OWNED BY THE MAFIA KING

I felt as if I had collided with a speeding train or a massive, impenetrable wall of iron. The strength of that steely chest was so terrifying that upon impact, my head jerked backward and my feet were uprooted from the floor. Losing my balance, I was just about to fall backward, when right then the five fingers of extremely strong hands came forward with the agility of lightning and held my pot-like back.
The touch of that hand was as cold as a slab of ice, but it held a captive, boundless strength that stopped me from falling to the ground. In that one-hundredth of a second of the collision, when my face directly pressed against that person's chest, that thick, cheap 'red lipstick' applied on my lips got imprinted right below the collar of his ice-white customized shirt worth twice my status, on the left side of his chest. A deep, bloody mark. As if an ugly stain had been left on a white canvas. Silence spread in the air for a moment. A fragrance entered my nostrils that I had never felt in my entire life. It was the masculine scent of some extremely expensive, rare oud and sandalwood oil. A scent that narrated power, strength, and limitless authority. As soon as that fragrance arrived, my lungs seemed to freeze.
Very slowly, fearfully, I lifted my swollen eyelids.
Right in front of me, at a distance of mere inches, was the exact same face that I had seen a few hours ago on the cover page of a magazine at a crossroad bookstall in that dark night. The same sharp, sculpted steely chin, the same thick hai-what if I find out that he is n.