Bought By The Mafia Heir

Download <Bought By The Mafia Heir> for free!

DOWNLOAD

Scarlett' POV

My brain completely shut down.

What... what was he saying?

"You—you're Mr. Peterson, aren't you?"

He raised an eyebrow coldly. "Who?"

"Clara Jones! Don't you know her? She's the one who told me to come buy the medication!"

"I have twin daughters with congenital heart disease, just over two months old. I heard you have a special medication that treats heart conditions."

"She said she'd already arranged everything with you—four boxes for two treatment cycles, only eight hundred dollars!"

Lorenzo fell into an eerie silence.

His face, sculpted like a Greek statue, shifted from confusion to incomprehension, then irritation, before finally settling into a bone-chilling coldness, as if someone had thoroughly ruined his mood.

"Interesting."

"How did you sneak into Andrew's club? Big enough tits?"

I felt as if I'd been struck by lightning and shot to my feet.

"Mr. Peterson, please stop mocking me! This isn't funny at all!"

"You just made a special trip to the hospital to get the medication for me, didn't you? You even put it in the freezer box!"

I shot back in disbelief, and the oversized bathrobe gaped open at the collar, the belt hanging precariously loose.

Stay calm, Scarlett.

The transaction time, the address, the neon sign, his drinking habit—everything matched up. You couldn't have mistaken him!

But Lorenzo curled his lip in contempt and let out a scoff.

"I went to the hospital to get my wound bandaged. As for what's in the freezer..."

He opened the freezer lid with one hand, revealing eight transparent vials arranged in neat rows.

"Stem cell anti-aging serum, twenty-five thousand dollars per vial. Property of my father."

My mind went blank with a thunderous crash.

It's over. Everything's over!

I really did get the wrong person. Can I still get the medication?

"I'm sorry, sir. I mistook you for someone else. I'll leave right now—"

Lorenzo hooked his lip in mockery, his gaze traveling brazenly across my chest.

"A lactating woman running out in the middle of the night to buy medication? You think I'm three years old?"

"So tell me, how much more do you want? Two thousand? Three?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and stuffed them into my cleavage.

My face burned crimson. I'd explained everything clearly—why was he still humiliating me?

I'd mistaken him for a drug dealer, and he'd mistaken me for a sex worker. Who was more in the wrong?

"No, I'm not—"

I hurriedly released the money clutched in my hand.

Lorenzo's eyes darkened as he lifted his foot and ground his toe viciously against my nipple.

"Still breastfeeding and already desperate to sell yourself? Isn't this all about offering special services to jack up the price?"

"Whatever. I've got money to burn. So are you doing this or not? Do it or get lost!"

"No, sir, I'm not—"

If it weren't for my two children, I would've grabbed the wine bottle from the table and smashed it over his head.

He couldn't understand plain English!

"Not what?" Lorenzo tilted his head, his hazel eyes glinting with malicious amusement.

"Not here to sell? Coming to a Manhattan luxury apartment... to buy medication?"

He ran his fingers through his hair as if he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.

I gripped the hem of my robe so tightly my knuckles turned white.

"Yes, my best friend Clara told me..."

"That Mr. Peterson has a special medication for congenital heart disease, only eight hundred dollars..."

He erupted into a burst of malicious laughter.

"Do you have any idea what the market rate is for heart disease medication?"

Of course I knew.

Special medication for infant heart disease costs two hundred thousand dollars a year.

For twins, that's four hundred thousand!

Eight hundred dollars for four boxes of medication to last two months was absurdly low, but Clara had said Mr. Peterson was devoted to charity...

"Looking at you, your best friend can't be particularly wealthy either."

"Eight-hundred-dollar heart medication—you think manna falls from heaven?"

"No, that's impossible! Clara and I grew up together. She would never hurt me!"

My voice trembled uncontrollably, cold sweat running down my back.

He glanced at me with the look one reserves for the mentally deficient and leisurely picked up a cigar from the coffee table, lighting it.

"How old are you?"

I bit my lip and lowered my head in embarrassment. "...Twenty-five."

"Twenty-five? Ha... a whole six years older than me, and yet a brainless idiot with big tits."

He exhaled a smoke ring, the haze blurring his sharply defined features.

"Use that waterlogged brain of yours and think carefully—is eight-hundred-dollar medication... reasonable?"

My face flushed crimson, choked speechless.

Had Clara really deceived me?

Impossible. We grew up together—we're best friends!

"Three." He began counting down.

"What?"

"Two."

"Sir, what are you doing—"

"One."

He pulled something from the coffee table drawer and slammed it onto the surface.

A gun!

Black, matte-finished, the barrel pointed directly at me.

My blood turned to ice.

"Get out." He leaned back into the sofa, crossing his legs. "Or I'll help you."

I stared at the gun, my entire body shaking uncontrollably.

In the Queens County slums, the most dangerous weapons were baseball bats and broken bottles.

In the world of the rich, could people really kill with such casual impunity?

"You... you think you're so great?"

I raised my voice tremulously, putting on a show of bravado.

"Nineteen years old, driving luxury cars, living in a top-tier apartment—did you earn any of it yourself?"

"You just happened to be born lucky, with a rich daddy!"

The corner of Lorenzo's mouth suddenly curved into an almost imperceptible arc.

Scarlett, shut up now!

But I'd lost my mind. All the grievances and pain accumulated over these days burst like a dam breaking.

"If you'd been born in Queens County, in Brooklyn, you'd probably be dealing ecstasy on the street right now, or counting days in prison!"

"You're only nineteen, squandering your parents' money, using a gun to terrorize an unarmed woman—what impressive skills!"

"Dressed in expensive clothes with a rotten heart! You—"

"Enough."

He stood up, his towering frame enveloping me with overwhelming pressure.

The whites beneath his irises gleamed with sinister menace.

"For the sake of your resemblance to... someone, get lost. While I haven't changed my mind."

I fled through that door in a daze.

As the elevator descended, I could only keep from collapsing by leaning against the wall.

Scarlett, you're such a coward.

You talked such a big game just now, and now your legs are weak as noodles.

If that gun was real, I'd have met my end today!

I burst into the rain, icy water pelting down on my head.

I pulled out my phone—dozens of missed calls on the screen.

Some from St. Michael's Hospital, some from Clark.

I called the hospital back first. When the line connected, the nurse's voice was ice-cold:

"Ms. O'Brien, your overdue payment is now five days past deadline."

"If you cannot settle the ten-thousand-dollar medical bill by tomorrow, we will have no choice but to consider transferring Mia and Nina out of the PICU."

"No! Please, give me a little more time!" I broke down crying. "I promise I'll pay!"

"I'm sorry, these are hospital regulations."

I stood in the rain, frozen to the bone.

I immediately called Clara with anxious dread, praying that Mr. Peterson hadn't left yet.

"Cla—"

"Scarlett O'Brien, where the hell did you run off to! Mr. Peterson waited for you for over an hour!"

"He was furious and already left. If you didn't want to buy the medication, you should've said so earlier. Because of you, I got chewed out too!"

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter