Part 3Sold To My Secret Mafia Father

Nelson let out a blood-curdling scream and threw me back against the sofa. My mouth was filled with warm copper; blood from his ear began to pour down his neck.

"You fucking whore!"

He lost it. He grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the coffee table and slammed it into the side of my head.

The world went black for a second. I slumped onto the cushions. Before I could even register the pain, his fists started raining down on me.

It hurt. God, it hurt.

"I’ll kill you! You think you’re special? You’re just a piece of meat I’m selling!"

He was panting, his voice a guttural snarl.

"I tried to be nice! I tried to do this the easy way, and you had to pull this shit!"

Amber rushed over, grabbing his arm. "Nelson, stop! Stop! If you break her, Rossi won't pay! That’s ten million dollars you're hitting!"

Nelson shoved her away and backhanded me one last time. My vision was swimming, my mouth a mess of blood.

He raised his heavy boot to stomp on me, but a voice like thunder boomed from the doorway.

"ENOUGH!"

Nelson’s foot froze in mid-air.

I forced myself to look up. Standing in the doorway was a man with a long, jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw.

Mick.

I remembered him. Five years ago, he was a low-level thug, the guy who fetched coffee for the real players in my father’s circle. Now, he was wearing a tailored suit, flanked by two massive bodyguards. He carried an aura of genuine power now.

Nelson’s face transformed instantly. He pulled back his foot, wiped his bloody hands on his trousers, and practically sprinted toward Mick with a subservient bow.

"Mr. Mick! Sir! I’m... I’m Nelson. Nelson Woods. We spoke on the phone."

Mick didn't even look at him. His eyes were locked on me. I was curled on the sofa, bleeding, my clothes torn, looking like something dragged out of a wreck.

His brow furrowed. "This is the woman? The one the boss is looking for?"

Nelson nodded frantically. "Yes, yes! She’s the one. Matches the description perfectly. I made sure of it."

Mick walked over and looked down at me, his eyes cold. "You sure?"

Nelson leaned in, a sycophantic grin on his face. "Certain, sir. Mr. Rossi mentioned a specific heart-shaped birthmark on her left chest. Look, I’ll show you—"

He actually reached down to rip my shirt open.

I clutched my collar with the last of my strength, my nails digging into the back of his hand. Nelson hissed in pain, his face darkening as he raised his hand to strike me again.

"Stop," Mick barked.

Nelson stopped instantly, retreating a few steps with a sheepish grin.

I looked up at the scarred man, my voice a dry, rattling ghost of itself.

"Mick."

Mick’s eyes narrowed.

I didn't stop. I stared right into his pupils. "You’re Mick 'The Blade' Sullivan, aren't you?"

His expression shifted. He reached down and hoisted me up by my collar.

"You think you can get cozy with me, sweetheart?" His face was inches from mine, the scent of expensive tobacco and old violence rolling off him. "Who do you think you are, trying to use my name?"

I was dangling, my feet barely touching the floor, gasping for air.

Nelson rushed over and slapped me across the mouth. Hard.

"Don't you dare use his name, you trash!" He turned back to Mick, his voice dripping with honey. "Don't mind her, sir. She’s just a brat who needs to be taught a lesson. If she gives the boss any trouble later, I have ways of making her talk."

Amber piped up from the corner, smirking. "Exactly. A big man like Mr. Mick doesn't have time for your games, Regina. You're lucky he hasn't killed you yet."

The slap had made my head spin. I spit a mouthful of blood onto Mick’s polished Italian leather shoes.

He stiffened, his eyes darkening to a dangerous black. He dropped me, and I collapsed onto the floor.

"You've got a lot of nerve," he whispered.

I stayed there, huddled on the carpet, every inch of me screaming in pain. But I forced my head up. I looked at him and said, word for word:

"Mick. Go get Joseph Rossi. Now."