In the Mafia Devil's Possession

In the Mafia Devil's Possession

dorisozioma2 · Ongoing · 74.4k Words

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Introduction

"You just made the biggest mistake of your life," he whispered, his voice carrying a promise of retribution that made my blood freeze.

All I wanted to do was save a girl. I saw a man in a $5,000 suit forcing a crying woman into a car. My instincts kicked in. I grabbed a bucket of filthy, stagnant bar water—cigarette ash, stale beer, and God knows what else—and hurled it right into his face.

I thought I was a hero.
I was an idiot.

The next day, my manager dragged me into his office, shaking. "Do you know who that was? That was Ethan Rossi. The heir to the biggest crime family on the East Coast."
He didn't want an apology. He didn't want the police.
He wanted $6,000 for a custom shirt I couldn't even afford to look at.

I have $50 to my name and an autistic brother to feed. I walked into the VIP lounge to beg for a payment plan, terrified he would kill me.
Ethan was sitting there, looking like a dark god, swirling his whiskey. He looked me up and down, his eyes stripping away my courage.

"I don't have the money," I whispered.
"I know," he said, his smile sharp as a blade. "But I have a proposition. Marry me."
He needs a fake wife to secure his inheritance. I need my debt wiped clean.
I signed the contract. I sold my freedom to the devil.
But on our wedding night, when he locked the door, I realized this devil might want more than just a signature...

Chapter 1

"Girl, you won't believe what Adrian did for me yesterday!" Mercy's voice bubbled with excitement as she wiped down the bar counter, her dark eyes sparkling under the dim lights of O'Malley's.

Sophia looked up from the table she was cleaning, a tired smile tugging at her lips. The bar was nearly empty now, just a few stragglers nursing their drinks in the corners. It had been another long night, and her feet ached in her worn sneakers.

"What did he do this time?" Sophia asked, though she already knew the answer would involve some grand romantic gesture. Mercy had been dating Adrian for three months now, and every week brought a new story about flowers, surprise dinners, or thoughtful gifts.

"He surprised me with breakfast in bed!" Mercy practically glowed as she spoke, her hands moving in animated gestures. "Real breakfast, Sophia. Not just coffee and toast. He made pancakes from scratch, with fresh strawberries and everything. Can you imagine?"

Sophia's smile faltered slightly. She couldn't imagine, actually. Romance felt like a luxury she'd never been able to afford. Between juggling three part-time jobs and taking care of Marcus… her older brother, not Mercy's boyfriend… there wasn't much time or energy left for dating.

"That sounds wonderful," she said, meaning it. If anyone deserved happiness, it was Mercy. Her friend had been through her own share of heartbreak before finding someone who actually treated her well.

"He even bought me this little necklace," Mercy continued, touching the delicate silver chain around her neck. "Nothing fancy, but he said it reminded him of my eyes. Isn't that sweet?"

"Very sweet," Sophia agreed, stacking chairs on top of the table she'd just finished cleaning. The routine was automatic now… spray, wipe, stack, move to the next one. She'd been working at O'Malley's for two years, and every night ended the same way.

"You know what you need, Sophie?" Mercy leaned against the bar, studying her friend with concern. "You need to get out there. Find yourself a nice guy who'll treat you like a queen."

Sophia laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Right. Because I have so much time for dating between here, the grocery store, and the coffee shop. Plus taking care of Marcus."

"Your brother's twenty-five, hon. He can take care of himself sometimes."

"You know it's not that simple." Sophia's voice carried a note of defensiveness. Marcus wasn't like other people. His autism made daily life challenging in ways most people couldn't understand. He needed routine, predictability, and someone who understood his triggers. That someone was her.

Mercy's expression softened. "I know, sweetie. I just worry about you. You're twenty-three and you act like you're forty. When's the last time you did something just for fun?"

Sophia couldn't remember. Fun was a luxury she'd given up long ago, right around the time their parents died in the car accident when she was eighteen. Marcus had been twenty then, technically an adult but unable to navigate the world alone. Social services had wanted to put him in a group home. Sophia had fought them, taken on three jobs, and made it work somehow.

"Fun doesn't pay the bills," she said, grabbing her bucket of dirty water. "I'm going to dump this outside."

"Think about what I said!" Mercy called after her. "Life's too short to spend it all working!"

