Chapter 5: Wet Dreams

Katarina POV - Still at the Bookstore

"We need to leave. Now."

Selena grabbed her bag, but I was frozen, staring at my phone. Mateo's last message glowed on the screen:

Mateo: If he shows up, don't let him in.

"Kat!" Selena shook my arm. "Did you hear me? We need to go."

"Who is he talking about?" I whispered. "If who shows up?"

"I don't know, but we're not staying here to find out." She pulled me toward the back room. "Come on. We'll lock up and go out the back door."

I glanced at the front window one more time. The red car was back again, parked across the street…

My stomach dropped.

"Selena... the car from this morning. It's back."

She looked, and her face went pale. "Shit. Okay, back door. Right now."

We rushed through the storage room. I grabbed my jacket and bag while Selena fumbled with the keys, locking the register and turning off lights.

"You're staying with me until we figure this out." She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the back exit. "Come on."

At Selena's Apartment - That Night

Selena's apartment was small but warm. Safe. Her cat, Miso, immediately curled up on my lap when I sat on the couch.

But I couldn't relax.

Every creak, every car passing outside made my heart jump.

"Here." Selena handed me tea. "Chamomile. It'll help you sleep."

I took it but didn't drink. My eyes kept drifting to the window, to the street below.

Was the red car out there? Watching?

"Kat, talk to me." Selena sat beside me. "What's going on in your head? "

I shook my head. "I don't know. I’m Just confused …I wish i spoke with mateo"

"Have you tried calling Mateo again?"

I checked my phone. Still nothing.

I dialed. Voicemail.

Me: Mateo, please call me back. I'm scared. What's happening?

Delivered. Read.

No response.

"He's ignoring me," I whispered.

Selena squeezed my hand. "Maybe his phone died. Or maybe he's in trouble too."

That thought made it worse.

"Try to get some rest," she said gently. "I'll stay up and keep watch, okay?"

I nodded, but I knew I wouldn't sleep.

I moved to her guest bedroom, crawling under the covers fully clothed. My phone stayed clutched in my hand, waiting for Mateo to call back.

But he didn't.

Around midnight, I heard it.

Knock. Knock.

I froze, heart hammering.

Selena's footsteps in the hallway. Her voice, low and cautious. "Who is it?"

Silence.

Then another knock. Louder this time.

I crept to the bedroom door, pressing my ear against it.

"I said who is it?" Selena's voice was sharper now.

And then I heard it. A voice from the other side of the door—low, smooth, dangerous.

"Open the door, piccola. You ran last time. Now I want you to crawl."

My blood turned to ice.

That voice.

The Don.

He'd found me.

"Selena, don't open it!" I screamed, rushing into the hallway.

She stepped back from the door, eyes wide. "Who the hell is that?"

"The man from the club. The one who..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

The door handle rattled.

"I know you're in there, Katarina," his voice purred through the wood.Selena grabbed her phone. "I'm calling the police."

"Don't." My voice came out barely a whisper. "He's... he's mafia. The police won't help."

The rattling stopped.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then his voice again, softer this time. Almost intimate.

"I'll be back for you, piccola. And next time, you won't have a door to hide behind."

Footsteps retreated down the hallway.

I collapsed against the wall, shaking.

Selena was already at the window, peeking through the curtains. "There's a car leaving. Red.The fancy one we saw outside the bookstore."

He'd found me.

And he'd be back.

That Night - The Dream

I didn't think I'd sleep. But exhaustion pulled me under like a riptide.

And then I was somewhere else.

A marble hallway. White floors. Endless mirrors reflecting my naked body from every angle. No exits. The air smelled like blood and roses.

My reflection stared back at me—flushed cheeks, bruised lips, thighs slick with arousal I couldn't explain.

I was trembling, but not from fear.

From want.

Then he stepped from the shadows.

The Don.

His shirt was half-open, revealing a chest carved from muscle and danger. His belt hung in his hand like a promise. Those emerald eyes pinned me in place, and I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"I told you," he said, voice rough like broken stone. "Run, and I'll break you."

I didn't run.

He was on me in two strides, pressing me hard against the mirrored wall. One hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. The other wrapped around my throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to control.

"You liked kneeling for me, didn't you?"

