His ruin

The rain tapped against the cracked windowpane, its soft rhythm, the only kindness Luna had ever known in this house. She sat curled up in the farthest corner of her tiny room, knees hugged to her chest as the familiar weight of dread settled deep in her bones. Tonight was different. Tonight, she wasn't just an inconvenience-she was a commodity.

Her stepmother's words still rang in her ears.

"You should be grateful, girl. A man like him wouldn't look twice at someone like you."

Grateful.

How could she be grateful for being sold off like livestock?

Her fingers traced the bruises along her arms - shadows of punishments past. The fresh cut on her lip still stung from earlier when she had dared to question them. A slap had silenced her, but not before she had seen the gleam of satisfaction in her stepfather's eyes.

They had always hated her.

She wasn't their daughter - just an unwanted burden left behind after her mother's death. From the moment they took her, they made it clear she was nothing more than a servant in their home, a punching bag when they were angry and a ghost when they weren't.

Luna had learned early on that silence was her best defence. That if she moved carefully, spoke quietly, and never met their eyes, maybe—just maybe—she could escape their wrath for another day. But it never lasted. There was always another punishment waiting.

The scars on her ribs told stories of belt lashes for speaking out of turn. The burns on her wrist whispered of the time she spilt tea on the expensive rug. And the bruises on her thighs reminded her of the nights she couldn’t run fast enough.

Now, they had found a new way to be rid of her.

A contract. A deal with the devil himself.

Dante Valentino.

She had heard his name before—whispered in fearful hushes. An Italian mafia leader with no heart, no mercy. He was the kind of man people crossed themselves before speaking of, the kind of man who could make her stepfather tremble. And now, he owned her.

A choked sob slipped from her lips, but she covered her mouth quickly. Crying wouldn’t help. It never did.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. The lock on her door rattled, and she shrank back instinctively. The door swung open, revealing her stepfather’s hulking figure. His lips curled into a sneer.

"Get up," he spat. "Time to meet your new owner."

Owner.

Her heart pounded so violently she thought it might shatter.

This was it. There was no escape.

She was being handed over to the devil, and she didn’t know if it would be worse than the hell she was leaving behind—or if it was just another prison with a different name.

But deep inside, beneath the fear and the pain, a single, desperate thought burned.

If she had to belong to the devil… maybe she could learn how to survive him.

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