Owned By The Mafia Lord

Marco’s presence was overwhelming, his body heat making it hard to breathe. His dark eyes locked onto mine, making my heart race. “Why do you fight me, Sarah?” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

I tried to step back, but the counter trapped me. “I won’t be your plaything, Marco.”

He smiled, a dangerous, seductive curve of his lips. “Is that so?” He pulled me close, his hand burning through my dress. His lips brushed my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “I think you like this more than you admit.”

I wanted to resist, but when his mouth claimed mine, I melted into the kiss, my body betraying me. Every touch ignited a fire I couldn’t control.

When he pulled back, his eyes were full of desire. “You can’t deny what’s between us, Sarah”

Sarah’s simple life turns dark when she catches the eye of dangerous mob boss, Marco De Luca. To settle her father’s debt, Marco forces her into an arranged relationship. Sarah fights to resist his control, but their fiery clashes spark undeniable passion.

SARAH

The bakery smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon, a comforting aroma that greeted me every morning. I enjoyed the simplicity of our life. Our bakery, though it was small and modest, it was our pride and joy. Papa, had poured his heart and soul into this place, and it was a decent addiction to our community.

“Good morning, Mrs. Alvarez! The usual?” I asked, already reaching for a loaf of brown bread.

“Good morning, Sarah. Yes, please,” she replied with a warm smile.

Handing her the loaf, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. Despite the financial struggles and the countless hours of hard work, I loved every moment spent here. My father and I shared a close bond, working side by side to keep our beloved bakery running.

After Mrs. Alvarez left, I returned to kneading dough, humming softly to the tune playing on the radio. My father was in the back, preparing a new batch of new dough. The old Spanish tunes on the radio filled the space with nostalgia, reminding me of my mother. I pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand.

“Sarah, how’s it looking out there?” my father called from the kitchen.

“Busy, as usual,” I replied, looking at the clock. It was mid-morning, our busiest time of day. “But I can handle it.”

He appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. His face, lined with years of hard work, softened as he looked at me. “You’re a good girl, Sarah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I smiled, but before I could respond, the bell above the door rang again. This time, it wasn’t a familiar face that greeted me.

A group of men, rough-looking and clearly out of place, walked into the bakery. They spoke in low tones, casting glances around the room that made my stomach churn.

I took a deep breath,