Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

LOUISE’S POV

The air in the downtown district is thick with the heavy smell of old trash, burnt motor oil, and stale rain.

It smells disgusting.

Louise walks along the cracked pavement, keeping her head held high while her eyes stay sharp. She pulls her dark designer coat a little tighter around her shoulders to shield her expensive clothes from the grime of the damp brick walls.

Every step she takes feels out of place here. The sidewalks are lined with broken glass and wet, discarded paper. She doesn’t fit into this place.

Around her, the neighborhood moves with a quiet, desperate energy. Small groups of men lean against rusted doorframes, their hands shoved deep into their pockets as they watch her pass.

On the street corners, adult sex workers in thin jackets shift their weight from foot to foot, trying to stay warm under the flickering yellow streetlights.

Beggars sit on damp cardboard boxes, holding out stained plastic cups without saying a word.

Louise does not look at any of them directly. She keeps her face blank, hiding the deep disgust twisting in her stomach.

This district is famous for being the most run-down part of the city. Respectable people do not come here. Her driver was terrified when she made him drop her off three blocks away, but she could not risk her car being spotted parked near these buildings.

If anyone from her social circle sees her in a place like this, the rumors will spread fast. She has a very private reason for being here, and she needs to make sure it stays hidden.

She turns a corner onto a narrow alleyway.

Near the middle of the block stands a three-story building with boarded-up windows on the top floor.

The paint on the front door is peeling off in thick gray curls. Two broad, rough-looking men stand near the entrance, their arms crossed over their heavy chests as they watch the street.

Louise stops right in front of them.

The guard on the left steps forward, blocking the narrow path to the door. He looks her up and down, taking in her immaculate coat, her sleek leather boots, and the quiet authority in her posture.

”You’re in the wrong place, lady,” the guard says, his voice gravelly from years of cheap cigarettes. ”Who are you? What do you want?”

The second guard chuckles, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. ”Yeah, who are you supposed to be seeing in a dump like this?”

Louise does not waste her breath explaining anything to them. She does not even answer their questions.

Instead, she calmly reaches into her designer handbag, pulls out a thick wad of fresh dollar bills, and throws it straight at the first guard’s chest.

The paper money hits his jacket and scatters slightly, a few bills fluttering down toward his boots.

”Your boss is expecting me,” Louise says, her tone flat and unbothered. ”Open the door.”

Both men freeze for a second, staring at the green paper in disbelief.

The first guard drops his arms instantly, bending down to snatch the cash off the ground before someone else on the street spots it.

His greedy eyes light up as he flips through the thick stack. All the rough arrogance vanishes from his face in an instant. The change in character is almost comical.

”Right away,” the second guard says quickly, stepping aside and turning the heavy brass doorknob. ”Go right on in, Miss.”

He pushes the door open for her, bowing his head slightly with sudden respect.

Louise does not thank him. She simply steps past him and crosses the threshold into the building.

The air inside is warm, heavy, and smells strongly of cheap perfume, sweet liquor, and old smoke.

The ground floor opens up into a large, dimly lit lounge filled with mismatched leather sofas and worn velvet chairs.

Several adult men and women are scattered across the room, wearing revealing clothes designed to catch the eye.

Some of them are sitting on the arms of the chairs, chatting quietly, while others stand near cracked mirrors on the wall, carefully touching up their makeup or fixing their hair.

The building operates as a brothel. The adult workers usually wait inside these rooms during the early evening while the sun goes down. Once the streets outside grow dark enough, they go out to approach clients, bringing their earnings back to give a cut to the woman who runs the place.

Louise walks straight through the middle of the room. She keeps her back straight and her chin lifted, showing zero discomfort despite the strange environment.

Several of the workers stop what they are doing to stare at her. Their gaze is heavy, filled with a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and quiet envy.

Most people from the wealthy side of town would crumble under those sharp looks, but Louise does not care about any of them. They do not exist to her.

Like an audience that can only look at the play and do nothing else.

A young-looking adult male worker steps out from near the bar area, blocking her path slightly. His eyes are highlighted with dark, neat eyeliner, and his silk shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

He gives her a slow, flirtatious smile, resting one hand on his hip.

”Well, well,” he murmurs softly, his voice smooth and playful. ”Are you lost, beautiful? Or are you looking for some company tonight?”

Louise stops moving. She turns her head and gives him one cold, sharp look.

The sheer disgust in her eyes is so heavy that the smile freezes right on the young man’s face. The flirty confidence drains out of him instantly. He takes a quick step backward, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture.

Louise does not say a single word to him. She turns away as if he were nothing more than dust on the floorboards and continues walking toward the far side of the room.

At the base of the wooden staircase, two more guards stand duty.

They watch Louise approach, but neither of them makes a move to step in her way. They recognize her face immediately. They know who she is, and they know that someone of her high status should never be caught standing in a building like this.

If word ever got out that a woman of her standing visited this district, the fallout would be massive for everyone involved.

The guards glance at each other, silently agreeing to look away. They stand rigid against the wall, pretending they do not see her at all.

Louise glides past them without a glance and begins climbing the creaking stairs.

The air gets quieter as she reaches the second-floor hallway. At the very end of the corridor stands a heavy oak door reinforced with iron fittings.

Louise does not knock. She simply turns the metallic handle, pushes the door open with a firm shove, and walks right into the office.

Behind a large, cluttered mahogany desk sits a woman in her late forties.

This is Eunice.

She is dressed in a dark purple dress, her wrists and neck heavy with thick, shiny gold jewelry. Several gold rings cover her fingers, catching the light from the desk lamp as she moves.

The left side of her face carries a large, pale burn scar that stretches all the way from her scalp, across her cheek, and down toward her collarbone, twisting her skin into a rough texture.

The rumors on the street say Eunice was supposed to have died years ago in a fire that destroyed her first building. Yet she survived, and that same stubborn, brutal strength helped her build a profitable business right in the middle of the city’s worst district.

A woman as gnarled as old oak in a sea of flowers.

Eunice does not look surprised to see the door burst open. She slowly rests her hands flat on the desk, looking up at Louise with calm, unblinking eyes.

”Don’t wealthy young women get taught to knock before entering a room?” Eunice asks smoothly, her rough voice carrying a faint edge of sarcasm.

Louise shuts the heavy door behind her with a dull thud. She does not apologize. She does not even respond to the jab.

”Where are the documents I asked for?” Louise asks directly, her tone icy.

Eunice lets out a quiet sigh, shaking her head as if dealing with a spoiled child. She reaches down, opens one of the wide wooden desk drawers, and pulls out a thick, faded paper folder.

Without any ceremony or care, she throws the folder across the smooth desk. It slides over the dark wood and comes to a stop right near the front edge, directly in front of Louise.

Louise stares down at the folder for a moment. Then she lifts her eyes, looking directly at Eunice. She dislikes the woman’s disrespectful tone, but she is not going to waste her precious time arguing with a brothel owner. She’s better than that.