Mafia's Pet

The door opened, and Aria was guided down a long hallway by two men in black.

She walked without flinching.

Her hair was brushed back, sleek and dark, falling over her shoulders like silk. The pink dress hugged her softly, the lace sleeves making her look delicate , like a rose with hidden thorns. Her eyes stayed cold. Silent.

They entered the dining hall.

It was massive. A long mahogany table stretched across the room, lit by gold chandeliers above. Velvet curtains framed the tall windows. The floor beneath her heels was polished black marble.

At the far end, seated alone , Dante Moretti.

He didn't look up right away. He was eating. Calm, slow, with perfect posture.

When he finally glanced her way, his eyes flicked down from her face to the dress.

Then back up.

He smirked.

"You clean up well," he said casually. "Though you still look like you'd stab me with a fork."

Aria didn't smile. She walked over slowly and sat down, facing him across the table.

Dante tilted his head. "Eat."

"No," she said.

He raised a brow, still chewing. "Still stubborn."

"Why?" she asked quietly, her voice sharp. "Why all this? Why bring me here?"

He took a sip of his wine. "Because you're stubborn."

She blinked. That was it? That was the answer?

He leaned back in his chair, watching her reaction.

"I'm not a prostitute," she said.

Before she could explain further, Dante cut her off.

"Aria Bellini. Twenty-two. Born in Palermo. Mother, Maria Bellini , worked the streets of Riona Santina until she overdosed when you were sixteen. No father on record. You've worked eight different jobs. Waitress. Cleaner. Cashier. Dish girl. Never stayed more than a year. No boyfriend. No criminal record. And yet…"

He tapped the table lightly. "...somehow, you ended up in a club last night surrounded by girls half-dressed and ready to sell themselves."

She stared at him ,stunned.

"You had me followed?"

He smiled. "No. I did my homework after I bought you."

She gritted her teeth. "You didn't buy me. You donated to that hellhole. And now you can let me go."

"I paid eight million dollars, Aria."

"And I'm not a thing!," she snapped. "You don't get to put a price tag on me."

He leaned forward slightly. "I already did."

Her hands balled into fists on her lap. She breathed through her nose, trying to hold it together.

"I just want to live my life," she said, quieter this time. "A simple one. Not this. I'm not my mother."

Dante looked at her , the smile gone now. Not angry. Not amused. Just unreadable.

"You said you'd rather die than let me touch you," he said calmly. "So live… or fight. Your choice. But you don't leave. Not yet."

She looked away. Her throat burned, but she wouldn't cry.

Not here.

Not in front of him.

The second Dante stood up from the table, she expected one last comment , a smug smirk, a threat, something.

But he said nothing.

He just walked away, slow and casual, leaving his unfinished glass of wine behind.

The sound of the heavy door clicking shut echoed across the marble floor.

Aria sat frozen for a few seconds.

Then her stomach growled loud and sharp.

She looked down at the plate in front of her.

Grilled lamb, buttered potatoes, roasted vegetables, warm bread rolls, and something that smelled like it came from heaven itself.

She glanced toward the door.

Gone.

She stared at the food again.

"…Screw it."

She picked up the fork and dug in.

First bite ,the lamb practically melted on her tongue. Her eyes widened before she could stop herself.

Then the potatoes , perfectly crispy on the outside, soft and creamy inside. The bread? Still warm.

She forgot how real food tasted.

She wasn't chewing like an animal , no, Aria still had dignity ,but she didn't stop. One bite after another. Her shoulders relaxed a little. Her eyes softened.

It had been years since she felt full.

Between bites, she looked around the dining hall properly for the first time.

The walls were lined with expensive artwork. Massive glass windows overlooked the garden. There were gold accents everywhere, The table could seat twenty people… yet Dante had sat alone, at the farthest end.

"Why the hell is this room so big?" she muttered.

No one answered, of course.

She shook her head and took another bite.

He may have dragged her into this nightmare.

But this meal?

She was finishing it. Every last bite.

Aria wiped her mouth gently with the napkin, even though she'd practically inhaled the food.

For a moment, her stomach was full , the kind of full that made you sleepy.

She stared at the empty plates.

Then stood up, stacked them carefully, and picked them up to carry to the kitchen.

Old habits.

She walked down the hall, unsure where she was even going, when suddenly...

"Signorina!"

(Miss!)

A maid in a neat black uniform hurried toward her, heels clicking on the floor.

Aria froze mid-step.

The woman held out her hands. "Non deve fare questo. Non lavori qui."

(You don't have to do this. You don't work here.)

Aria blinked, confused. "Solo volevo aiutare."

(I just wanted to help.)

The maid smiled tightly , polite, but stiff. "Il Signor Moretti ha detto che sei... la nostra padrona. Nessun lavoro. Nessun tocco. Solo rispetto."

(Mr. Moretti said you're… our mistress. No work. No touching. Only respect.)

Aria's mouth opened, then closed.

She didn't even know what to say.

So she handed the plates over awkwardly, muttered, "Grazie…" and kept walking.

The mansion was too big.

Every hallway led to another , staircases curved in places they didn't need to. Rooms she passed looked like museum displays: art everywhere, furniture too elegant to sit on. She saw two libraries. A smoking room. A pool. A theater.

At some point, she just stopped walking.

It was too much.

This place wasn't a home.

It was a castle.

A maze.

A prison dressed up in gold.

She found a side door that led outside ,and stepped into the fresh air, needing to breathe. The sky was bright, the air smelled like lavender.

But as she walked across the stone patio, her eyes found the gates.

Far.

Tall.

Guarded.

She counted at least six men, all armed, standing at different points. Some looked bored. Others watched her like hawks.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

There were security cameras on the walls. She could almost feel them rotating, watching.

There was nowhere to go. Not yet.

But she whispered it to herself anyway:

"I'm going to get out of here."

She didn't know how.

Didn't know when.

But it was a promise.