I wanted to lie. Wanted to say no.

But my body betrayed me. My lips parted. My legs trembled.

"Yes," I whispered.

He smiled—cruel and gorgeous.

Then he shoved me down to my knees.

"Show me how much."

I opened my mouth without hesitation, tongue out like I was starved. His cock was already hard, heavy, flushed dark at the tip. I took him deep, swallowing around him, tears slipping from my eyes as he hit the back of my throat.

"That's it," he groaned, fingers tightening in my hair. "My filthy girl. My obedient little mouth."

I sucked harder, faster, desperate to please him. He dragged me up before I could finish, spinning me around and bending me over a glass table that hadn't been there seconds ago.

My reflection stared up at me—eyes wide, lips swollen, need dripping down my thighs.

"You're wet for me," he said, dragging two fingers through my folds. "Disgusting."

I whimpered.

He didn't give me time to breathe.

He thrust inside me in one brutal stroke—no warning, no mercy—and I shattered.

"This is mine now," he growled, pounding into me. "Your body. Your mouth. Your screams. All mine."

His hand clamped over my mouth as I came, crying against the glass, legs buckling beneath him.

"You love being used," he snarled. "Say it."

"I love it," I gasped. "I love it. I love you."

He didn't stop.

He fucked me harder, dragging orgasm after orgasm from my trembling body until I couldn't tell if I was begging for more or for mercy.

And then he kissed my shoulder.

"Next time, piccola... I'll leave marks they can't hide."

I came with a sob, body convulsing.

I jolted awake, drenched in sweat, my thighs sticky, my heart racing.

I clutched the blanket, burying my face in it as shame flooded me.

What is wrong with me?

I was wet. Aching. And I could still feel his breath on my skin.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream.

But I couldn't forget the way it felt.

I covered my mouth with both hands, terrified the moan still caught in my throat would escape and wake Selena.

The Next Morning - Back at My Apartment

"I just need to grab some clothes," I told Selena the next morning before leaving her house.

I didn't want her to see the mess that was my family.

The second I put my key in the lock of my apartment, I knew something was wrong.

The handle was loose. The lock, scratched and damaged like someone had forced it.

I pushed the door open slowly.

The lights were off, but I could smell it immediately—cheap cologne and stale whiskey.

And then I saw him.

On the couch.

My father.

Passed out, mouth hanging open, arms spread like he owned the place again.

No.

No, no, no.

He'd been gone for three years. Why was he back?

My stomach twisted. I clutched my phone, checking for messages from Mateo.

Still nothing.

Me: He's here. Why didn't you warn me?

I started backing toward the door, my eyes never leaving the man who'd made my childhood a nightmare.

And then his eyes opened.He'd been awake the whole time.

"Where the fuck you think you been, girl?"

My throat went dry. I couldn't move.

"I asked you a question," he slurred, rising slowly to his feet. "You think you can run off and come back whenever you like?"

His voice was lower now. That meant something bad was coming.

"I... I just needed clothes," I stammered. "I wasn't... I didn't mean"

He stepped toward me.

My back hit the door.

"You got no say in anything anymore," he said darkly. "Not after what I did for this family."

My voice shook. "What did you do?"

He smiled.

Reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded paper, tossing it onto the coffee table.

A contract. My name printed at the top. His signature at the bottom. A seal burned into the corner—some kind of symbol I didn't recognize.

"I sold you, Katarina," he said simply. "You're leaving. Tonight."

The room tilted.

"What?"

"You heard me." He lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke in my face. "Giordano's men are coming to pick you up at eight. Pack something nice. He likes his girls pretty."

I stood there, frozen, as my world collapsed around me.

Chapter 6: They Came With Guns

Katarina's POV

“You can’t sell me like I’m one of your broken bottles,” I spat.

My father's eyes burned into me, his resentment thick and ugly. His mouth twisted not in anger, but in happiness.

"Get ready, Katarina," he said, his voice icy. "The Giordano Cartel will be here for you. Don't make me wait."

I froze. The chill wasn't just fear..it was the disbelief

I was being sold as a piece of property. A whore.

The dream from the night before still clung to me. I could feel the Don's voice on my skin, the echo of his belt dragging across tile, the sting of his teeth on my shoulder.

