The Mafia King’s Lost Son (Crowned in Sin #4)

Chapter 1

SCARLETT

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

My head feels heavy…and why can’t I feel my hands?

“Sweetheart, come on, wake up.”

The same voice as earlier cuts through the fog in my head like a knife, and I jerk awake with my heart already trying to pound its way out of my chest.

Where the hell am I?

I blink rapidly, willing my eyes to fully open and the room swims into focus, all expensive furniture and marble floors that look like they belong in a place instead of…

wherever this is. My head feels like someone stuffed it with needles and nails, and there’s this gross chemical taste coating my tongue.

Oh my god. I think I was drugged.

My chest pounds rapidly as pieces of memories build a better picture.

I was walking home from my shift at County General. Exhausted after one of my first full shifts since I got my nursing license. Then headlights and a van. Someone grabbing me from behind, a cloth pressed over my mouth. The smell was acrid and wrong, and then…nothing.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

I try to sit up and fail, every muscle screaming in protest. My wrists ache. My jaw throbs. There’s a bruise forming on my ribs that tells me I fought before whatever drug they used knocked me out cold.

Good. I hope I hurt someone.

“Oh god, you’re finally awake.” The whisper comes from somewhere to my left, shaky and terrified.

I force myself to turn my head—slowly, because sudden movement might make me puke—and that’s when I see them.

Five other girls huddled against the far wall like scared animals. They’re all young, maybe my age or younger. One of them is crying silently, mascara streaked down her cheeks. Another just stares at nothing with eyes that have already given up.

I know that look. I’ve seen it in the ICU when patients realize they’re dying.

No. Hell no. I’m not dying here.

I push myself up to sit, ignoring how the room tilts sideways and my stomach does this horrible flip thing. Deep breaths. I breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. The nausea settles after a minute, and I take note of the situation like they taught us in triage.

I’m still wearing my scrubs from the hospital—navy blue, stained with someone’s blood from an IV insertion gone wrong.

My sneakers are gone though. So are my phone, my keys, and the pepper spray I always kept tucked away in my bag.

They took everything useful and left me with nothing but my clothes.

The room itself is insanely fancy. Crown molding. A chandelier that’s currently dark. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered with heavy blackout curtains. Furniture that looks antique and expensive, all pushed against the walls like someone cleared space specifically for holding people.

This isn’t some dirty basement or abandoned warehouse. This is someone’s actual home. Someone rich.

That scares me more than anything else so far, because people with money get away with the worst crimes.

“I’m Maya,” the blonde girl says, crawling closer. She can’t be more than eighteen. “Are you okay?”

Okay? We’ve been kidnapped and I’m supposed to be okay?

I want to scream, but I hear the hysteria in her voice and see how her hands shake. I realize she needs me to have my shit together because she’s barely holding on to hers.

“Scarlett.” I make my voice steady even though I’m screaming inside. “And yeah, I’m okay. We’re all going to be okay.”

It’s a complete lie and we both know it.

It’s an occupational hazard. I’m always trying to help people, reassure them and maybe even lie to them if it’ll help things.

It’s sad but sometimes lies are kinder than the truth.

“How long was I out?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“A few hours maybe?” Another girl with dark hair, bronze skin, and terrified brown eyes speaks up. “The rest of us have been here since yesterday.”

Yesterday. That means at least twenty-four hours for some of them. Long enough for hope to start dying, and enough to understand how bad this really is.

I force myself to stand, even though my legs feel like wet noodles, and stumble to the door. It’s locked, obviously. Solid wood. No chance of breaking it down even if I wasn’t dizzy and disoriented.

Think, Scarlett. There has to be a way out.

I check behind the curtains next. The glass is thick, probably reinforced, and we’re on a second or third floor. Below is a perfectly manicured lawn stretching to a high stone wall. Definitely someone’s estate.

“I already tried that,” a third girl says quietly. She’s got red hair, freckles, and a nasty purple bruise spreading on her jaw. “Everything’s locked or reinforced. They planned this.”

Of course they did. You don’t kidnap six girls and hold them in your mansion unless you have a plan.

Human trafficking.

The words settle in my mind like poison. That’s what this is. We’re going to be sold. Used, or destroyed. Unless I can find a way out.

