Sold: Dark Mafia Romance

So I stay low, pray that I don’t get hit, and drive out into the night. The engine roars as I push it as fast as it will go.

Harper needs me.

And then I see it, ahead in the distance. A black sedan with tinted windows.

I floor the gas, and the distance between us quickly shrinks. The only thing I care about is in that car ahead of me.

“I’m coming, Harper,” I growl under my breath. “I won’t let him take you from me.”

Harper

A few minutes before

I’m frozen to the ground as the man I thought was my father approaches me.

“You’re coming with me,” he growls, taking a firm hold on my arm.

He drags me away, straight to his car, his fingers digging into my skin. My brain can’t process what’s happening as he shoves me head down inside, slamming the door shut behind me. I lie on the back seat, completely shaken, heart palpitating, my mind reeling with all the information I just learned.

Loud bangs are audible.

I shriek in panic.

I don’t dare look out the window, afraid of what I’m gonna find.

Smoke and more gunshots fill the area.

Suddenly, the door on the driver’s side opens, and my father climbs inside, quickly shutting the door before starting the engine. The wheels start to rev, and now my father is going to take me away.

No, I can’t let this happen.

Without thinking, I get on my knees and jerk the door handle, but it’s already locked. I refuse to give up. I bang on the windows as hard as I can.

“Harper! Stop that!” my father shouts, swooping in behind with a hand, trying to strike me.

He’s never tried to hit me, but now it doesn’t even seem to faze him.

Who is this man, and what did he do to the man I once loved?

All this time, I fought for him, and now he’s come to claim me back like I’m some kind of prize …?

“Stay quiet!” he growls as we drive off in a hurry.

His voice rings in my ears as though my brain is still trying to process the very fact he’s here.

“How are you even alive?” I ask, still trying to find a way out, but the windows won’t budge either.

“Doesn’t matter,” he growls, still fishing around the back seat as though he’s trying to get me to calm down, but it only makes my nerves worse. “Now stop fighting.”

I want to believe him, but I can’t. He’s so much more violent than I remember. This isn’t the dad I grew up with. Or maybe I never knew who he was.

“Who was that man, that Igor? And why did you kill him if he was my real father?”

He looks at me, rage filling his eyes with dread, just like mine.

“I did what I had to do.”

No. I don’t believe that. I shake my head. My father would never do these things. Not to me.

“What about Marcello? Where is he? What did you do to him?” My voice sounds like that of a beggar, but I have no choice. I need to know what happened to him. It can’t end like this.

He can’t be … dead.

My father jerks the wheel so hard I’m thrown to the other side of the car, bumping head-first into the door. I groan and rub my head, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. When I’ve gathered myself again, I narrow my eyes at him through the rearview mirror.

“You’re a monster,” I say through gritted teeth, hoping—no, praying—Marcello is still alive and coming after me.

While driving away from the scene of the crime, my father growls back, “Don’t speak to me like that. I am your father.”

I shake my head vehemently. “All this time, I thought you were dead. I even went looking for you and Mom.”

“I’m alive, and that’s all that matters,” he says.

My eyes flutter back and forth between my shaking hands and the eyes of the man in the rearview mirror, which appear soulless and void of any conscience. “No. That man you killed, he was my real father. All this time, you made me believe I was your daughter, that you loved me …”

“I did it to protect you and your mother.” He glares right back at me through the rearview mirror. “We are your family now.”

“What?” I cry out, unable to stop the emotion from bleeding into my voice. “No! You shot my actual family! My real father is gone now, thanks to you!”

“I AM YOUR FATHER!”

The booming voice that emanates from his throat scares me back into a corner. He never used to talk like this. Even though I know this man … he is not my father. Not anymore.

“No,” I spit back.

“I don’t care what you say or think, that is the truth, whether you want it to be or not,” he retorts, and he turns his head back again and focuses on driving.