I had woken up dripping, ashamed, aroused and now this?

This couldn't be real. I was being sold to the Cartel. To a man I didn't even know. The anger inside me flared up, ready to burst, but I swallowed it. Fighting wouldn't be worth it. Not when challenging the rules meant I could lose my life.

"You'll regret this," I said quietly.

He laughed. "No, darling. You will."

His words stung, and his tone was final. He meant it. This was happening whether I wanted it or not. But that didn't mean I had to make it easy for them.

I turned stiffly and walked to my room. My fingers shook as I grabbed a bag.

From the living room, my mother's voice drifted in—slurred, barely coherent. She was slumped on the couch, eyes closed, lost in whatever drug had destroyed her mind years ago.

"Make sure you get my cut," she mumbled, not even bothering to open her eyes.

I wanted to throw up.

Not because she said it but because she meant it.

I didn't respond. The thought of being sold like some kind of commodity made bile rise in my throat. But she didn't care. It was always about the money, the high, the next fix.

I grabbed a small bag from my closet, trying to keep my composure, but the panic was rising. I could hear loud voices outside now and becoming impatient. The sound of motorcycle engines revving.

They were here.

I turned to leave my room, and Mateo was standing in the doorway. His face was drawn, a mix of concern and fury blazing in his eyes.

"No," he said, his voice low and forceful. "You're not leaving. I won't let this happen."

I wanted to cry and beg him to stop our father, to fight for me. But I knew it wouldn't change anything. The Cartel was already here. They would take me whether he liked it or not.

My throat closed up. "Mateo, please don't make this worse."

He didn't budge. "I should've killed him the day he hit you. I should've—"

Heavy Knock!. Knock!!. Knock!!!.

The sound of fists pounding on the door cut him off abruptly.

It was them.

I could hear my father's voice, quick and muffled, as he opened the door and spoke to the men on the other side. My stomach turned. This was it. There was no way out now.

But I wasn't going down without a fight.

"Mateo," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Distract them. Please."

His jaw clenched. He didn't want to agree. But he saw the fear in my eyes, the desperation.

"If I don't make it out..." he said, voice tight. "Run far. Don't look back."

"Get to your window," he added, his voice suddenly sharp. "I'll buy you time."

I nodded and slipped back into my room, heart pounding.

I yanked the curtains open and shoved the window up. My breath caught in my throat as I looked down. Two black motorcycles idled at the curb below. One man leaned against the building, arms crossed tattooed neck, shaved head …the thugs from yesterday... The other stood beside him swinging a knife.

Before climbing out, I grabbed a butter knife from my dresser and shoved it into the waistband of my shorts. Useless, probably but it made me feel less helpless.

Then..

CRASH.

A loud grunt from the living room.

"Stay the fuck away from my sister!" Mateo's voice, full of fury.

I didn't wait.

I climbed out the window, gripping the ledge, and dropped down into the alley below. I landed hard scraping my palms, my knees stinging but I was free.

For now.

I ran barefoot and didn’t look back

Every footstep echoed louder than the last. Every shadow felt like hands reaching for me. My heart pounded so hard it hurt, my chest aching with every breath.

Behind me, I could still hear them..heavy footsteps, someone yelling in Italian, furniture scraping.

I had seconds. Not minutes. Seconds.

I rounded the corner to the alley and collided straight into someone.

His Strong arms caught me before I could fall.

"Kat?"

I blinked up through tears.

Liam…. His eyes scanned me sweaty, scratched and wild-eyed

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

I couldn't form words. I just nodded, tears streaming down my face. "Please. They're after me. I can't.."

"Come with me." His voice sounded protective. He wrapped his arm around me and led me quickly through side streets, moving with a confidence I'd never seen in him before.

He didn't ask any questions. He just moved.

At Liam's Apartment

His place was... not what I expected.

Liam…quiet, comic-reading Liam…lived in subtle wealth. The apartment was clean, organized and expensive.

It wasn't the mess of pizza boxes and game controllers I'd imagined.

Bookshelves lined the walls, everything alphabetized. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and gun oil? A security panel blinked quietly on the wall by the door.

Everything was too neat.

"You live here?" I asked, dazed.

