Claimed by the Mafia Boss

* ADELINE * The shimmering chandeliers above me glinted like a million stars captured in glass, casting a golden glow over the lavish dining hall of the Vista Hotel. I easily recognized the significance of the venue—I mean, who wouldn't? It screamed old money, power, and all the superficial glitter that was meant to impress. Yet here I was, part of an event so dripping with wealth and ostentation that I felt more like an ornament than the center of attention. "Adeline, dear, you really should show a little more excitement!" My mother's voice cut through the ambient noise like a knife, startling me from my own spiraling thoughts. Her perfectly manicured hand clasped my arm, shaking it slightly as if to jolt me into reality. I plastered on a smile, the kind they show in magazines, and nodded, but internally I was screaming. Excitement? About what? The impending exchange of my life for a partnership that would benefit our families far more than it ever could me? My engagement to Robert Taylor was something I had been pushed into with the same gentle pressure a pot uses to create the perfect stew. Simmer until you're boiling over, and I was definitely boiling. Robert stood at the edge of our table, engaging in a conversation with his father, both impressive figures in the world of finance. I caught snatches of their dialogue, punctuated with laughs that sounded rehearsed. Now and then, he would glance my way, and I'd straighten up in my chair, feeling that familiar mix of resentment and obligation swell in my chest. He was handsome, sure, in that big-shot-could-be-model sort of way, but my heart felt more like a continent away, lost in the wilderness with no map. As the first course was served—spray-painted peach foam atop a slender cucumber ribbon—I could almost hear the whispered thoughts of the socialites surrounding us. The wealthy guests, draped in silk and diamonds, appeared more like cunning predators circling their next meal than friends celebrating a joyous occasion. To them, I was just another trophy fiancée, a step towards immortality within the gleaming halls of high society; a conversation piece that casually slipped from their lips at galas while they sipped expensive wine. "Did you hear about the Hendersons' scandal?" A woman with perfectly coiffed hair leaned toward her silk-clad companion, who gasped in response, as if she was being told while sitting on the edge of her seat. I played with the pearls around my neck, breath held, resisting the urge to chime in with my own commentary on the absurdity around me. The only scandal worth discussing was my own sordid affair with self-loathing. As the night progressed, laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the rustling of designer gowns became a soundscape that flowed over me. I could sense Robert shifting closer, positioning himself to showcase his latest business success—the one that had secured our futures together, whatever that future may hold. I forced myself to lean in; well-trained elbows grazed—the obligatory engagement photos, the rehearsed laughter—all of it felt as real to me as the air I was breathing—stifled and suffocating. And then, perhaps it was the universe itself, suddenly laughing at my discontent, the power flickered and then plunged into darkness. In an instant, confusion turned to panic. Gasps erupted around me as people stumbled in their seats, reaching for their phones and attempting to pull off the pretense of calm that we had all been trained to maintain. That was when I heard it—sharp and piercing—gunshots rang through the air, like the c***k of a whip breaking the fabric of our luxury, and screams soon twisted beneath it. The delicate veneer of civilization exploded into chaos as servers dropped their trays and guests leaped up, tripping over designer heels. I froze. My heart thundered in my chest, drowning out every coherent thought. And in that moment, a pair of strong hands enveloped me, dragging me from my seat as if I were little more than a doll to be discarded. It all felt surreal, a horrifying juxtaposition of elegance and violence. "Adeline!" I heard Robert shout, panic thrumming in his voice, but the sound became a muffled echo beneath the chaos swirling around me. I felt the cold bit of metal press against my back, the unmistakable and chilling weight of a gun pressed against flesh. Adrenaline surged through me as I was thrust forward into a whirlwind of darkness, and someone blindfolded me, fabric enveloping my eyes like a coffin. I fought against the grip tightening around me—only to find resistance a futile endeavor. My mind raced, each beat focused on survival. Who were these people? What did they want with me? My future, my engagement, all of it felt like smoke drifting away from my grasp. In that moment, I was torn entirely from my familiar surroundings, rendered powerless, shoved violently into a world I had never anticipated, like a pawn in some cruel game that had just begun. Swallowed by darkness, I was just Adeline—the girl who had stepped into a glittering cage only to be dragged through the hell of uncertainty. And as the car door slammed shut, I braced myself for whatever storm was brewing outside those walls.