Bound to the Mafia King

In the dim corner of an opulent suite—where the golden candlelight danced over silk and marble—the silence between us grew suffocating.

My dress hung in torn shreds, the delicate threads slipping down my pale skin. The lavish décor of the room couldn't shield me from the cold bite of this moment.

His low, mocking laughter shattered the stillness, cutting through the air like the edge of a knife.

"This," he drawled, his voice dripping with ice-cold scorn, "is what happens to those who dare slap a man fresh out of the bath."

Heat flooded my face, a mix of shame and fury. My fingers clutched desperately at the ripped fabric, trying to cover what little dignity I had left.

But before I could spit out a single word… he moved.

That smirk vanished from his face. Instantly.

Something darker slid into his eyes.

He walked toward me—slow, deliberate, like a storm gathering weight with every step.

And then… he was right there. Close enough for my breath to falter.

His broad frame consumed the space between us, and suddenly, there was nowhere left to run.

He raised his hand—slow, steady—and braced it against the wall behind me.

Caging me in.

He didn't touch me… but somehow, it was worse than if he had.

My whole body tensed. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for—what, exactly? I didn't know.

Seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

I cracked my eyes open… and froze.

He was staring at me in utter, merciless silence.

His gaze… those eyes weren't blue like the sea.

No. They were the depths of an ocean trench—cold, endless, and terrifyingly calm.

I felt myself drowning, pulled into a place where I could no longer breathe.

And just as I began to lose myself completely—

A soft knock broke through the quiet.

A timid voice floated from beyond the door.

"M-my lord… Did you call for me?"

His voice didn't change. He didn't even glance away as he answered, his words as steady as gravity itself.

"Yes, Miri. Come in."

The door creaked open.

Only then did he pull back, slow and smooth, as if removing a weight I hadn't realized was suffocating me.

My knees nearly buckled.

Without sparing me a second glance, he spoke, utterly detached:

"Take the young lady. Change her dress."

The maid curtsied, her face carefully blank despite the tension thick in the room.

"As you wish, my lord"

But before I could retreat in burning humiliation, his gaze slanted toward me again—a slow, poisonous smile curling his lips.

"Be careful which doors you open, little lady… Not every door should be walked through."

My throat burned with words I couldn't say. My pride wanted to fight back, to slap that arrogant look right off his face.

But I just glared at him in icy silence—my body trembling even as I kept my face blank.

Then I followed the maid, every step a battlefield between rage and shame simmering beneath my skin.

✦ ✦ ✦

Zoe:

The cold night air bit into my cheeks as I walked deeper into the back garden, each step crunching softly against the damp grass beneath my heels.

Shadows danced around me, flickering with every sway of the lanterns hanging from the trees—ghostly shapes twisting in and out of existence.

The wind teased through my long chestnut hair, tugging at the strands like invisible fingers. It felt almost as if the night itself was conspiring against me.

Everything was too quiet. Too cold.

Cold enough to remind me that I was utterly alone here, surrounded by towering trees that concealed far more than they revealed.

I muttered under my breath, my voice sharp with frustration as I scanned every corner of the garden:

"If I don't find her soon, I swear I'll kill her…"

I hated men. Hated getting dragged into their messes.

But damn it—my heart wouldn't stop pounding with worry.

And then… a voice.

Low. Smooth.

Laced with something dark—like midnight honey, slipping right into my ears.

"Lost, are you?"

I spun around, instincts snapping sharp. My body stiffened instantly.

There, beneath the shadow of an ancient tree, stood a man who looked like he had been carved straight out of the night itself.

Silver hair glimmered faintly under the dim lantern light, and his dark eyes…

God. How could someone's eyes carry that much wicked amusement and danger at once?

He leaned lazily against the tree, half a smirk playing at his lips, watching me with bold, unapologetic curiosity—like a cat sizing up its prey.

His voice was deep, deliberate, as though savoring every word:

"You don't seem like the type who gets lost…

More like the type who makes others lose their way."

My brow arched, and I shot him a cold, cutting glare, my words dripping with ice:

"And you don't seem like the type I'd ever bother caring about."

He chuckled—low and quiet—his laughter curling through the night air like smoke.

"Blunt," he murmured, amused. "I like that."

He took a step toward me.

Slow. Lazy.

Confident in that infuriating way that only men like him seemed to master.

Still, I didn't move.

His gaze pinned me in place, holding me there without a single touch.

I could almost feel his presence wrapping around me like a noose.

Then he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper—smooth but sharp beneath the silk, like a dagger hidden in velvet:

"Be careful, fiery one… Men like me aren't the kind you open doors for easily. We don't leave once we step inside."

I let a cold smile curl at the corner of my lips, my voice razor-sharp and unapologetic:

"I don't open doors. Especially for men like you…"

He smiled—slow and dangerous—as if thoroughly entertained.

Then, without warning, he brushed past me, his shoulder grazing mine in a deliberate, featherlight touch.

Electricity sparked through my skin, sharp and sudden.

He leaned down, his breath ghosting against my ear, his words slicing into me with cool precision:

"We'll meet again… fiery girl."

And just like that, he vanished—melting back into the shadows as if he'd never been there at all.

I stood frozen, breathless, my hand pressing against my racing heart, trying to steady its wild, reckless pounding.

I cursed under my breath, biting my lip hard:

"Arrogant bastard."

But my eyes…

My eyes stayed locked on the place where he'd disappeared.

Because deep down…

I knew I hadn't closed that door yet.

✦ ✦ ✦

I descended the staircase slowly, every step cautious against the polished marble steps. My fingers curled instinctively around the cold handrail, gripping it tightly—whether to steady myself or to stop myself from turning back, I wasn't sure.

The cool touch of my new cream dress brushed against my skin, its silky fabric slipping along my legs with every step. It felt as though it had been spun from air itself—light, delicate… revealing far more than it concealed.

The thin ribbon cinched tightly around my waist, reminding me just how trapped I was amid all these watchful eyes.

My golden hair cascaded softly over my shoulders, the strands swaying slightly as I moved, serving as my shield—hiding me from the gazes that seemed to pierce through everything.

And my face… pale, drained—as if I had just walked away from a war.

I could feel every pulse beneath my skin, each beat cold and heavy.

Then, right at that moment, I saw her—Zoe—entering from the garden's back door. Her steps were brisk, her eyes ablaze with frustration, her face flushed with impatience as she scanned the hall, hunting for something… or maybe, for me.

It took only seconds before our eyes locked.

As always, she didn't let me escape.

She marched right toward me, her footsteps sharp and unwavering, seizing my wrist—her grip soft on the surface, yet laced with quiet fierceness.

She leaned in, her voice a hushed, furious whisper:

"Sit down. Now. Before I lose my temper."

I let myself follow her, powerless to resist… and honestly, I had no will left to fight her.

She guided me to one of the tables near the center of the ballroom—where most eyes were already gathered—and there, I sat beside her in silence, my trembling fingers resting upon my lap, tracing the soft edges of my dress in a desperate attempt to ground myself.

The air inside the hall was suffocating, a heady mix of rich perfumes, murmured conversations, and bursts of laughter rising around us.

Everything was shimmering—tense—like the entire place was holding its breath, waiting for something inevitable to happen.

And then… silence fell.

A deep, masculine voice echoed from the stage—dripping with mockery and confidence—as he spoke:

"Ladies and gentlemen… this is the moment you've all been waiting for."

The air seemed to shudder with the weight of his words, as the lights began to dim, cloaking the hall in a half-shadowed glow.

He continued, his voice like silk dragging us into his snare:

"Tonight, every young lady will find her partner… not by luck, but by fate. And gentlemen, your partners have already been chosen."

Soft chuckles rippled through the crowd, but all I felt was a chill creeping down my spine.

"I will now announce the pairs," he said smoothly, "and each gentleman shall step forward… and take his partner's hand for the dance."

My heartbeat turned chaotic in my chest as I sat there, helplessly watching one pair after another as their names were called.

One by one, the men approached their partners, extending their hands with poised elegance—each clad in dark, tailored suits—escorting them slowly toward the center of the ballroom, where the spotlight awaited their dance.

The entire event felt like some ancient ritual—inescapable, inevitable.

Then, after calling the first two pairs, his voice rang out again—slowly, almost savoring every name:

"Mister Raine Ferrara… and Miss Zoe Moretti."

I felt Zoe's breath hitch beside me, her gaze freezing in place.

A silver-haired man… emerging from the crowd with a slow, deliberate stride, his dark eyes locked solely on her, the same wicked smirk curling at his lips.

He reached out his hand toward her—unhurried—his words too soft to hear, yet I could see his lips move as he whispered something to her.

She hesitated, visibly fuming, before reluctantly placing her hand in his.

A few tense seconds passed before the voice returned, now laced with a chilling calmness:

"Mister Aren Falco… and Miss Rina Kagawa."

I froze.

My name… My name.

I could feel every eye in the room shift toward me.

Every drop of blood drained from my face.

And there he was—standing in the shadows.

Tall.

Commanding.

His piercing blue eyes glimmered under the faint lights, his gaze sharp, merciless.

It was him… that man.

I couldn't move.

But he did.

He walked toward me—slow, unrushed—as though the entire world stepped aside to clear his path.

When he finally stopped in front of me, he extended his hand toward me, his cold, unreadable smile still resting on his lips.

Everything inside me screamed to refuse him, to run.

But my legs betrayed me.

My hand trembled… but it reached out toward his, almost against my will.

The touch of his skin was cold—hard—like ice itself.

I rose with him, feeling as though I were sinking deeper with every breath.

And then, in an instant… the spotlight engulfed the four of us.

Me and him.

Zoe and that silver-haired man.

The world around us faded—vanished—as though the entire ballroom existed only as a curtain behind us.

Everyone was watching.

And now… it had begun.

Tonight, every door—without exception—would open.

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{ His hand tightened around mine with a deadly chill…

And when he smiled calmly, I knew—without a doubt—that I had fallen into the trap.

I just didn't know yet which was more dangerous:

the dance… or the dancer. }