Sold to the Mafia king

Lina’s POV

The first time Ruciano hit me, I told myself it was a mistake.

The second time… I learned how to stay quiet.

“Don’t you fucking say that, Lina. You’re the one who always acts impulsive,” Ruciano snapped. “You nag about one thing or the other. What do you even gain from getting me this worked up, huh? Tell me.”

His voice cut through the room. Sharp. Unforgiving. Like it could slice through anything else in here. He paced, fingers dragging through his hair, teeth clenched, like he was the one losing control, and I was supposed to be the storm.

And somehow… that broke something in me.

I opened my mouth. Ready to fire back. Ready to defend myself. But the words got stuck. Somewhere between my chest and throat. If I spoke… I’d cry. And I refused. Refused to let him see it.

“Say something,” he pressed, stopping right in front of me. “You always have something to say.”

I inhaled. Slowly. My hands stayed at my sides, stiff and cold.

“What exactly do you want from me, Ruciano?” My voice barely above a whisper, steadier than I felt. “Tell me. Because I’ve done everything. Everything. I’ve defended you, stayed quiet when I shouldn’t have, bent myself into someone I don’t even recognize anymore.”

He scoffed. “Oh, here we go.”

“No,” I snapped, something sharp cutting through finally. “Don’t dismiss me. Not this time.”

His jaw tightened, but I didn’t stop.

“I won’t keep destroying myself just because I love you,” I continued. My voice trembling, despite all I’d done to hold it together. “I won’t kill myself trying to be the girlfriend you—”

The slap came out of nowhere.

Not just a sound. A shock. Loud. Sudden. Final.

My head snapped to the side. Pain bloomed. Hot. Immediate. But the real damage… it settled somewhere quieter. Somewhere deeper.

For a second, I didn’t see the man in front of me.

I saw the boy who used to look at me like I mattered.

I didn’t know when he disappeared.

I tasted blood.

Silence followed. Thick. Suffocating.

He stepped back. Like he hadn’t meant it. Like his own hands had betrayed him. Like this wasn’t the second time.

I let out a soft laugh. One which didn't sound like me.

“You hit me,” I whispered. Barely above a whisper. “Again.”

“Lina, I—”

“You hit me. Again,” I repeated. My voice shaking. Despite everything. And you know what? His silence hurt more than the slap.

I turned and left. Before he could say anything else. Before he could apologize. Before he could explain. Before I could forgive him out of habit.

Why was I still in this relationship?

All I ever got lately were insults, outbursts, ungrateful remarks… and now this. It hadn’t always been like this. In the beginning—laughters, long calls, stupid plans about the future. Somewhere along the way, without warning, he changed. Completely.

And I stayed.

The night air hit differently outside. Colder. Heavier. Or