Mafia's Innocent Fiancee

The cold wind whipped through the narrow alley as Emily clutched the straps of her worn backpack. She was heading back to the orphanage, the only home she'd known since childhood, when everything changed in an instant. A car screeched to a halt in front of her, and before she could scream, strong hands yanked her inside. A cloth was pressed to her face, and the world went black.

When Emily awoke, the harsh spotlight blinded her, and the smell of sweat and fear filled the air. She was no longer in the alley. Instead, she stood on a large stage, the murmur of a crowd ringing in her ears. Around her, other girls—some younger than her, some older—stood just as frozen in terror. They were all in tattered clothes, their hair messy, their faces pale with fear.

"Next up," a voice boomed from the speakers, "we have a rare beauty. A 22-year-old innocent girl, untouched and unspoiled. She's a rare gem."

Emily’s heart raced as the crowd began to chant and clap, their eyes hungrily scanning her. She wanted to run, but her legs refused to move. The auctioneer's words were lost on her, her focus solely on the people in the audience—men dressed in suits, their eyes gleaming with dark interest.

"And now, let the bidding begin," the auctioneer called out, and a cold sweat broke out on Emily’s skin.

The bids started low, but as they increased, so did her fear. These men weren’t just bidding for her to take care of her—they were buying her for a purpose she couldn’t fathom. She couldn’t breathe, could barely hear anything over the pounding of her heart.

Then, a voice broke through the noise—a low, commanding tone.

"One million," the man said, and the crowd quieted immediately.

The auctioneer’s eyes widened. "One million... do I hear one point five?"

"No," the man said again, his voice cold and steady. "One million. I take her now."

The crowd fell silent as the man stood. Emily’s gaze met his, and for the first time since waking up, she felt a strange chill wash over her. He was tall, his presence commanding, and though his face was hardened, his eyes… there was something about them. A sharpness, an intensity, and yet something that made her stomach flip in an unfamiliar way.

His gaze never wavered as he stepped forward, and to Emily’s shock, he walked right up to her. His hand reached out, touching her chin lightly as if inspecting her like a rare object.

"She’s perfect," he murmured, mostly to himself, and with a nod to the auctioneer, he motioned for the others to step back.

The room buzzed with tension, but Emily stood frozen in place as the man, who seemed to command the entire room without a word, escorted her off the stage. His touch was firm, but it didn’t feel rough like the others. It was almost… gentle.

"I’m Viktor Romanov," he said, his voice as cold as the air around them. "And you, my dear, are coming with me."

She didn’t dare protest. What could she do?

As they walked out of the building into a sleek black car, the cold air bit at her skin, but Viktor’s presence seemed to shield her in an odd way. His protective hand was around her shoulder, but it was possessive—almost as if she were his property.

"Don’t worry," he said, his voice low, almost soothing. "You’re safe now."

But Emily couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into a world darker than anything she had ever known. A world where she was not just a captive but also someone special. And Viktor Romanov… the ruthless Russian mafia boss… would be the one to show her just how far his possessiveness would go.