OWNED BY THE MAFIA

The training session ended even more brutally than yesterday. Severin was more aggressive, more violent as if something had crawled under his skin, and now he needed someone to bleed for it. That someone, as always, was Isolde.

He didn't even say a word when it was over. He just left her there, sprawled on the floor, her body screaming in pain after getting slammed into the ground over and over again.

.

.

.

Isolde's lunch plate was almost empty when Maxen walked into Room 429—this time, not alone. Mathias came with him.

Maxen grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet, his eyes scanning the bruises all over her body. The ones from yesterday's session had already turned dark. His eyes widened as the full extent of the damage registered.

"I heard from Nikhael that you're training with the Boss now, but what the fuck, Isolde? Why you? Why the hell would he train you? And what about that scar on your neck? How the fuck did that happen?" Maxen asked, shaking her slightly.

Isolde shoved his hands off her. "I stabbed myself. I wanted to die. That's your answer. Now get out. I don't have time for this. I need to go back underground after lunch."

Maxen stood frozen, and her jaw clenched hard at her words. Mathias looked just as pissed, eyes sharp like she'd just committed some crime.

"You tried to kill yourself?" Maxen's voice cracked. "Why? Why the fuck would you want to die?"

Isolde scoffed. "Who the fuck would want to live like this, Max? You wanna trade places with me? Be my guest. I've been assaulted, tortured, treated like a fucking object. You think I wanted this? You think I enjoy it? Every night that bastard comes to me and fucks me like I'm nothing, like I'm a goddamn sex doll that can't feel pain or scream. During the day, I get attacked by the people who work here because they see me as a threat. I'm trapped. I've forgotten what fresh air even feels like. This place is worse than prison. Worse than hell. I know I'm never getting out of here, Max. So yeah, I'd rather die than spend another fucking day in this place."

Isolde's eyes welled up, but the corner of her lips twisted into a bitter, mocking laugh aimed at herself. "You know what's fucking funny? Even death doesn't want me. I'm not allowed to leave. I'm not allowed to fight back. I'm not even allowed to have rights over my own damn body. And apparently, I'm not allowed to fucking die either."

A tear slipped down her cheek, but she hastily dried it away. "I was that close to freedom, even if it was the kind that came in the form of death. But you know what? Even that kind of freedom got ripped away from me."

Maxen reached out and gently touched her cheek. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't been caught by Lucien back then, none of this would've happened. I swear, Isolde, I'll get you out of here."

Isolde scoffed again and slapped his hand away from her face. "Don't make promises you're not sure you can keep, Max. How exactly do you plan on getting me out of here? Wait for your Boss to hand me over to you like a fucking gift? You really think that day's ever coming, when your Boss is obsessed with nothing but making me suffer?"

"I-I'll find another way," Maxen stammered.

"Another way? What way? Running?" She laughed dryly, bitterly.

"You know we've both got chips embedded in our necks. Your Boss can track us wherever the fuck we go. Even if we carved them out of our own skin and escaped, you really think his men won't find us? Severin's power isn't confined to this place. His men aren't just the ones here. He has people out there, ones you probably don't even know exist. This place? It's just a fucking decoy. A pleasure house that doubles as an information exchange between Severin and his allies."

She'd realized that after spending enough time here, and the way Maxen's face suddenly paled confirmed she'd hit the mark. "The only way I get out of here is if you kill your Boss. Kill him for me. Can you do that?"

Maxen didn't answer. Instead, it was Mathias who spoke. "The Boss isn't that easy to kill. Don't you get it? He's always surrounded by his men. And even if he wasn't, he's not someone you can just take down. And let's say you get lucky and manage to kill him... there are still plenty of people who'd die for him. He might be a monster, but a lot of lives are tied to his success. If he dies, they'll come for revenge. They'll burn the fucking world for him."

Mathias added, "The previous leader died by the Boss's hand and there are still men loyal to him who never accepted Severin taking over. If someone kills the Boss, they'll be hunted for the rest of their damn life. In a world like this, loyalty is everything. Yeah, his men fear him, but they also respect the hell out of him. They'd die for him."

"So the answer's clear, isn't it? I'm never getting out of this fucking place."

"I—I…" Maxen opened his mouth, but Isolde cut him off.

"Forget it. There is no point in talking about this anymore. I don't need your help. You wouldn't be able to do shit anyway, and you're too much of a coward to go against your precious Boss." Isolde didn't bother trying to kick them out of her room. She knew they wouldn't leave, so she walked out, heading straight for Nikhael, ready to be dragged back underground.

.

.

.

That night, Severin didn't show up. Maybe it was because Maxen had just returned from his mission, and Severin was deliberately giving Isolde space so she'd keep her promise for Nikhael's safety. Or maybe he didn't give a shit. Maybe he was off-handling some criminal business. Or fucking one of his other whores. Who the fuck knew?

Just as she expected, Maxen showed up. He frowned when he saw Isolde lying on the bed, wearing her usual clothes.

"You're not dancing? Don't you usually perform with the other girls?" he asked, walking toward her.

"I haven't been ordered to dance anymore. I'm not told to serve anyone except your beloved Boss. So you coming here? Waste of your damn time. I'm not going to entertain you."