He glanced at me. "Yeah. It's safer than most places. Come on."

He led me to a small guest room and gestured for me to sit on the bed. Then he disappeared into the bathroom.

I looked around, unease creeping up my spine.

Something felt... off.

He returned with a bowl of warm water and a towel, kneeling gently at my feet.

"You're bleeding," he said softly.

He touched the edge of my ankle and I flinched.

"Ouch," I hissed.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I have to clean them. You've got cuts everywhere."

He washed my feet with gentle hands, so steady. He bandaged me with ease

I watched his face as he worked. There was something different about him. His eyes looked darker. His voice was smoother. Even his accent seemed... off.

I'd always known Liam was a little weird. But now, I wasn't sure if he was weird...

Or dangerous.

"Stay here, Kat," Liam said, standing. "I'll make sure you're safe. Get some rest."

I nodded, too exhausted to argue.

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

I sank onto the bed, my mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion.

But one thing was clear—I was no longer in control of my life. The Giordano Cartel was after me. My father had sold me. And now I was caught in something bigger than myself.

But I would not be a victim. Not anymore.

As I lay there in the dark, I began to notice small things about Liam's apartment that didn't make sense. The faint hum of what seemed like a security network. The polished look of the bookshelves and expensive gadgets, all meticulously organized.

His usual nerdy awkwardness had slipped away, replaced by a different him.

The most unsettling detail?

He'd found me too fast in that alley. Like he knew where I'd be.

And he never asked why I was running. Never asked who was chasing me.

A whisper crawled through my brain:

What if he already knew?

I rubbed my eyes, exhausted. I didn't want to think about that now.

But I glanced at the mirror on the wall across from the bed.

Liam was standing in the doorway behind me—I hadn't heard him come back.

For just a second, his expression shifted. A stranger's smile.

Then it was gone. Back to the gentle, concerned Liam.

I blinked.

Was I imagining it?

He stepped back into the hallway without a word, closing the door again.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin, heart pounding.

I was safe here.

But for how long?

And from who?

Chapter 7: Vittorio De Luca Loan Shark Office.

Vittorio’s POV

Outside the Bookstore

I sat in the driver’s seat of my red car, gloved hands resting on my knees, eyes locked on the window across the street.

The window was cracked open slightly.

She was inside. I could feel it not just in my chest, but in my cock.

The first time I met her had been a mistake. That kiss. But I couldn’t forget it. I couldn’t forget her.

Katarina.

She was talking to someone inside. Her voice drifted through the window soft and distant.

Soft yellow light bled through the curtains. I wondered if she was reading. Or crying. Or thinking about me.

I didn’t know which one turned me on more.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I muttered to myself.

But I didn’t leave. She hadn’t seen me … not really. Not from the bookstore as I watched her from my car. Not when she’d kissed me at the club. She hadn’t seen what I truly was.

But she would.

I clenched my jaw as the curtain shifted. A silhouette moved past slim, barefoot.

She was pacing. She always did that when she was anxious.

The memory hit me her mouth open, trembling, on her knees in front of me at the club. Her breath shaky. Her body responding even through her fear.

I growled under my breath and gripped the steering wheel until it creaked.

“She’s just a girl,” I whispered. “A distraction. Nothing more.”

But even now, in the dark, her scent haunted me.The sweat from fear and something sweet and purely hers.

That fucking scent made my cock throb in my jeans. I pressed my palm against it….it was hard. Lik a punishment.

“Not yet.”

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t touch her again until she begged.

The front door to the apartment building opened. A man stepped outside in a hoodie.

I relaxed slightly.

“She’s mine,” I whispered into the empty car.

For a moment, I imagined walking up those stairs. Knocking. Then gripping her by the throat and asking if she wanted to run again.

But I didn’t move.

I sat there watching her and breathing her in from across the street.

Eventually, the light went out and the window went dark.

I lit a cigarette with shaking hands and took a long drag.

“I’ll give her one more night,” I muttered. “Then I’ll take what’s mine.”

I started the engine and I didn’t glance back at the window.

She was already imprinted behind my eyes. I pulled away from the curb, the red car disappearing into the night. But somehow, I found myself driving and following her into the dark.

Mateo POV AT Katarina’s Apartment After She Fled

"Where the fuck is the girl?"

