When You Make A Deal With The Biker Mafia

Adriana

Once I hear that sentence, I jump off my bed.

Did I hear that right?

No—no, it can’t be. My brain must still be tangled in dreams, the remnants of sleep playing tricks on me. Because what I think I just heard…It’s not possible.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes hard enough to blur the shadows into streaks. My heartbeat is a drumbeat inside my chest….loud, frantic, refusing to slow.

The voices come again. Low and tense.

I slide out of bed, feet cold against the floor, and press my ear to the door. Every muscle in my body is taut, straining to catch every word.

My breaths turn shallow, my chest rising and falling too fast, the edges of my vision going tight. My knees tremble, and I’m not sure if it’s fear or the leftover weakness from sleep, but it’s enough to make me feel like I could collapse if I move too suddenly.

“Gesù Cristo,” Papa mutters, voice raw, chest heaving like the air itself has betrayed him. There’s something in his tone I don’t hear often…not just fear, but a deep, stunned confusion.

From my angle, all I can see is Matteo’s back. He’s facing away from my room, standing between Papa and the door. But the sharp gasp that slips from Papa tells me enough.

Matteo isn’t joking. Not tonight.

And why would he? This is a man who

doesn’t waste words, much less jokes. Especially not about something like this.

I know that posture, that stance. His shoulders are squared, his chin angled just enough to slice through a person without touching them.

He’s giving Papa that icy blue death stare, the one he uses to crush people before he even lays a hand on them. He’s used it on me before. More than once. I always like it’s his favorite weapon.

Matteo has made tormenting us his sport ever since Papa fell into his debt. Every visit, every demand, every threat….it’s been a slow suffocation.

And now?

Now he’s talking about marrying me?

No. No, no, no. This can't happen.

Men like Matteo marry glamorous Italian daughters of underbosses. Women who glide into rooms dripping with status and family connections, who know the right people to greet and the wrong ones to offend.

Not… me.

Not the daughter of a disgraced man who was tossed out of the mafia like yesterday’s garbage.

If Matteo married me, it would be a scandal. A joke. A shame whispered through every corner of the Five Families.

I try to shove that thought away before it sinks too deep. I inch the door open just enough to see.

Papa’s eyes are wide, bloodshot, his jaw hanging like he can’t wrap his head around the words. “I have failed her,” he mutters again, softer this time, almost to himself.

“I will allow no such thing,” he wheezes, pushing himself upright. His voice shakes, but there’s a flicker of fight in it, an echo of the man he used to be.

Matteo’s laugh is sharp, humorless, and aimed like a knife. He stares at Papa the way you’d look at trash blocking your way. “You’re not in charge here, old man. Not anymore.”

“I’ll pay the debt,” Papa says quickly, the desperation spilling out of him. “Somehow. But Adriana? Not her. Not while I breathe.”

Matteo doesn’t flinch. “I don’t want her living in this dump,” he says, voice cold, precise. “I don’t want her near you. You’re a danger to her.”

Papa spits back, “And you’re not?” I’ve never heard his voice like that before…pure, burning rage.

The silence after is razor-thin. Matteo’s jaw tightens. His fists curl at his sides. Papa’s words have cut deeper than he wants to admit, because it’s true.

His enemies are everywhere, waiting for the right moment to strike. Being his wife wouldn’t just be dangerous; it could be a death sentence painted in gold.

Papa’s voice softens, cracks. “You’ve taken everything from me. Now you want my daughter?”

The sound of it shatters something in me.

Matteo’s fingers drum once against the table, sharp and impatient. “I’ve wanted her for a long time. Allesandro cut the bullshit. You knew this time was coming sooner or later.”

Papa’s eyes flash. “She says you hate her.”

Matteo leans forward, the corner of his mouth lifting, not in amusement but in warning. “Did she?” His gaze doesn’t waver. “She’s wrong.”

What Matteo and I had wasn't hate, but I knew that it wasn’t love either.

Papa shakes his head slowly, disbelief etched deep into every line of his face.

“I’ll have her, Alessandro. Whether you like it or not. She’s already mine.”

The words hit me like a slap, even from behind the door.

Matteo straightens. “We’re getting married next week. You’re invited. You better fucking show.” The smile he gives isn’t a smile

Papa stares at him like his soul’s just been torn from his body. “Adriana is different. Special. She’s not meant for your world.”

Matteo’s reply is immediate, calm in a way that makes it worse. “If you’re worried about her safety, don’t. She’ll be safer with me than with anyone else. No one touches her. No one will dare touch what’s mine, Alessandro. And you know that.”

A cruel grin twists his mouth. “But I’ll give you a deal.”

Papa’s eyes flicker not with hope exactly, but with that calculating hunger I’ve seen before. The kind that makes me want to scream at him.

Matteo’s voice drops lower, colder than death itself. “Your debts will be cleared if you let me marry your daughter.”

The air feels heavier, thick enough to choke me.

I step back from the door, pressing a hand over my mouth to stop the sound threatening to break free. My legs are shaking so badly that I have to brace against the wall.

I watched it hit him. The trade.

Papa stumbles back, one hand clutching his chest, eyes darting like he’s trying to find a way out. Then… he nods.

He nods.

“You can have her,” he croaks.

It’s like the ground opens beneath me. The future I’ve clung to….my plans, my escape, my freedom slips right through my fingers.

No shouting. No slamming. He didn't even put up a fight.

Just footsteps. Papa’s footsteps. Walking away. Shutting his door.

It’s done. Just like that. I’ve been handed over to the most feared man in New York.

The moment it sinks in, something in me snaps.

I throw open the window, the hinges whining. Cold air rushes in, sharp enough to sting my lungs. I swing a leg over the sill and climb down, hands gripping the old drainpipe until my feet hit the pavement.

I’m not waiting for Matteo to chain me to him.

This is my life. My choices. My decisions.

If I stay, he’ll ruin me. He’ll claim me, own me, and I’ll be stupid enough to love him for it blindly, hopelessly. And he won’t love me back. Not the way I’d need him to.

He’ll give me children and lock me into the Cosa Nostra until death. Then he’ll take mistresses while I rot in silence. That’s how the mafia is—brutal, unfair, unrelenting.

The chill bites through my thin sweater and old shorts, slippers slapping against the cracked sidewalk as I move. My hands shake so hard I nearly drop my phone, but I manage to unlock it and dial.

Ruby picks up on the third ring, voice groggy. “Hello?”

“Ruby,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I need your help.”

Her tone sharpens instantly. “Adriana? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m not hurt, but I need to run away.Tonight. Please. Take me to New Jersey. It’s Matteo’s father’s territory; he won't risk coming after me there unless he wants a war.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a sigh I know too well. “Stay put. I’m on my way.”

I close my eyes, pressing the phone to my cheek, letting that tiny thread of hope hold me together long enough to wait.

Because if she’s late, if Matteo finds me first, I know exactly what will happen.