Claimed By The Ruthless Dark Mafia Don

Giada POV The Don's Penthouse was a monument to a cold soul. Stepping inside, I was met with a stark expanse of black, white, and gray, illuminated only by the sprawling Manhattan skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. There was no warmth here, only the suffocating weight of absolute power. A silent guard directed me past the main living area and toward the heavy frosted glass doors of the private spa. I pushed the doors open. Humid air, thick with the scent of eucalyptus, clung to my skin. In the center of the room, a Roman-style heated pool rippled under dim lighting. But Dante Blackwell wasn't waiting for me. Katheryn was. The self-proclaimed Mafia Queen and sister to a powerful Capo stood by the marble edge, flanked by two burly maids. Her eyes were venomous, fixated on the simple dress I wore. I knew Kelsey had paid off the Associates in the hallway to listen to my screams, hoping I would die tonight. They were all so predictable. "You think you can skip the line, little Collateral?" Katheryn sneered, stepping forward. In her manicured hand, she held a small glass vial filled with a thick, yellowish liquid. High-grade corrosive acid. "Hold her," Katheryn commanded. The two maids lunged, their heavy hands twisting into my hair and forcing me to my knees on the cold marble. Katheryn pinched my jaw, her nails digging into my skin as she brought the vial toward my lips. She wanted to melt my face and my vocal cords. I let out a muffled whimper, thrashing wildly with the desperate energy of cornered prey. As Katheryn leaned in, I jerked my head and violently slammed my shoulder into her wrist. She shrieked. The glass vial slipped from her fingers, arcing through the humid air before plunging into the heated pool. The water erupted into a violent hiss, a plume of acrid white smoke billowing upward as the acid instantly reacted with the heated water. But within seconds, the massive pool's filtration system churned, and the toxic cloud was sucked into the vents. The surface stilled, the diluted chemicals rendered inert in the vast volume of water. Katheryn stared at the ruined acid, her face twisting into pure, unadulterated rage. She grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. But as the dim light hit my face, she froze. My hair was a tangled mess, and the pale, ashen foundation I had applied earlier made my skin look sickly and dull. The fake, ugly blemishes I had drawn on stood out starkly. Katheryn’s furious panting slowed. The intense, murderous jealousy in her eyes flickered into disgusted amusement. I was no beauty threat to her reign. "You're not even worth another vial," she spat, her vanity appeased. But her authority had still been challenged. She reached to the nearby lounge chair and uncoiled a thick, customized leather belt—the kind Enforcers used for discipline. "Put her on the floor." The maids slammed me chest-down onto the hard marble. *Crack.* The heavy leather bit into my back, tearing through the thin fabric of my dress and slicing into my flesh. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, swallowing the scream. *Crack.* Fire exploded across my shoulder blades. I squeezed my eyes shut, my mind ruthlessly counting the seconds. *11:28 PM.* In my past life, I knew Dante’s schedule flawlessly. He always finished his nightly briefings with his Consigliere at exactly half-past eleven. *Crack.* Blood began to pool against the marble. *11:29 PM.* Suddenly, the heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps echoed from the hallway, followed by the crisp, terrified voices of the guards. "The Don has arrived." Katheryn’s face drained of color. The belt slipped from her trembling hand. She knew Dante despised unauthorized torture in his sanctuary; his Don's Command was absolute. This was my moment. Before the maids could react, I shoved them aside with a burst of adrenaline. I stumbled toward the frosted glass doors just as they swung open, then intentionally let my foot slip on the wet marble. With a breathless cry, I plunged backward into the warm waters of the pool. The water rushed over me, instantly dissolving the ashen foundation and washing away the ugly, drawn-on scars. Strong, unyielding hands broke the surface, grabbing my arms and hauling me out of the water. I gasped, water streaming from my hair as I instinctively clung to the lapels of a custom dark suit. I looked up through wet lashes. Dante Blackwell towered over me. His sharp, ruthless features were carved from stone, his dark eyes radiating a lethal danger. But as he looked down at my face—now completely bare, flawless, and bearing a haunting, seven-point resemblance to his dead Ellen—his breath hitched. His gaze dropped to my back, where the torn dress revealed vicious, bleeding welts. The air in the room plummeted to freezing. The Dark Don's eyes darkened into a pitch-black abyss of violent, possessive fury. "Drag her out of my sight," Dante commanded, his voice a low, terrifying rumble directed at the guards staring at a sobbing Katheryn. He tightened his grip on my waist, pulling my bleeding body flush against his chest. "And get Dr. Weaver up here. Now."