Scarface's boot slammed into the coffee table, sending broken plates and empty beer bottles crashing to the floor.

My heart pounded as I stepped between him and my father, who reeked of whiskey and desperation. His hands trembled as he stumbled back.

"She was here," my father stammered. "I swear she was just here..."

Scarface didn't care. He jerked his chin at the two goons beside him.

"Hold the pretty boy down."

Before I could react, strong arms grabbed me. One yanked my wrist behind my back while the other shoved me forward until my knees slammed into the cracked floorboards.

Pain exploded through my legs, but I clenched my jaw tight, refusing to scream.

My father scrambled to his feet, waving a stack of crumpled bills at Scarface.

"Here! Take it back!" he cried, tears and sweat streaming down his face. "Take the money! I don't want trouble!"

Scarface snatched the money and laughed coldly. He let the bills rain down over my father's head, slapping him across the face with a handful.

"You think this was about money?" Scarface stepped closer, shoving my father so hard he collapsed into the broken table. "We don't want your filthy fucking money."

He knelt down, grabbed my father's hair, and yanked his head back.

"We want the girl you promised," he spat. "The sexy little virgin."

My gut twisted hearing him talk about Kat that way.

Scarface gripped my father's chin, forcing his mouth open.

"You think you can fuck with Giordano?" he hissed.

Without warning, he smashed the butt of his gun across my father's face. Blood sprayed across the wall. My father crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

"Please!" he cried. "She was here! I swear! Don't kill me!"

Scarface glanced around the room. His sick eyes landed on my mother slumped on the stained couch, barely conscious, her blouse hanging off her skeletal frame.

"Maybe you need motivation," Scarface said.

"No..." I muttered, struggling against the men holding me.

"Don't touch her, you sick fuck!" I shouted.

But Scarface just laughed. He grabbed my mother by the hair and yanked her upright. Her eyes fluttered open—glassy, confused, too high to understand.

He ripped her blouse apart. Buttons scattered. Her pale breasts spilled out, covered in bruises and track marks.

She moaned softly—confused, pained.

"Pretty little junkie," Scarface muttered, unzipping his pants. He shoved her back onto the couch.

I thrashed harder. "NO!" I roared, but they shoved my face into the floor.

I heard it. Fabric tearing. My mother's weak whimpers. The disgusting grunts from Scarface as he forced himself on her.

Tears blurred my vision. I squeezed my eyes shut, fists clenched so tight my nails cut into my palms.

When he finished, he wiped himself on her torn blouse. She just lay there, broken.

Scarface turned back to me, grinning. "You ready to talk now?"

I lifted my head, blood dripping from my split lip. I glared at him with pure hatred.

And spat at his feet.

His smile faded.

He pulled out a hunting knife, the blade gleaming under the light.

"Let's see how much pain you can take."

He grabbed my left hand and forced it flat against the broken table.

"No!" I struggled, but they pinned me harder.

SLICE.

White-hot agony shot up my arm as he severed my pinky finger clean off. I screamed. Blood sprayed across the table.

My finger rolled off and landed in a puddle of whiskey and dirt.

Scarface leaned in close, his breath rancid. "You have twenty-four hours," he whispered. "Bring me the girl... or I kill you, your whore mother, and your useless father. Then I'll find your little sister and fuck her until she breaks."

He kicked my severed finger across the floor.

I gasped, vision going black from pain.

"I'll pay it back," I croaked. "Just give me time."

"You want to buy her back?" Scarface hissed. "Fine. Pay ten times what your father took. Ten times. Or we take her body and your lives."

Ten times the money? Impossible.

"I'll get the money," I said, blood dripping from my hand.

Scarface laughed and slapped me. "Time's ticking."

He nodded to his men. They let me go.

I collapsed, gasping. The door slammed. Their motorcycles roared outside.

I crawled to my mother and covered her with a blanket. She didn't respond.

I sat there, clutching my bleeding hand, shaking with rage.

I had twenty-four hours. Maybe less.

If I wanted to save my sister, I had to do something unthinkable.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I'd gotten from the streets—a number everyone whispered about but no one dared call.

The Devil's number.

Vittorio De Luca Loan Shark Office.