Sold to the Mafia King

The rain over London didn’t just fall; it punished.

Seraphine Caelis pulled her thin trench coat tighter, but the fabric was already saturated, clinging to her skin like a cold, wet second skin. The neon signs of Soho blurred into streaks of neon pink and sickly yellow in the puddles. She was late. Her shift at the library had run over, and now the shadows of the city felt longer.

She felt the vibration before she heard the engine. A low, rhythmic hum that rattled the bones in her chest.

A black Cadillac Escalade, polished to a mirror finish despite the grime of the city, crawled alongside the curb.

Seraphine didn’t look. She knew that in this part of the city, eye contact was an invitation. But when the car finally swerved, blocking the entrance to the narrow alleyway that served as her shortcut, her heart collided with her ribs.

The doors opened with a soft, mechanical hiss. Two men stepped out.

"Miss Caelis," the taller one said. His voice was a low rasp, barely audible over the thunder. "Mr. Kaine is expecting you."

"I don’t know a Mr. Kaine," Seraphine replied.

"It wasn't an invitation," the man whispered. He shifted his coat slightly, revealing the matte black finish of a holster tucked against his ribs. "Your father has been very busy tonight, Seraphine. If you want him to see tomorrow’s sunrise, you’ll get in the car."

The mention of her father, Silas, was a bucket of ice water over her soul. Silas Caelis was a man of many vices, but his greatest was the belief that the next hand of cards would change their lives. It seemed the deck had finally run out of aces.

The Kaine Estate was located in the heart of Mayfair, hidden behind iron gates that looked like they belonged to a medieval fortress.

Seraphine was led into a sprawling study. The walls were lined with leather-bound books that looked like they hadn't been touched in decades. At the far end of the room, behind a massive desk of dark mahogany, sat the man who held the city’s pulse in his hands.

Azriel Kaine.

He was younger than the monsters in the tabloids. His hair was the color of midnight, and his eyes—when he finally looked up from the glass of amber liquid in his hand—were the color of a winter sea. Cold, deep, and capable of drowning anything that got too close.

"Sit," Azriel commanded.

It wasn't a shout. It was a statement of fact. The atmosphere in the room changed the moment he spoke, the air becoming heavy with a pressure that made it hard to breathe.

Seraphine remained standing. "Where is my father?"

Azriel took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving her face. "Your father is currently enjoying the hospitality of my basement. Whether he leaves with all ten fingers—and his life—is a conversation we are about to have."

"He owes you money? Tell me how much. I have savings, I can take a second job, I—"

"He owes me ten million pounds, Seraphine," Azriel interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. "And more importantly, he owes me the shipment of diamonds he was supposed to transport through the docks. A shipment that 'disappeared' under his watch."

Seraphine’s knees went weak. Ten million. It was a number so large it felt imaginary.

"I don't have that," she said.

"I know," Azriel said, standing up. He was tall, his presence filling the room as he walked around the desk. He stopped only inches away from her. She could smell the faint scent of mint and ozone on him. "I don't want your meager savings. I want something far more valuable. I want a legacy."

He slid a single sheet of vellum across the desk.

"What is this?"

"A marriage contract," he replied. "You will marry me. You will live in this house. You will appear by my side when requested. You will be the face of the Kaine family’s 'legitimacy'."

"You’re a monster," Seraphine spat, her fear momentarily eclipsed by rage. "You can't buy a person."

Azriel’s hand shot out, not to strike her, but to grip her chin, forcing her to look into the abyss of his eyes. "In my world, everything has a price. Your father sold you the moment he sat at my table and bet a life that wasn't his to lose."

"I won't do it."

Azriel didn't argue.

The feed was clear. It showed her father, Silas, strapped to a chair in a concrete room. His face was a map of bruises, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Standing behind him was a man with a jagged blade, the steel glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"One word, Seraphine," Azriel whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "I tell him to stop, or I tell him to finish it. Which will it be?"

Silas let out a muffled cry on the screen as the man with the knife pressed the edge against his throat. A thin line of red appeared on his skin.

"Stop! Please, stop!" Seraphine screamed.

"The pen is right there," Azriel said, his voice as smooth as velvet. "Sign it, and he is moved to a private medical suite within the hour. Refuse, and you can watch the rest of this in 4K."

Seraphine looked at the screen—at the man who had raised her, however flawed he was—and then at the devil standing beside her. The dialogue of her life had just been stripped down to a single, brutal choice.

With a hand that shook so violently she had to grip her wrist with the other, Seraphine picked up the heavy gold pen. The ink looked like dried blood as it hit the paper.

Seraphine Caelis.

As soon as the last loop of the 's' was finished, Azriel snatched the paper away. He tapped a button on his intercom. "Stand down. Move the asset to the infirmary."

On the screen, the man with the knife stepped back. Seraphine collapsed into the chair, her strength finally failing her.

Azriel leaned over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. "A wise choice, little bird. You’ve saved a life tonight. But make no mistake—you’ve ended your own."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her temple. "Welcome to the Kaine empire, Seraphine. Try not to break too easily. I find I like my toys to have a bit of spirit."