Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

WHAT ORION SAW...

The leather seat of the car feels comfortable beneath my hand. Outside the tinted glass, the city glides past in a blur of grey concrete, tall buildings, and rusted steel.

Adrien sits beside me in the back. His body is tense, his spine held straight, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He’s deliciously nervous.

I keep my posture loose, resting one arm casually along the leather seat behind his shoulders. I do not touch him yet, but I stay close enough so he can feel my warmth. I want him to know I am right here.

I have my window cracked open an inch. The morning breeze rushes inside, carrying the sharp, bitter smell of the harbor, slowly washing away the homey cedar scent of my estate.

It is the smell of salt, wet wood, and boat fuel. It’s honestly nauseating.

I watch Adrien out of the corner of my eye. I see the exact moment his throat tightens. He draws a shallow breath, his dark eyes fixing on the rusty shipping containers and heavy metal cranes rising against the cloudy gray sky.

We are heading straight toward the docks.

I know what this place means to him. Seven years ago, he ran away from the academy in the middle of the night.

He sprinted through the freezing streets, terrified, starving. His feet led him to piers just like these. He scrambled across cold wooden planks, hid behind cargo crates, and snuck onto a large cargo boat just to escape me.

He curled up under a wet tarp, holding his breath as the boat drifted into the black water, thinking he was finally free.

I know every detail of that night because I spent years studying the route he took, tracing every footprint he left behind.

I spent years thinking of him.

"Orion," Adrien says. His voice sounds small, slightly breathless. He clears his throat and turns his head to look at me. "Where are we going? Why are we out by the water?"

I do not turn my head right away. I keep my eyes on the passing warehouses, letting a quiet smile rest on my face.

It is the kind of feeling a person gets when they are holding a hidden gift behind their back, waiting for the right moment to hand it over.

"I told you at breakfast, duckling," I say softly, keeping my voice low and smooth. "There is something I need to show you. Something I built specially for you."

"Built for me?" Adrien repeats, his brows pulling down into a sharp frown. "Orion, we are miles away from the estate. Look around us, this isn’t a place where people build nice things."

"Nice is a matter of perspective, Adrien," I answer, turning my head to look straight into his brown eyes. I like the way his pulse jumps when I lock my gaze onto his. "Nice is giving someone back what was stolen from them. Nice is bringing order to a past that treated you like garbage."

Adrien bites his lower lip, turning his gaze toward his lap. "I never asked you to fix my past."

You didn’t have to ask, I think, watching the quiet strain on his face. Your silence asked for me.

Every faint mark on your body, every time you flinch when a hand moves too fast near your face, that is your voice telling me to tear down whatever made you bleed.

And if there’s anyone I enjoy listening to, it’s you.

I reach out, taking his cold hand off the leather seat. I lace my fingers through his, wrapping my large palm firmly around his smaller ones.

"Your silence asked for me," I say aloud, my tone steady. "Do you think I would let you live with those lingering shadows?"

The car turns down an unpaved gravel road running parallel to the gray water. The waves slap against the wooden pillars of the piers with heavy, dull thuds.

Adrien looks out his window, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We used to sleep under concrete ramps like those. When the rain was too heavy, three or four of us would crowd under the tarp near the dock office. If you didn’t move for hours, the cold would sink into your bones so deep you’d forget your own name."

Why is he telling me this? Does he...does he know that he’s opening up to me?

I tighten my grip on his hand. Not enough to hurt his fingers, but enough to remind him that he is sitting in my car, wearing my clothes, holding my hand.

"You will never be cold again," I say, stripping my voice of any playful edge. "You will never sleep on concrete. You will never share a blanket with trash. I have spent seven years clearing every path that kept you away from me. Do you think I would let you fall back into that life?"

Adrien turns to me, his chest heaving as his heart thumps hard behind his ribs. "I lived with those trash, Orion. You talk about it like it was a minor inconvenience. I survived there."

"And that is precisely why I hate it," I tell him, leaning closer until my breath brushes against his temple. "Because it had you, and I did not. It touched you, fed you, starved you, and shaped you while I was forced to search empty streets for a ghost."

The car glides to a smooth stop in front of a massive, weathered warehouse made of rusted steel. It sits alone near the edge of the gray ocean, its metal panels stained with decades of sea spray.

My driver steps out and opens my door. I slide out first, standing tall in the cool wind, then turn back and extend my open hand to Adrien.

He hesitates, staring down at my palm. The wind whips his dark hair across his eyes, carrying the smell of salt and seawater.

"Come," I say gently. "You do not need to be afraid. I am right here."

"I am not afraid of the docks, Orion," Adrien says, though his voice trembles slightly as he steps out onto the gravel. "I am afraid of what you think is a gift."

Always with the sass.

"Have I ever brought you something that wasn’t meant to keep you whole?" I ask, guiding him toward the rusted metal doors.

"You locked me in a room for days!" he snaps, a faint spark of anger rising through his hesitation.

"To keep you from running away," I answer smoothly, stepping forward without breaking stride. "If I locked you away, it was because the world outside was full of wolves. And today, duckling... today I will show you what I do to those wolves."

The two armed guards standing near the entrance bow their heads in respect, dragging one of the heavy steel doors open just enough for us to step inside.

The cool, heavy air inside the warehouse surrounds us.

It is dim, with dusty light filtering through high, dirty skylights. The smell hits first— gasoline, chemical fumes, and stale, cold sweat mixing with the salt from the ocean outside.

I keep my hand firmly wrapped around Adrien’s waist, guiding his footsteps over the dusty concrete floor. My heart feels light, and warm with a strange, bright excitement.

I have waited weeks to bring him to this room. I have spent several nights making sure every piece of this setup was handled correctly.

"What is this place, Orion?" Adrien asks, his shoes clicking softly against the ground. "What are we doing here?"

"Look ahead, Adrien," I whisper, leaning down near his ear. "Look right there and tell me what you see."

He lifts his eyes, scanning the empty floor of the warehouse.

In the center of the vast space sits a raised wooden platform. Elevated several feet above the ground is a heavy wooden chair, and strapped tightly to that chair is a man.

Around the platform, five heavy vehicle tires are arranged in a neat circle. They have been modified with flat wooden bottoms, turned into shallow basins filled to the brim with pale, sloshing gasoline.

Floating on top of the liquid in each tire are square pieces of wood, and fixed to the middle of each board are small, flickering candles.

The tiny flames dance softly in the drafty room, casting long, warm shadows across the concrete.

Ropes descend from the man’s arms, legs, and chest. The thick strands are soaked dark with fuel, dangling straight down into the gasoline-filled tires.

It is a clean, precise structure. A proper piece of work built to hold a life in place.

Adrien stops walking. He freezes, his breath hitching in his chest.

The man tied to the chair shifts violently the moment our footsteps echo through the quiet space. He lets out a muffled, frantic whimpering sound through the thick black tape sealed over his mouth.

His body twitches, but every time he moves too sharply, the dangling ropes sway, threatening to disturb the floating boards and tip the candle flames straight into the pools of fuel beneath them.

Adrien takes a half-step back, but I keep my hand anchored on his waist, keeping him flush against my side.

"Do you recognize him?"

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