Captured And Claimed By The Mafia Don

Kimberley POV:

"You can't just fire me, sir. I've done so much for this company!" I shouted, my voice shaking with disbelief.

Yes, I'd made a mistake...or so they said, but fire me? Just like that? It didn't make sense.

"Do you even understand what you've done?" My boss's voice dropped, cold and sharp. "Kimberley, you leaked our company's secret formula to our top competitor."!

"What?!" I gasped. "That's not true! I would never! "

"You can deny it all you want," he cut in. "I should've called the police. But considering the years we've worked together, and your past record, I'm offering you an alternative." He shoved a file across the desk.

My eyes flickered to the paper inside, dreading what it might say. The figure on the page stopped my breath. $4,500. Damages.

"I didn't do this!" I protested. "This is a mistake! someone's framing me!"

"Shut your mouth!" a voice rang out.

Magret, my boss's wife, stormed in. Before I could react, she slapped me so hard that my vision blurred.

"You think you can lie your way out of this?" Magret hissed, thrusting a tablet at me.

The footage showed me at a restaurant, talking to a man I didn't know. But the camera didn't care. It only saw me with our competitor's production manager.

"This isn't what it looks like," I stammered. "I didn't know him-I was meeting my friend and colleague, Elicia!"

"Let's bring her in then," my boss said.

A few minutes later, Elicia walked in. Only her could clear this up.

"Eli, tell them," I pleaded. "You invited me to that restaurant."

Elicia blinked. "Yeah... but I also messaged you to change the location. Maybe you didn't check your phone."

"What? No!" I scrambled for my phone, but the messages were gone. Deleted.

Magret sneered. "Pathetic."

My boss leaned back. "Kimberley, either pay the $50,000 or face fifteen years in prison. Your choice."

I couldn't breathe. I had no money. I'd never survive prison.

I got home after what seem like eternity. I met my father on the couch and for the first time, he didn't reek alcohol.

His face, drawn and pitiful, it Reminded me of how hard he had tried to raise me alone since Mom disappeared. Despite his drinking, his gambling, all his failures-he had done everything in his power to make me happy. But none of that mattered now, because here I was: "A failure. A disappointment."

I couldn't bear it.

He didn't even notice my presence, so I simply slipped past him and retreated to my room. As soon as the door clicked shut, I collapsed onto the bed, curling into myself like a child. The weight of the day pressed down on me, suffocating.

I let the tears come, hot and relentless, pouring out every ounce of frustration, and helplessness I had been holding back. I cried until my body was exhausted to feel anything but an empty, aching numbness.

Hours later, My father came into my room and sat on the bed , his face drawn and hollow, like the weight of the world had crushed him beneath it.

"Kimberley, baby..." He called softly.

"Dad..." I whispered back, and to my surprise, the tears came rushing back. I sobbed against his chest like I do when I was little. His hands rubbed my back gently.

"I want you to know, baby," he whispered, "that no matter what happens, everything's gonna be okay."

I pulled back, wiping my face, my heart hammering with the unspoken weight behind his words.

"There's something you need to know..."

He paused, and for a long, dreadful moment, the air between us was suffocatingly thick.

"I'm sorry, Kimberley. I've made mistakes... mistakes that will haunt us for a long time."

I swallowed hard. "What is it, Dad?"

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with a fear I had never seen before.

"I'm wanted," he whispered, so quietly it was almost lost in the silence.

"Wanted?" My voice cracked. "By the police? What did you do?"

"No." He exhaled a long, weary sigh. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

Before he could continue, a deafening bang ripped through the air. My father's body jerked. His eyes widened in shock, and a sickening gurgle came from his throat.

I froze. For a second, I didn't understand. Then, I saw it: blood, dark and warm, oozing from his mouth, splattering onto the floor.

"No!" I screamed, my voice ragged as I lunged forward, catching his collapsing body in my arms. His weight sagged against me, and my trembling hands felt the slick warmth of blood spreading across his back.

"Papa, no! Stay with me! You can't leave me all alone." I begged, shaking him.

But his breathing turned shallow.

The wound on his back was a - He has been shot!

As if answering my internal question, a masked figure appeared from the shadows. A man, face covered by a mask, a gun still smoking in his hand.

His eyes locked onto mine, cold and empty. He lowered the gun and moved toward me.

He was close now-too close. My pulse raced, but my feet felt rooted to the floor. Before I could react, pain exploded in my arm. A sharp, stinging sensation.

I gasped, my body jerking back instinctively. My vision blurred as the room began to spin. Panic surged through me, but I couldn't fight it.

I felt his hands on me, lifting me like I weighed nothing, slinging me over his shoulder. My limbs were heavy, useless. I tried to struggle, to resist, but my body wouldn't respond.

I had been injected. Something cold and foreign was coursing through my veins, draining every ounce of strength I had.

As my consciousness slipped away, I realised with chilling certainty that I was completely at the mercy of my father's killer