Sophia pushed through the back door of the bar, the cool night air hitting her face like a relief. The alley behind O'Malley's wasn't much to look at… garbage bins, broken concrete, and the occasional stray cat… but it was quiet. Peaceful, even.

She was about to pour the dirty water down the drain when she heard voices from around the corner. A girl's voice, high and frightened.

"Please, just leave me alone. I said no."

Sophia froze. The bucket trembled in her hands as memories crashed over her like a wave. Three years ago, walking home from her shift at the coffee shop. The man who'd followed her into the alley. His hands grabbing at her, his weight pinning her against the wall. The smell of alcohol on his breath, the sound of fabric tearing…

"If you don't get in the car, I'll make you," a man's voice said, low and dangerous.

"I'll scream," the girl threatened, but her voice shook with fear.

The same fear Sophia had felt that night three years ago. The helplessness. The certainty that no one would come to help.

But someone had helped her. Mrs. Chen from the apartment upstairs had heard the commotion and called out, scaring off Sophia's attacker. If not for that old woman's insomnia and tendency to stick her nose in other people's business, things might have gone very differently.

Now someone else needed help.

Sophia's heart pounded as she crept closer to the corner, clutching the bucket handle so tightly her knuckles went white. She peered around the edge of the building and saw them.

A young woman, maybe nineteen or twenty, pressed against the side of a sleek black car. Her blonde hair was messed up, her dress torn at the shoulder. A man stood in front of her, one hand gripping her wrist while the other reached for the car door handle.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing what looked like an expensive suit even in the dim streetlight. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and everything about him screamed money and power. He looked like he was used to getting what he wanted.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he said to the girl, his voice carrying the kind of authority that expected obedience.

The girl whimpered, trying to pull away from his grip. "Please, I just want to go home."

Rage exploded in Sophia's chest. White-hot and consuming, it pushed aside her fear and left only fury. How dare he? How dare this man in his expensive suit think he could force himself on someone smaller, weaker, more vulnerable?

Before she could think, before she could talk herself out of it, Sophia stepped around the corner.

"Let her go!"

Both the man and the girl turned toward her voice. The man's grip loosened just enough for the girl to wrench free and run, her heels clicking against the pavement as she disappeared into the night.

The man straightened, turning to face Sophia fully. Even in the poor lighting, she could see his face clearly now. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes that seemed to burn with cold fire. He was handsome in the way that dangerous things often were… beautiful and deadly.

"You just cost me something valuable," he said, his voice carrying a threat that made Sophia's skin crawl.

But her anger was still burning too bright for caution. "Good. Maybe next time you'll learn to take no for an answer."

He took a step toward her, and Sophia saw his face clearly in the streetlight. There was something predatory in his expression, something that spoke of violence barely held in check.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to?" he asked softly.

"I don't care if you're the president," Sophia snapped. "You don't get to force yourself on women."

His laugh was sharp and humorless. "Force myself? You misunderstood the situation, sweetheart. That girl owed me money.

The words sent ice through Sophia's veins, but her anger was still too hot to cool.

"Well, now she's gone," Sophia said, lifting her chin defiantly. "So I guess you're out of luck."

His eyes narrowed, studying her with the intensity of a predator sizing up prey. "What's your name?"

"None of your business."

"Everything that happens in this neighborhood is my business." He took another step closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne… expensive, like everything else about him. "Especially when someone interferes with my operations."

Operations. The word sent a chill down Sophia's spine, but she held her ground. She'd run from men like this once before. She wouldn't do it again.

"Then maybe you should find better operations," she said.

"Brave," he murmured. "Stupid, but brave."

That's when Sophia remembered the bucket still clutched in her hands. The bucket full of dirty water, soap scum, and god knows what else from the bar's floor. Without thinking, without planning, she drew her arm back and…

The dirty water hit him full in the chest.

The expensive suit, the perfect hair, the arrogant smile… all of it was suddenly soaked with filthy water that smelled like stale beer and cigarette ash. The man stood frozen for a moment, water dripping from his face and hair, staining his white shirt and what had probably been a thousand-dollar jacket.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of water dripping onto the pavement. Sophia's heart hammered against her ribs as the full magnitude of what she'd just done hit her. She'd just dumped a bucket of dirty bar water on a man who'd talked about "operations" and collecting debts with casual menace.

A man who was now looking at her with an expression of such cold, controlled fury that her knees nearly buckled.

"You," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise of retribution that made her blood freeze, "have just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

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