One of Maxen's brows shot up. "What the hell does that mean? You're his personal whore now? Even Tiffara his favorite doesn't—"

"What do you want, Max? You here to fuck me? Go fuck someone else. There's plenty of whores around willing to take you in. I'm not one of them." His expression hardened instantly. Isolde saw his jaw twitch like he was grinding his teeth.

"You'll fuck the bastard who tortures you but not me?" He stepped closer, his voice rough, his stare sharp enough to cut.

Isolde rolled her eyes, fed up. "You say I chose to fuck him? You think I had a fucking choice? You think I could say no when Severin shows up to violate me? The only choice I get is between silence or getting beaten unconscious. But with you? I do have a choice."

She stared him down. "Are you gonna take that away too, Max? Gonna force yourself on me like he does? If you do… then what fucking difference is there between you and him? You say you love me, but what kind of man uses a woman's hell as an excuse to fuck her?"

Isolde lifted her chin, staring Maxen straight in the eye—right into his pale blue irises.

"You took advantage of me. You used the fact that I'm trapped in this place. You used me while Severin made me into a whore. You came here almost every night, rented me like I was just another fuck because you knew I couldn't say no. Because if Severin found out I refused a client, I'd get beaten to a pulp."

"That's not what I meant to do," Maxen said, running a rough hand down his face. The anger on his face had faded, replaced by confusion and guilt.

"I missed you, Isolde. I just... I wanted us to be like we used to be. I didn't think you'd feel like I was using you." He looked wrecked.

"I'm sorry, Isolde. I didn't know that's how you felt every time I touched you. I thought you wanted it too."

"Well, now you know I didn't. Not even a little." Her voice was cold.

"So get the hell out. Go find some other whore in this place to fuck. I'm tired. I want to rest."

Isolde shoved him out the door. Maxen didn't resist, though his face twisted with disappointment at her rejection.

.

.

.

The next morning, Isolde couldn't shake the bad feeling clawing in her chest. Something was off.

And it only got worse when Severin met her eyes before training began—with that fucking crooked smile of his. Isolde knew that smile. That smile meant danger. And it scared the shit out of her.

She found out why after training. Severin handed her a plane ticket to Amsterdam... and a photo.

Isolde's blood ran cold the second she saw the face. Older, yes—worn with time—but still recognizable.

The woman in the photo was Olivianne's biological mother. This mistress, the woman who had started it all, had torn Isolde's family apart.

"You're getting better at shooting," Severin said, eyes gleaming. "You still suck at the martial arts I'm teaching you, but I think you're ready for a little mission. The kind where your target can't even fight back—won't even see it coming." His grin widened.

"That woman ran off with part of your father's money when you were just hitting puberty. Took off with her boy toy, some fucking gigolo. So... between her and Olivianne, I'm guessing she's the one you'd rather kill. After all, she's the one who really fucked your life over."

Severin stepped closer to Isolde, his rough fingers brushing her cheek. "Kill her the way you tried to kill Olivianne and failed. Shoot her with the gun I gave you. Blow her fucking head open. Take your revenge—the one that's been rotting in your chest for years," he whispered, his face so close she could feel his breath on her skin.

Isolde frowned, confused. Why the hell was Severin helping her get revenge on the woman who'd tormented her as a child? What the fuck was he after?

He had trained her to shoot and taught her hand-to-hand combat. He hadn't forced her to dance again and hadn't made her serve clients in this goddamn pleasure house. No punishments, even when no one requested her for the night. And when he did fuck her, he didn't beat her anymore.

Sure, he wasn't gentle, but she wasn't whipped, wasn't burned with wax, and didn't have her head smashed into tables until she needed stitches.

But… Severin had carved the initials of his name into her hip. His behavior made no fucking sense. Isolde couldn't take it anymore. She blurted out the one thing she probably shouldn't have said.

"Why are you doing all this, Severin? What the hell do you actually want from me? You're training me, and now you're giving me a mission to kill my father's ex-mistress. I don't get it. Are you trying to torture me or… help me? You're not… interested in me, are you?"

Severin's expression turned cold. Dead cold. His stare, once unreadable, shifted into something terrifying.

"Of course I'm interested in you, Isolde. I'm interested in how far you can go. How fucking lethal I can make you. Did you forget what I told you? I want to turn you into a weapon. Deadlier than those twins always hovering around you. Deadlier than Nikhael. But never deadly enough to kill me." His jaw clenched, and disgust twisted across his face as he looked at her.

"You thought I was romantically interested in you? In a woman who doesn't even come close to the beauty of the number-one whore in this house? You really think, with all the stunning women in here—and out there—I'd fall for you? You're nothing, Isolde. Nothing but a tool. Just like you were for Lucien."

He didn't stop. He kept going, each word stabbing deeper. "You still think someone out there is going to love a woman like you? Love isn't real, Isolde. If it were, why the fuck hasn't Maxen, the one who claims to love you—done anything to get you out of here? Why hasn't he betrayed me for you? Because he doesn't love you. He loves himself. His own life. His twin's life. The rank he's earned under me. Maxen doesn't love you, and you fucking know it. You know deep down that no one in this world really loves you."

Severin leaned even closer until his mouth was at her ear. What he said next would haunt her for nights, echoing in her skull, a blade pressed straight into her gut:

"Don't get cocky just because your first target is someone you hate. The next one might be someone you care about. Your mother. That friend you manipulated. Your little brother. Or maybe… Maxen."

…