Chained by the Mafia Heiress

I was the mafia heiress's secret lover, and her most trusted right-hand man for six years. I took bullets for her, fought her wars, and barely clawed my way back from death after three days in critical condition. When I opened my eyes, the usually cold and untouchable heiress had tears streaming down her face. Not for me. Her first love—the golden boy who left years ago—had just returned. Completely heartbroken, I walked away for good. Yet she hunted me down, broke my legs, and chained me to her bed. Stroking the bullet scar across my chest, she whispered intoxicatingly in my ear: "Stop running, baby. I was wrong, okay? Please, just stay." Struggling to open my eyes in the hospital bed, I heard Elena crying. My heart shattered for her, and despite the tearing agony in my chest, I pushed myself up, desperate to hold her. Instead, I found her wrapped in another man's arms. He smiled down at her with gentle adoration. I knew that man all too well. Julian Sterling—the boy Elena had secretly pined after for years. The three of us grew up together. Julian was from a wealthy, respected family. Charming, handsome, effortlessly radiant—he was always the star in any room. I was merely the nameless shadow in the background. An orphan taken in off the streets by the Vance family, what right did I have to dream? I supposed I should thank Julian. When he left the country, Elena realized just how deeply she loved him. One night, drowning in liquor, she mistook me for him. The morning after our reckless night, she pulled on her silk robe, looked at the chaos across the sheets, lit a cigarette, and blew the smoke directly into my face. "Let’s just keep things like this, Julian." I forced a smile and nodded, instantly hiding the crushing sorrow in my eyes. My name is Damian. I knew damn well that name slipping from her lips wasn't meant for me. Julian seemed to notice I was awake. Immediately, his hands slid around Elena's waist, pressing his lips against her pale mouth. Elena shivered. Her fingers tangled into his hair. After a second of hesitation, she yielded completely, returning his kiss with an intensity that burned my eyes. I clenched my fists. The wound in my chest still screamed with agony, but I couldn't feel it anymore. My heart was already torn to shreds. In all the years she had used me as Julian's replacement, she had never smiled with such pure, unadulterated bliss. I slowly closed my eyes. The panic on her face when I took that bullet flashed through my mind, and I let out a bitter smirk. Even if you only cared a tiny bit... it was enough. As long as you're happy, Elena. The sounds in the room began to fade. Would she take Julian home? To that penthouse where she and I had lived and slept in the same bed for six years? Six years, and the security code was still Julian's birthday. The interior decor was still Julian's favorite minimalist style. Tears spilled over my cheeks. When my left arm was nearly pulverized in a street brawl, I didn't cry. When a slug nearly punctured my heart, I didn't cry. Yet right now, curled beneath the thin hospital sheet, I buried my face in a pillow and sobbed like a broken child. Get it together, Damian. You're pathetic. I wiped my tears, ripped out the IV needles, and slipped back to our penthouse unnoticed. Unsurprisingly, a trail of discarded clothes led straight to the master bedroom. The wreckage in the living room whispered of a desperate, long-awaited reunion. The bedroom door was cracked open. I didn't dare walk closer. I was terrified that if I saw them, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from putting a bullet through Julian's skull. Outside, a faint dusting of snow began to fall. It hit me then—today was my birthday. Last year, Elena had spent it with me at an amusement park. The lethal, untouchable mafia queen had actually pulled a tiny cupcake out on the Ferris wheel, blushing as she softly wished me a happy birthday. The year before that, she had stayed up late in this very kitchen, clumsily making a homemade breakfast spread, blowing on the hot coffee before setting it in front of me. For six straight years, neither of us had ever missed the other's birthday. But today, I was completely alone. I picked up the luxury watch lying discarded on the floor—the one I had gifted her months ago. I swapped out my SIM card, grabbed my passport, and caught the earliest red-eye flight to a coastal town in Mexico. When the plane touched down, I booted up my phone. A breaking headline flashed on the screen: The Vance and Sterling Empires Announce Historic Merger Through Marriage. I let out a self-deprecating laugh. Pressing the hidden latch on the watch, a diamond ring popped out. I had planned to propose to Elena right after surviving that suicidal mission. What a joke. Even if I had bled to death protecting her, she wouldn't have cared. What was I to her? A convenient warm body? A loyal soldier? A ghost? I dropped the ring into the airport toilet and flushed it down. It was time to bury my love for her once and for all. I carried only a duffel bag when I found Uncle Frank's bar. He was at the counter, laughing with a couple of female patrons. He welcomed me with open arms, giving me a safe room and a quiet job.I had met Frank three years ago when I was down here handling cartel business for the Vance family. He was being hunted by rivals, and I had eliminated the problem for him. I threw on a black tie and took up a post as a bartender. Frank joked that with my face and physique, I ought to be an escort. He had no clue how much blood covered these hands. Playing charming wasn't in my nature. The nights were loud, thick with the stench of tequila and smoke. I wove through the crowd carrying trays of liquor. Then, a petite girl caught my eye. She looked soft, innocent, and entirely out of place in a dive like this. A sleazy man sat beside her, leering at her while pouring drinks down her throat. The girl slumped against his chest, seemingly wasted, casting a pleading look toward