08/03/2026
"The mafia boss forced me into marriage to punish my father for a bl00d debt, and on our wedding night, he promised I would pay for every sin my family committed. But when Damen Rossi saw the scars across my body, the revenge burning in his eyes turned into something far more dangerous.
Bl00d debts in New York were never paid with apologies. Damen Rossi wanted a life for the life his brother lost, and my father, Richard Hastings, was too much of a coward to offer his own.
So he offered me.
Damen Rossi was thirty-two, ruthless, and feared from Manhattan boardrooms to Staten Island shipping yards. People called him a businessman in public and a king in whispers, but everyone knew his empire was built on money, muscle, and silence.
His younger brother, Leo, had been kjlled on the FDR Drive in a h*t disguised as a carjacking. Within forty-eight hours, Damen traced the order back to my father, a Wall Street hedge fund manager who had borrowed eight million dollars from the Rossi family and panicked when repayment came due.
My father was dragged into the Oak Room Club with a bruised face, a ruined Armani suit, and fear pouring off him like sweat. Damen stood over him and said, "You took my bl00d, Richard. Now I take everything you love."
My father sobbed, begged, and promised money he no longer had. Then, with the desperation of a man willing to sacrifice anything except himself, he said my name.
"Take Clara," he pleaded. "Marry her. She's my daughter. My only child. That's worth something."
I learned about the arrangement when Damen's men arrived at my apartment that night.
By morning, I was standing in a cold private chapel wearing a white dress I had not chosen. My father would not meet my eyes, and Damen looked at me as if I were not a woman, but a weapon he planned to sharpen against the man who gave me away.
When the priest said husband and wife, Damen did not kiss me.
He leaned close and whispered, "Your father stole my brother. I'm going to make him watch you become mine."
That night, I sat on the edge of his bed in his mansion, my hands locked in my lap so he would not see them shaking. Damen loosened his tie slowly, his eyes cold enough to freeze the air between us.
"Stand up," he said.
I obeyed because fear had been trained into me long before he entered my life.
"Take off the dress."
My breath caught.
He mistook my silence for defiance and stepped closer. "I said take it off."
With trembling fingers, I lowered the zipper and let the gown fall.
For the first time all day, Damen Rossi went completely still.
His gaze moved to the old scars across my ribs, my back, my hips — thin white lines and deeper marks my father had hidden beneath expensive clothes and perfect family photos.
The room changed.
"Who did this?" Damen asked, his voice no longer cold.
I swallowed hard.
Then a knock thundered against the bedroom door, and Vincent's voice cut through the silence.
"Boss, Hastings is downstairs. He says he wants his daughter back."
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What will Damen do when he realizes who gave Clara those scars — and what will he say to the man now standing at his door? Comment **"YES"** if you want Part 2 in the comments.
