Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

ADRIEN’S POV

The leather seat of the sleek black car is warm beneath my hands. Outside the tinted glass, the city slips away in a blur of gray concrete, high-rise buildings, and things that we pass too fast for me to see.

Orion sits beside me in the back, his posture loose and relaxed. One of his long arms rests casually along the top of the leather seat behind my shoulders, not quite touching me, but keeping his presence broad and heavy in my side view.

He has his window cracked open just a few inches. The morning breeze rushes inside, carrying a sharp, bitter tang that slowly replaces the clean cedar scent of his mansion.

It is the smell of salt, damp decay, and ship fuel.

My throat tightens slightly. I know this smell. My chest heaves with a quiet breath as I look out at the landscape flattening out into rusty shipping containers, vast open gravel lots, and towering metal cranes stretching toward the cloudy sky.

We are heading directly toward the docks.

The vehicle’s forward motion feels surreal, like sliding through the pages of a nightmare I thought I had safely closed years ago. Every mile we cover brings back a rush of sensations I have tried desperately to forget.

Seven years ago, I ran from the academy with nothing more than the clothes on my back and a frantic, thumping heart.

I remember the feeling of desperation that drove my legs forward through the dark, icy streets. My lungs burned with every breath, and my skin felt raw from the wind as I sprinted blindly through the maze of the city, praying that no one would run after me.

I remember the exact path my feet took that night, ending in docks very much like this one.

Back then, the harbor was a chaotic maze of towering shipping containers and roaring engines. Desperate and shivering, I had scrambled across the wooden planks of Pier Four, hiding behind stacks of cargo crates before slipping onto a rusted, creaking cargo boat that was just about to cast off its lines.

I curled up beneath a tarp smelling of fish and old canvas, holding my breath as the vessel drifted out into the black water, carrying me away from everything I knew.

And now, standing here again, returning to a place that resembles where my nightmares truly began, I feel something entirely unexpected crawl up from the base of my chest.

Nostalgia.

It is a twisted, sickening sort of nostalgia, but it is there nonetheless. To be walking down these same cracked concrete paths, breathing in the same foul sea air, not as a terrified, starving runaway hiding in the shadows, but right beside the very man I spent seven years running from.

The sheer absurdity of it makes my head spin.

The boy who cowered in the corners of piers like these is gone, replaced by someone who has survived the weight of blood and silence, only to find himself willingly walking hand in hand with the monster who shaped his fears.

”Orion,” I say, my voice sounding a little smaller than I intend. I clear my throat, turning my head to look at his sharp profile. ”Where are we going? Why are we out by the water?”

Orion doesn’t turn his head right away. He watches the rusty warehouses pass by with a soft, distant look in his dark eyes.

A faint, gentle smile sits on his lips, the kind of expression a child wears when holding a hidden surprise behind his back.

”I told you at breakfast, duckling,” he says softly, his voice dropping into a low, soothing frequency. ”There is something I need to show you. Something I built specially for you.”

”Built for me?” I repeat, my 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,” Orion replies smoothly, finally shifting his dark eyes toward me. The intensity in his gaze makes my pulse stutter. ”Nice is giving someone back what was stolen from them. Nice is bringing order to a past that treated you like garbage.”

”I never asked you to fix my past,” I murmur, pulling my lower lip between my teeth.

You’re the biggest problem from my past, you bastard.

”You didn’t have to ask,” he says, taking my hand off the leather seat and lacing his heavy fingers with mine. ”Your silence asked for me. Every scar you carry, every time you flinch when I move too quickly— that is your voice asking me to tear down whatever hurt you.”

The sense of safety I felt back at the sunlit dining table begins to fracture, replaced by a cold, familiar prickle of unease along the back of my neck.

I look out the window again. The car turns down a quiet, unpaved road running parallel to the gray ocean. The water rolls against the wooden pillars of the piers with heavy, rhythmic thuds.

For some strange reason, I feel the urge to just speak.

”We used to sleep under concrete ramps like those,” I whisper, almost to myself, watching a rusted barge drift across the gray water. ”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.”

Orion’s grip on my hand tightens slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to ground me instantly to his side.

”You will never be cold again,” Orion says quietly, his tone devoid of any playfulness now. ”You will never sleep on concrete. You will never share a blanket with trash. I have spent seven years burning every bridge that kept you away from me, Adrien. Do you think I would let you slip back into that gutter?”

”I lived in that gutter, Orion,” I say, turning to face him, my heart thudding violently against my ribs. ”You talk about it like it was a minor inconvenience. I survived there.”

”And that is precisely why I hate it,” Orion whispers back, leaning in close until I can smell the dark tea and cedar on his breath. ”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 corrugated steel. It sits alone near the edge of the water like a sleeping iron beast, its metal panels stained with decades of sea spray and neglect.

The driver steps out, opening Orion’s door first. Orion slides out gracefully, then turns back, extending his hand toward me with that same quiet, expectant look.

I hesitate, staring at his palm. The wind whips my hair across my forehead, carrying the heavy scent of salt and old decay.

”Come,” Orion says softly. ”You do not need to be afraid. I am right here.”

”I am not afraid of the docks, Orion,” I say, though my trembling voice betrays me as I step down onto the gravel. ”I am afraid of what you think is a gift.”

”Have I ever brought you something that wasn’t meant to keep you whole?” he asks, leading me forward.

”You locked me in a room for days!” I snap softly, the anger rising through the fear.

”To keep you from running away!” Orion retorts without missing a beat, a manic brightness flashing in his dark eyes before smoothing over into an eerie calm. ”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.”

Two broad, armed men standing guard near the giant steel doors straighten up instantly the moment Orion steps forward. They bow their heads in silent, tense respect, quickly pulling one of the heavy sliding doors open just enough for us to pass through into the gloom.

The air inside the warehouse hits me like a physical wall.

It is dark, but as my eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the high, dirty skylights, the smell reaches my nose first. It isn’t just the damp rot of the ocean. It is the overwhelming, sharp stench of gasoline, chemical fumes, and stale, cold sweat.

Orion doesn’t stop walking. He guides me deeper into the hollow space, his grip on my hand never loosening for a second.

”What is this place, Orion?” I ask, my shoes making soft clicking sounds against the dusty concrete floor. ”What are we doing here?”

”Look ahead, Adrien,” Orion whispers, his tone carrying a strange, bright excitement that makes my blood run cold. ”Look right there. Tell me what you see.”

I lift my eyes, scanning the shadow-drenched floor of the warehouse.

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