me. I mind my own business. Only when she slipped away into the shadows did the man suddenly realize his wallet, watch, and gold chain were gone. Enraged, he started wrecking the place. I rolled up my sleeves, knocked him out cold with two swift strikes, and tossed him into the alley out back. "Who taught you to fight like that? Teach me!" It was the little pickpocket. I rolled down my sleeves, completely uninterested in engaging. She stepped into my path, tilting her head with wide, innocent puppy-dog eyes. "Underage kids aren't allowed in here, little girl," I muttered. Her demeanor instantly flipped. "Don't act high and mighty just because you're good with your fists! I'm an adult! I'm just petite, but everything that needs to be grown is fully grown!" She puffed out her chest, desperate to prove her point. I shook my head, shoved past her, and kept walking. I had zero interest in stray kids. The next time I ran into her, I was taking out the trash. A pack of street thugs had her pinned to the concrete, beating her brutally. Blood streaked across her face. Growing bored of hitting her, they started tearing at her tank top. Without batting an eye, I dumped the trash. I still didn't want to get involved. Until she wheezed out two broken words: "Save me." My mind violently snapped back to Elena. Without my life guarding hers, would Elena ever find herself cornered like this? The thought sent a spike of fury through my veins. The veins in my arms bulged as I tore into the thugs, dropping them one by one, before scooping the battered girl onto my back. A weak smile formed on her lips. She wrapped her arms around my neck, refusing to let go. Her name was Mia. An orphan who grew up surviving on whatever the streets gave her. Blessed with an angel's face, she had perfected the art of thievery. Frank had watched her grow up, which was why he let her hustle around the bar. From that night on, she stuck to me like glue. She plastered on heavy eyeliner and wore revealing crop tops, strutting in front of me every single day. She was trying so hard to prove she wasn't a kid. She was loud, and her mouth never stopped moving. "Damian, teach me to throw a punch! Then those scumbags won't touch me." "Damian, why do you always look so miserable? Did Frank steal your money or something?" "Damian, you should smile more. I bet you look gorgeous when you smile." "Damian, my cuts still sting. Put the ointment on for me, please?" Wiping a glass, I looked at her and let out a heavy sigh. When she lifted her hem, the scab from her previous beating had split open again. Dabbing the medicine onto her skin, I couldn't stop Elena from invading my thoughts. Elena had just as many scars across her back. Whenever the weather turned damp, they would ache and itch. Her usually frosty face would melt into an uncharacteristic, vulnerable pout. "Damian... help me, please?"I would press my calloused palms against her scars, following her hushed commands, gently tracing the ridges of healed tissue. Whenever I pulled back, she would seize my wrist, her eyes dark and heavy. "Not enough." My ears burning, I would pull her into my chest from behind, peppering kisses along the scars. Those kisses always drifted elsewhere. Until both of us were breathless, completely drained, falling asleep entangled in each other's arms. "Why do you look so heartbroken? What, feeling sorry for me?" Mia waved a hand in front of my face. I didn't answer, just stared blankly at her. Her cheeks flared red. "Wait, you actually feel bad for me? Hey, I'm fine! A few scratches are nothing to me." I snapped out of it, burying the ache deep inside. "Cat got your tongue? Don't tell me you have a crush on me?" A mischievous smirk spread across her lips. "I was thinking... it's probably too late for me to learn combat. How about you just be my boyfriend and protect me forever?" I froze, then chuckled softly, rapping my knuckles against her forehead. "Dream on, kid." I stepped out of the back room, leaving Mia dramatically whining in protest behind me. A faint smile crept onto my face. I realized this was the first genuine smile I had worn since walking away from Elena. The very next second, the smile died on my lips. The bottle of disinfectant slipped through my fingers, shattering against the floor. A familiar figure stood in the shadows. Elena was leaning against the edge of the bar, a slim cigarette held delicately between her long fingers. Under the pulsing neon lights, the shadows danced across her striking, flawless face, making her completely unreadable. Her gaze locked onto mine, glacial as ever. My immediate instinct was to turn and bolt for the back exit. "Why are you running, Damian?" Mia called after me. Elena's eyes flicked to the voice behind me, a flash of dark displeasure crossing her features. Predictably, the alley was already swarming with Elena's enforcers. The lead guard bowed his head respectfully. "Boss, Miss Vance flew all the way out here personally to bring you home. Please don't make this hard on the brothers." "Did something happen back home?" Unless a catastrophic crisis had hit the Vance family, Elena's pride would never allow her to come hunting for me in person. "The Don passed away. Miss Vance needs you." My heart sank into a bitter hollow. Damian, you idiot. You actually thought she came for you? She came because she needs a weapon. And I just happened to be the sharpest blade she owned. "Understood. I'll leave with you tomorrow." "I just need a few hours to say goodbye to my friends." The moment I turned around, Elena was already standing right in front of me. The dark circles beneath her eyes were heavy. She looked exhausted. Julian was back. Shouldn't she be walking on sunshine? Then a darker thought hit me: perhaps they were so wildly happy in private that she simply hadn't slept. My expression hardened, my fists balling at my sides. "Friends?" Elena's voice was dangerously low, betraying nothing. "What kind of friends require an extra night before you're willing to come with me?"