Owned by the Mafia King
Emilie's pov:
'I offered myself to the devil to pay off a debt.'
The moment the black car pulled up outside my apartment, I knew my life was no longer mine.
My palms were damp. My throat was dry, but I didn’t hesitate. I opened the door and stepped in, trading freedom for survival.
The man waiting for me inside didn’t smile.
I could see him from inside his car, looking so unbothered.
I almost peed my pants as I walked towards the car.
His name is Milo Petrov.
The name was enough to make grown men piss themselves. He ruled the Russian underworld with an iron fist and a mind colder than Siberian winters.
Milo Petrov was the last person I thought I'd get entangled with.
He was ruthless, merciless, even to his own son. He is everything the devil was.
Now, his eyes devoured me.
His stare was cold, sharp and unapologetic.
“You're Emilie,” he said, his voice low like a purr that could turn into a growl at any moment.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“You're younger than I expected.”
“I turned nineteen last month.”
Milo’s gaze lingered on me. Not in the way boys looked at girls. No. This was the way a wolf sizes up the deer it just cornered. His silence stretched, curling around me like smoke, it was suffocating.
“Your father owed me twenty thousand euros,” he said, lounging back like a king on a throne. “Instead, he offered his daughter. Interesting.”
I swallowed hard. “I agreed.”
He tilted his head, studying me with mild amusement. “Brave. Or stupid. I haven’t decided yet.” He suggested I come inside the car with a nod.
I sat stiffly across from him, gripping the hem of my coat, determined not to tremble. “I came here to settle the debt. I’ll do what’s required of me.”
A cruel smile flickered on his lips. “Ty ponyátiya ne imeyésh', chto éto znáchet.(You have no idea what that means.)”
No, I didn’t. But I had no choice. My father’s drunken gambling had left our lives hanging by a thread. If Milo hadn’t accepted me, he would’ve taken everything else.
His gaze dropped to my legs, bare beneath my short black dress. “Did your father dress you like that, or did you want to impress me?”
“I dressed myself,” I said, voice steady, though my skin burned.
"Vpechatlyáyet (impressive)" Milo smirked.
He leaned forward, slowly, like a predator approaching a trembling fawn. His fingers brushed my chin, tilting my face up so our eyes locked.
“You will live in my penthouse. Eat what I give you. Wear what I choose. Speak only when I allow it. You will only obey me.”
I blinked, refusing to look away.
“And if I refuse?” I asked.
His smile vanished. “You won’t.”
The car sped through the city, tinted windows sealing me in a world far from anything I’d known. By the time we reached his skyscraper, my pulse was a steady roar in my ears.
We stepped into a private elevator. Alone with him, I was painfully aware of every inch of space between us. He didn’t touch me…. Not yet, he didn’t need to.
His presence alone consumed everything.
When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into a world of marble and gold. The penthouse was sleek, modern, and cold, just like him.
“Boris will watch over you. Irina will help you settle in,” Milo said, already turning away.
I should have let him leave. I should have kept my mouth shut. But something reckless stirred inside me.
“I thought I was here to belong to you.”
He stopped.
Turned.
Walked back toward me like a storm ready to break.
“Ty prinadlezhísh’ mnye, dětka ( You belong to me, darling),” he said, voice dark with promise. “But I decide when I’ll take what’s mine.”
The air left my lungs as he backed me against the wall, his hand braced beside my head. His mouth was inches from mine, his breath warm, and intoxicating.
"Ya ne iz tekh, kto ber’yot devstvennits nézhno, Émili. (I’m not the kind of man who takes virgins gently, Emilie.)" hearing how smoothly he called my name with his Russian accent,made shivers run down my spine.
My heart stuttered. “How do you know I’m…?”
His fingers brushed the side of my neck. “I always know.”
I should have been scared. And I was. But not of him hurting me.
I was scared of how badly I wanted him to.
What the fuck is this bizarre feelings?.
Why am I oddly attracted to him?.
I must be out of my mind.
He pulled away, as if sensing the war inside me.
“Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll go over the rules. And Emilie,” he added, pausing at the door, “if you try to run, I won’t kill you. I’ll kill him.”
My father. He would kill my father if I try to run.
The door shut with a soft click, but the echo of his threat rang louder than any scream.
My father was the cause of everything. If he hasn't sqandered our money, sold our properties and took a loan, all these would have been averted.
But no. He choose to be a pain in the ass.
I stood in front of the mirror later that night, still wearing the black dress I’d chosen so carefully. I thought I looked confident when I left home. Now I looked like a lamb in a butcher’s shop, ready to be sliced.
My fingers grazed the silk bedsheets, the chandelier above the bed glinting like a crown. This room was fit for a queen.
But I wasn’t a queen. I was a debt.
And tomorrow, the devil would begin collecting.
As I sank into the bed, I didn’t cry.
I thought about Andrew, his soft smile, the gentle way he held my hand when we were younger. He used to whisper that he’d protect me. That he’d marry me someday.
He didn’t know I now belonged to his father.
And if he ever found out, it would destroy him.
I closed my eyes. The silk pillow was cool against my cheek, but my skin still burned from Milo’s gaze.
And even though I should’ve hated him, I didn’t.
Not yet. I guess.
