Wrong Sister Claimed By The Mafia King

The road ahead was long, cold, and eerily quiet. Jairo gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles pale as he kept his eyes fixed forward and pressed harder on the accelerator.

He was going to tell her today. He took a right turn, his gaze flicking to the pink box on the passenger seat. She was going to love it.

The color was as soft and innocent as her, pure and surreal. He had spent hours picking it out, wanting it to be perfect, just like her. The dormitory was silent when he arrived. School had gone on holiday two days ago but she had stayed behind because of him, to spend more time together while he planned to tell her who he truly was: heir to a powerful Mafia empire.

If she wanted to stay by his side forever, she needed to know what it meant to become the Mafia Queen. He just needed five years, that was all he needed to take over the empire and build a world safe enough for her to exist in peace. He entered the elevator, holding the pink box carefully, his reflection staring back at him in the mirrored wall.

He looked calm, but inside he was a storm. When the doors slid open at her floor, he stepped out and walked toward her door, only to pause when he noticed it was slightly ajar. His pulse quickened. Something felt wrong. He carefully pushed the door open and froze when he saw a faint trail of blood drops on the floor, leading to a pink cardigan soaked in red. He dropped the box without thinking.

It hit the ground with a dull thud as he rushed forward, falling to his knees to grab the cardigan. It was hers. Her scent still clung to it beneath the tang of blood.

"Emilia?” his voice broke as he looked around. He tore through the room in a panic. Her bed was empty, the sheets slightly ruffled. Most of her roommates were gone, and the silence pressing in around him made it harder to breathe.

“Emilia!” he shouted again, bursting out of the room. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number with trembling hands, but the sound of her ringtone came from inside the room. Her phone was still there. His chest tightened as panic clawed at his lungs.

He sprinted down the hallway, every step echoing. Then a muffled scream cut through the air, faint but sharp enough to freeze him. He didn’t think twice. He followed the sound, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. It was coming from the second elevator.

“Emilia?!” he shouted, slamming his fists against the closed elevator doors. He pressed the buttons again and again, his breath ragged, his voice cracking. When the doors refused to open, he turned and bolted toward the stairwell.

His mind screamed for him to move faster. He flew down the stairs, two steps at a time, praying desperately that his instincts were wrong. But when he reached the bottom, he stopped dead in his tracks.

And froze in horror.

There she was. Inside a black car, banging her fists against the window. Her eyes were wide and wet, her face streaked with tears. She looked terrified, desperate, and small.

“Emilia!” he roared, his voice tearing from his throat. Fear. Pain. Anguish. Everything hit him all at once. He sprinted toward the car as it began to move, his heart racing so hard it hurt. His hand went instinctively to his pocket for his car keys, only to realize they must have fallen back in her room. He pushed himself harder, his legs burning as he ran faster.

Her eyes found his through the glass, and she screamed his name again and again. Then a masked man appeared beside her and jabbed a syringe into her neck. Jairo’s world stopped. He watched helplessly as her body went limp, her head tilting sideways before she slumped against the seat. The man yanked the door shut, and the car accelerated. His heart dropped like a stone.

“Emilia… no… no…” he whispered, the name breaking apart on his lips. His foot struck a loose stone, and he fell hard onto the ground. The impact sent pain shooting through his arms, and blood filled his mouth, but he didn’t care. He pushed himself up, staggering, his knees scraping the asphalt.

The car’s taillights were fading fast into the distance. He ran after it anyway, screaming her name, but it was useless. Within seconds, the car turned the corner and disappeared. He stood there, chest heaving, his breathing shallow. There was no plate number.

No clue.

No direction to follow.

Only the echo of her voice still calling his name. His trembling hands balled into fists as the silence of the night swallowed everything.

Nothing but the sound of his heart pounding and her last scream replaying in his head, again and again, until it became the only thing he could hear.

Seven Years Later

Kara stood at the front desk, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“But… I was told to come today,” Her fingers clutched the strap of her bag like it was the only thing holding her up.

The receptionist didn’t even look up right away. When she did, it was with an annoyed sigh. Her smile was forced, eyes tired.

“The job is no longer available,” Her tone was robotic. “If we have another vacancy in the future, we’ll send an email. Do have a nice day.”

Her voice held finality with her eyes drifting to the next person behind Kara. Her posture made it clear that she was done talking.

Kara bit down on her lower lip, trying to stop the tears that were already building up.

“Please... just email me if anything comes up,” she mumbled with hope, turning around before they could see the first tear fall.

She kept walking, head down, heart sinking. As soon as she stepped past the last glass door, she stopped pretending to be strong