And I have to find a way out.

I move through the room carefully, checking every surface, every corner. Looking for anything that could be a weapon or a tool. The furniture is bolted to the floor. The chandelier is too high to reach.

“What’s your name?” I turn to the redhead.

“Jennifer.” Her voice sounds hollow, defeated. “They’re going to sell us, aren’t they? That’s what this is.”

The other girls start crying harder. Maya makes this wounded animal sound.

I could lie again. Could tell them I don’t know, that maybe this is a mistake, that someone will come save us. But they deserve better than comfortable lies at this point.

“Probably,” I say, meeting Jennifer’s eyes. “But that means they need us alive and undamaged. Which means we have time to plan. Time to find a weakness.”

“There is no weakness.” This comes from a girl with empty eyes who hasn’t spoken until now. She stares at the wall like she’s already given up. “I heard them talking when they brought you in. We’re waiting for buyers. Could be days or weeks. But eventually, someone pays and we disappear.”

Her matter-of-fact tone is somehow worse than the others’ tears.

“Then we make a weakness,” I say. “We stay alert. We watch for patterns. We figure out who’s guarding us and when. We look for opportunities.”

Maya looks at me with something like hope in her eyes. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

I haven’t. I’m just as terrified as you are. I’m just better at hiding it.

“I’m a nurse,” I say instead. “I’ve seen what people can survive. Trust me, we’re tougher than we think.”

It’s not really an answer, but it seems to help. The girls shift, sitting up straighter. Even empty-eyes girl looks a little more present.

We spend the next hour talking in whispers. I learned their names, Maya, Jennifer, Lisa, Carmen and Rachel. I learn that Jennifer was grabbed coming home from work, that Lisa was at a club when someone spiked her drink, that Carmen was walking to her car in broad daylight when a van pulled up.

All different methods, which means this operation is big, organized and very, very good at what they do.

That’s not good at all.

I’m explaining where to hit someone to cause maximum damage—eyes, throat, groin—when we hear footsteps in the hallway outside and everyone freezes.

The lock clicks, and the door swings open. A man struts in like he owns the place, because he probably does.

He looks around forty, handsome in a polished expensive way that screams old money and older crimes. Dark hair going silver at the temples. A suit that looks specifically tailored for him. His eyes are cold when they sweep over us, like he’s looking at objects instead of people.

“Good evening, ladies.” His voice is cultured, pleasant. It makes my skin crawl. “I hope you’ve been comfortable.”

None of us answer. Carmen starts crying again, quiet terrified sobs. Maya has gone white as paper.

His eyes scan across us, and I see the exact moment they land on me. Something shifts in his expression—interest mixed with intent that makes my stomach turn.

Oh shit. No no no no no.

“You.” He points at me. “Come here.”

I don’t move because my body’s locked up in pure animal terror.

“I said, come here.” He’s still smiling, still pleasant, but there’s a hint of steel underneath now.

“Don’t.” Maya grabs my arm. “Please, don’t go with him.”

His smile widens. “She doesn’t have a choice. None of you do.”

He crosses the room in three long strides and grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet hard enough that it’s definitely going to leave bruises.

“No! Let me go!” I fight immediately, scratching at his face, twisting in his grip, trying to stomp on his expensive leather shoes. Anything.

His open palm cracks across my face so hard my head snaps sideways. The sound echoes through the room like a gunshot. My cheek explodes in a white hot pain and tears spring to my eyes involuntarily.

The other girls scream as I taste blood in my mouth.

“Listen very carefully.” His voice drops low, and he fists his hand in my hair to force me to look at him. “You can walk out of this room on your own two feet, or I can drag you out by your hair while you fucking bleed. Either way, you’re coming with me.”

He yanks harder and I cry out as pain shoots across my scalp.

The threat in his voice is absolutely real. This is a man who’s done worse than hit a woman. Much worse.

My survival instinct kicks in as much as I still want to hold on to my ego. Eventually the former wins, and I stop fighting. Letting my body go limp in his grip.

I’m going to die. I can feel it.

I probably would have been sadder if I had a family that would miss me but I don’t. So I’m just…numb.

“Smart girl,” he murmurs, and the satisfaction in his voice makes me want to vomit.

