I don’t take it from a dick-sucking cunt like you," he hissed, his breath a rancid mix of alcohol and drugs.

Slowly, I turned my head back, my lips curling into a twisted smirk. "Hit me all you want. It won’t change the fact that you’re nothing but a pathetic coward hiding behind a gun."

He laughed. A deep, sinister sound.

"That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble," he mused. "But that’s not my problem anymore."

I stiffened. Not his problem?

"What do you mean?"

"Let’s just say..." He exhaled, boredom dripping from his voice. "You're worth more alive than dead."

My stomach twisted. "You’re selling me off."

A pause.

Then, a low chuckle. "You're quick. That’s good." His tone shifted, amusement laced with something darker. "I’d keep you myself, but debts have to be paid. And you, my dear, are the ultimate price."

The world tilted. My breath hitched. I wanted to scream, to claw at his face, to sink my teeth into his throat and tear him apart.

But I was chained. Helpless.

His footsteps retreated, the sound of his boots echoing against the rotting floorboards.

"Get her ready."

A pair of hands—slender, but firm gripped my arms. I flinched, expecting more cruelty.

“What is he talking about?” I asked no one in particular, my voice raw, my wrists throbbing as someone unbound me.

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

The voice was female, sharp, impatient. Not kind. Not sympathetic.

I tensed. “Why? Am I just supposed to shut up and obey? I’m not going to be that kind of girl for a bunch of murderers!” Rage clawed at my throat. She was a woman like me, yet she stood on their side. How could she stomach this?

“For your own good, little girl, you should.” Her voice was laced with something I couldn’t quite place. Pity, maybe. Or amusement. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

Before I could respond, she yanked me up by my hair. Pain ripped through my scalp, dragging a groan from my lips as my knees scraped against the cold, filthy ground.

“Where… where are you taking me?” The question sli

pped out before I could swallow it.

“To the auction floor.”

Her grip tightened.

“Now shut up.”