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Desired By The Mafia Twins

Desired By The Mafia Twins

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After a lifetime of abuse and betrayal, Sophie thought she was finally safe under the protection of a Mafia heiress. But everything changes when she catches the attention of the deadly Knight twins Braton and Lucien. Feared for their brutality and known for their insatiable appetite, they take what they want... and they want her. But will she be just another night between the sheets? Or the one woman who'll make them break all their rules?

Chapter 1 I don't belong here

SOPHIE

"Sophie!"

My foster mother's voice thundered from the kitchen, sharp enough to rattle the cracked tiles beneath my feet.

Fifth home. Fifth nightmare.

That's how many times I'd been passed around like unwanted luggage. No record of my real parents. No birth certificate. Just a string of last names I never chose.

But what came after was worse than any mystery.

This home the last one was hell wrapped in suburban wallpaper. My foster father, the man who was supposed to protect me, turned me into his private plaything.

And when he was done using me, he made sure I could never carry a child.

He stole my womb. Stole my future. Told me it was for my own good, to "keep the shame from spreading."

And my foster mother? She knew. She saw the bruises. Heard the cries.

But I wasn't her daughter. I was property. Replaceable.

When I overheard their plan to sell me off to a man older than dirt a walking coffin in a designer suit I snapped. I ran.

No money. No ID. No plan. Just a broken girl desperate to disappear.

That night, I thought I was running toward freedom.

But I was wrong.

I ran straight into the hands of men worse than monsters. Human traffickers. Drunk. Laughing. Reeking of sweat and smoke. They blindfolded me, shoved me in a van, and whispered things that made my skin crawl.

They said I was going to "my buyer."

I thought I was about to die.

Until I heard her.

"Who are you, and what the hell do you think you're doing with her? Let. Her. Go."

Her voice cut through the air like a blade. Calm. Elegant. Lethal.

I couldn't see her face, but I knew.

She wasn't a woman. She was a storm. A savior. An angel wrapped in silk and fury.

Seven Months Later

My alarm blared like a demon trying to claw me out of sleep. I groaned, slapped at my phone, and shoved my head under the pillow. The vibration finally stopped.

Another morning.

Another chance at a life I never thought I'd have.

Seven months ago, I was a ghost. A shattered thing no one looked at twice.

But then Hannah found me.

The woman behind the voice. My rescuer. A mafia princess with a spine of steel and a heart big enough to carry me in it.

She didn't just save me. She saw me.

She saw the way I used art to survive. To scream without sound.

Now, because of her, my paintings hang in homes I used to scrub clean. My name my real name is starting to mean something.

She became my best friend. My sister. My family.

So when I stood in front of her ridiculous mansion for the hundredth time, painting in hand, I still couldn't believe it was real.

Then it hit me.

"Shit... I forgot to pay the electricity bill."

Panic flared. Before I could spiral, the door swung open.

Hannah stood there in sleek workout gear, her perfect makeup untouched by sweat.

"Sophie!" she beamed, as if we hadn't seen each other yesterday. "I need to see the new piece. I'm obsessed already!"

I held up the painting. "Didn't you say it was for the living room?"

She waved me in with a grin. "Changed my mind. I want something louder for the living room. More bam."

I laughed. "I could be persuaded to create another one..."

"Please do," she said dramatically. "These old paintings? Ew. Yours are bold. Raw. Alive. Exactly what I want my house to scream."

Her words warmed something inside me, even as my stomach twisted. I unzipped the case slowly, always nervous to reveal the final piece.

She gasped. "Sophie, this is insane. It's perfect. You're going to be huge."

I flushed, always unsure how to respond when someone loved my work.

"I'll have someone hang it immediately. But first let's talk payment."

This was the part I hated.

Money. Selling pieces of my soul.

"Stop it," she said firmly, crossing her arms.

"Stop what?"

"Acting like you don't deserve success. You're an artist. Own it."

I looked down. "I know. I just... still feel like that girl counting coins in the dark."

"Well, let's change that."

"How?" I asked, unsure I was ready for the answer.

"Exposure," she said, eyes gleaming.

I frowned. "What kind of exposure?"

"Come with me to a party tonight. You'll meet people real buyers. People who'll throw thousands just to say they discovered the next big thing."

My heart kicked up. Mafia party. The kind of people who made headlines... and bodies disappear.

She saw the hesitation in my face.

"Just one night. If you hate it, I'll never ask again. Be my date?" She pouted playfully.

I groaned. "Fine. But I've got nothing to wear."

"I have a closet, darling."

She wasn't exaggerating. Her closet was bigger than my entire apartment.

By the time she was done with me, I barely recognized the girl in the mirror. The dress hugged me like a second skin glamorous, intimidating. My hair was swept up into something elegant, something expensive-looking.

As the car rolled past a parade of mansions, nerves danced in my chest.

The driver stopped in front of what looked like a literal palace. I froze.

"Ready?" Hannah asked, radiant and fearless.

I forced a smile. "Yeah."

Attendants swarmed as we stepped out valets, servants, hosts with too-white smiles.

It felt like a movie. A dream. A warning.

But this time, I wasn't the girl watching from behind a locked door.

This time, I was walking in.

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