The Mafia's Priced Possession

ISABELLA

After slamming the door behind me, I rushed into the change room, grabbed my bag from my locker, and headed straight for the front entrance.

Anger burned through me so intensely that I felt like shoving anyone who dared get in my way.

I was in no mood to ask politely, especially with the club growing more crowded by the minute and people already getting drunk.

I bumped shoulders with people stumbling inside and those too drunk to watch where they were going as I pushed toward the exit.

"Where are you going?" Sarah demanded, stepping directly into my path.

I stopped and rolled my eyes. "I'm going home."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Are you insane? The boss is here, remember?"

"He can suck his own dick. I'm done." Clutching my bag, I shoved past her and walked out.

A taxi waited outside, and I climbed in without hesitation, giving the driver my address.

As the city lights blurred past, my thoughts kept circling back to my father and the lecture waiting for me at home.

He had insisted that I impress Antonio so I could keep my job, but if impressing him meant encouraging his sexual advances, then I would rather be unemployed.

When the taxi pulled into the driveway, I paid the fare and stepped out, staring at the house.

My heart began to race when I noticed the lights were still on, which meant my father was awake.

I checked the time on my phone. It was only 10 on the dot, and I wasn't supposed to be home until 5:30 in the morning.

Taking a steadying breath, I went inside.

Giggles came from the living room the moment I closed the door, and I immediately knew my father wasn't alone.

I tried to tiptoe upstairs before they noticed me, hoping to avoid him, especially if he was drunk. I had no patience for that version of him tonight.

"Come here, you little brat," my father called, and I froze mid-step.

I inhaled slowly and turned around. He was sprawled on the couch with one of the women he liked to bring home, a girl who looked close to my age.

That part no longer surprised me. At some point, my father had decided his ideal partners were young enough to be his daughters.

"Why are you home at this time?" he demanded as he stood up. The girl rolled her eyes at me, tugged at her shirt, and covered her exposed chest.

"I quit," I answered, refusing to dance around the truth.

I swallowed hard, already bracing myself for what was coming. His expression shifted instantly, as though I had insulted him in the worst possible way.

"You quit what?" he asked, stepping closer.

"I quit, Father. I can't work for Antonio anymore.

He—"

The slap came out of nowhere. Pain exploded across my face, forcing me to stumble back as a sharp ringing filled my right ear.

I stared at him in disbelief. He had never hit me before, and the shock hurt almost as much as the sting itself, especially with another girl watching.

"You will go back there and beg for that job," he snarled. "Do we understand each other?"

"I'm not going to do that," I shouted. "No! If you want to work in that club so badly, then you go there yourself. Don't ever drag me into your mess again."

I rushed upstairs before he could say another word and slammed my bedroom door behind me. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I tried to calm my breathing, but the memory of Antonio's office sent a chill down my spine.

He was a dangerous man, and everyone knew it. The thought of his hands on me twisted my stomach into knots.

We all knew the girls he summoned to his office, only to pretend he didn't recognize them the next night. I refused to become one of them.

I had no idea how I fell asleep, but when I woke up, I was tied to a chair.

For a moment, I convinced myself it had to be a nightmare. There was no way I was back at the club, bound and helpless, with my father standing nearby.

A groan escaped me as I lifted my head, the harsh lights on the podium blinding and disorienting. My body ached as though I had been beaten before being restrained.

"Father," I mumbled weakly.

"Please," he begged Antonio, his voice trembling. "You can hire her back. I'll pay you everything I owe. You don't have to do this."

I closed my eyes and whispered a desperate prayer, hoping I would wake up in my bed and realize none of this was real.

When I opened them again, nothing had changed. My father still stood there, his gaze heavy with something that looked like pity.

Someone helped me drink from a bottle of water, and as my head cleared, the horrifying truth settled in.

I was tied to a chair on the stripping podium. Antonio stood beside my father, flanked by his bodyguards.

My heart pounded as I processed his words. My father owed Antonio money. I hadn't known until this moment.

"Name your price," Antonio said calmly. "She will be mine as repayment for what you owe."

"Father, what's going on?" I asked, my chest tightening.

"She's my daughter," my father protested. "I can't just sell her to you."

"Fifty million dollars."

My father gasped, staring at me. I recognized that look immediately. The money was already clouding his judgment.

I was his daughter, yet I could see the calculation happening in his eyes, and it terrified me. "Fifty?" he breathed.

"Fifty million," Antonio repeated, his gaze fixed on me.

"Deal," my father said, extending his hand. "Isabella is yours."

I watched in horror as they shook hands, sealing the exchange of my life, my freedom, and my future.

Just like that, my father sold me to Antonio Rodriguez.