He drags me toward the door, his grip on my arm brutal. I stumble, trying to keep my feet under me, and catch one last glimpse of the other girls—Maya’s horrified face, Jennifer’s tears, Lisa’s empty stare.

Then I’m in the hallway, the door slamming shut behind us, and I’m alone with a monster.

He pulls me down a corridor lined with expensive art and fresh flowers. Their beauty is obscene compared to what’s happening. My bare feet slip on polished marble. When I stumble, he doesn’t slow down, just drags me harder.

There has to be a way out.

We reach another door and he shoves it open. A bedroom, but it looks more like an office judging from the heavy bookshelf and sturdy mahogany desk at the center of the room.

My stomach drops to the floor as the door closes behind us with a click that sounds very much like a death sentence.

“Now then.” He turns to me, and whatever pleasant mask he wore before is completely gone. What’s underneath is cold and hungry and utterly empty of anything human. “Let’s get properly acquainted.”

Before I can react, he shoves me against the wall so hard it knocks the breath from my lungs. My head cracks against plaster and stars burst across my vision, a sob leaves my lips before I can stop it.

Fight. You have to fight, Scarlett!

His body presses against mine, pinning me. I can smell his cologne—expensive and suffocating, mixed with sweat and smoke.

“Ahh, she’s a fighter.” His breath is hot on my neck. “I like that. The buyers will pay extra for spirit.”

He fists his hand in my hair again and yanks my head back. His other hand slides down my side, possessive and violating. I feel my scrub tear as he grips the fabric.

Something breaks inside me then. Not my spirit—my fear. If I’m going to die anyway, then I’m going down fighting.

I bite down on his hand, hard enough to taste blood. He roars and pulls back, and I use the split second of space to drive my knee up toward his groin. I miss and hit his thigh instead, but it’s enough to make him stagger.

I scream and scratch at his face. My nails raking down his cheek, drawing blood.

He curses and slams me back against the wall. “You fucking bitch!”

This time my head hits hard enough to make everything go blank and dizzy. I’m on the floor suddenly, blinking up at him through double vision. My torn scrub is hanging off one shoulder.

Get up. Get up get up get up—

“Stupid bitch. I’ll teach you a fucking lesson…” He reaches for his belt then stops. He storms to the desk instead and picks up the gun sitting there.

My heart stops beating completely.

This is it. He’s going to blow my brains out.

But he doesn’t point it at me. He just stands lax, listening to something I can’t hear yet.

Then I hear it too. Gunshots.

Loud and incessant. Rapid-fire and professional, echoing through the mansion like thunder.

He freezes, and his whole body goes rigid. The gun in his hand is no longer casual, it’s ready now, aimed at the door.

The gunfire gets closer and louder. It’s mixed with shouting and screaming and the crash of breaking things. Utter chaos.

What the hell is happening?

This is my opportunity, I should run, use this distraction. But my body won’t cooperate. I’m shaking too hard and my vision is still blurred from hitting my head so hard. Adrenaline and terror are making my limbs heavy and uncooperative.

Someone shouts “Antonio!” in the chaos, and the man—Antonio—starts talking into his phone now. Rapid Italian that I can’t understand. His face has gone white and twisted with anger and fear.

If this bastard won’t kill me, whoever is outside, most likely will.

More gunshots. But closer this time, and right outside the door. Suddenly, the door explodes inward.

A man walks through the wreckage and he looks like death incarnate.

He’s tall, around six-three. Broad shoulders strain against a black shirt and expensive jacket. His dark hair is pushed back from his face, and he’s got winter-grey eyes that are completely empty of anything resembling warmth or mercy.

He’s holding a gun like it’s part of his hand. Like violence is just his native language.

And he’s covered in blood. Not just spattered—covered. His shirt, his hands, even his face. Fresh blood, still wet, belonging to god knows how many people who got in his way between the front door and here.

This is not a rescue. This is just a different kind of monster.

His gaze sweeps the room and takes in everything in less than a heartbeat.

Those storm-grey eyes settle on me for a brief second and something flickers in them. Something I can’t identify but that sends a chill down my spine.

Then he looks at Antonio and his expression goes completely flat and lethal.

The gun in his hand rises, and I realize I’m about to watch someone die.