Owned by the Mafia Billionaire (A MxM erotica novel)

Chapter One

Micah’s POV

“Shit… no, no, no—” I cursed silently under my breath. “Just a few seconds more.”

My fingers flew across the key, code blurring into gibberish as alarms screamed inside my headset. I’d been in the system for less than ninety seconds. I was supposed to be out in sixty.

The warehouse was dead silent, except for the soft hum of my laptop and the occasional drip of water echoing from the pipes overhead. Crouched behind a rusted stack of crates, bathed in the blue glow of my screen, I typed fast, adrenaline surging like a live wire under my skin.

This wasn’t my cleanest job, but I didn’t have the luxury of clean anymore. My rent was far overdue and debt collectors were already hounding me.

So I needed this money. The cartel contact I’d stupidly agreed to help was expecting access to a shipping manifest that, according to what I’d found, belonged to some ‘private importer.’ Whatever. Not my business.

I was just doing the damn job for the pay. The files were right there, firewalled but vulnerable. A little too vulnerable, if I’m being honest.

My gut told me to walk away but I couldn't. Because it was a little too late to back out halfway— the cartel would kill me if I did. And also, I was too damn broke not to finish the job.

“Come on, baby,” I whispered, decrypting the last security layer. “Just show me the goods…”

Click. The folder opened. It contained shipping routes, container numbers and codes that meant nothing to us, civilians, but millions to someone in their trade. I started the data dump, encrypted the file, and hit send.

Done. Or so I thought.

Until I heard the click of a safety being released behind my head.

“Hands up.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How did I not hear footsteps behind me?

I froze. The kind of still that only comes when your brain’s screaming to you to run, but your body already knows it’s too late. I just knew it. I should have just followed my guts and walked away.

God.

“Turn around slowly,” the voice said again.

I obeyed, moving my feet slowly. Three men in suits stood in front of me, all with dead eyes. One of them carried a gun fitted with a silencer.

These weren't cops. They weren't cartel either. They looked worse.

“Micah Reed,” the tallest one said, checking something on his phone. “You really didn’t know whose files you were working on, did you?”

Of course. They knew my name. I bet they knew damn thing about me.

I stayed silent.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You just sold classified Romano family data to a cartel for a mere fifteen thousand dollars.”

I did what? Romano family data? The Romano syndicate didn’t just run drugs or guns—they owned entire governments in the country. Elio Romano was practically a myth. Some said he didn’t exist. Others said he once