THE KILLER THAT CLAIMED (A dark, mafia romance)

I should have screamed the moment I realized what was happening.

  I should have, but I didn't..... I couldn't. To be honest, there was very little that I could do in this moment.

  My father's words still echoed in my mind, a mantra I hated:

  "It's for the family. It's for your own good as well, Amaya"

  I didn't believe him. I was being traded off like livestock and he had the nerve to claim it was for my own good?

  How could any of this be for my own good?

 How could a father do this to his only child?

 The only daughter that his wife who he claimed he loved, left behind? Was I not meant to be protected by all means?

  The black car hummed through the city, tires slicing against wet asphalt, the rain streaking the windows in jagged lines.

  My fingers were pressed to my knees, digging into the fabric of my dress until the skin split. My heart pounded like it was trying to escape my chest.

  I had been sold. Not betrothed, not promised, like a proper daughter.

  No. I was sold. And the man.....the one who had bought me was waiting for me at the compound.

  I doubt he even remembered my name.

  "Amaya," my father had said as if saying my name was an attempt at gentleness, "you must obey your husband. You are stepping into a life bigger than yourself. Do well not to bring shame to me"

   I bit back a sob.

I should not bring shame to him?  What about me? Was this not shameful enough for me?

 "You... sold me," I whispered.

  His eyes didn't meet mine. He didn't even flinch.

  "This is real life, You are no longer a child. But don't worry," he said. "You'll survive."

  I didn't know what to say.

  How would I possibly survive this?

  The gates of the compound appeared in the distance, tall, iron, looming like the entrance to a prison.

  Guards flanked it, black-suited and silent.

  I was led inside without ceremony after my father had

  left me and was driven back to what used to be my home.

  My heels click clacked against the marble floor and yet every step felt like I was sinking into quick sand and would soon drown.

  That was when I saw him, I froze.

  He was standing at the center of the grand hall, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a suit that looked like it had been tailored for a king.

  His eyes were black ice, assessing me, scanning me as if trying to measure my value.

  "You must be Amaya," he said, voice smooth, low, dangerous.

  I nodded. Words failed me.

  "Your father did not teach you to speak?," he continued, stepping closer. Each movement deliberate, slow, like a predator circling its prey. "Very well. I like a woman who knows to hold her tongue"

  I swallowed, trying to appear calm. My hands trembled at my sides.

  "Yes....husband," I said, though the words