Assigned to Her [Mafioso Book#4]

Prologue

He was far too young to remember when it all happened or to remember where he came from.

All he knew was that he had been a slave of the Mirko Cartel and that he was standing naked in a row of boys – all ranging in age – as a man that smelt of money walked before them. Inspecting them with beady and scrutinizing eyes, turning over his shoulder to talk to their owner, referring to them as 'the package'. His riding crop dragging against the floor behind him.

He stared at the muddied ground, splotches of red scattered on the tiles, and held his breath when a pair of glinting black shoes, the ones like he would never own, stopped before him.

The riding crop flattened beneath his chin, turning his swollen and black eyes up to the man.

"What do they call you?" The master asked him as he knew by years of training that he only spoke when talked to.

"Slave 347." He responded in a shrill prepubescent voice.

"How did you get beat up?" He pressed the leather against the black bruise and his eye twitched, the master looking at his face and body with narrowed eyes, taking in all the scars and bruises littering his pale dirty skin.

"I got into a fight with some other boys." He answered honestly.

"And who won?"

"I did, master." He informed, the master before him smirked in satisfaction.

"I'll take him." He told the dealer behind him. "He'd do just wonderful in my underground ring. Fresh meat for the audience."

And that was how he was bought from the Mirko Cartel and sold to Master Cipriano's underground boxing ring.

The first few weeks, he was the champion's punching bag. His main purpose of being bought was easy training. He was kicked, punched, thrown, and even broken as their chew toy. He was nothing but a rag doll to them.

That was until the day he fought back.

As an eleven-year-old, he had too much anger in him and attacked the best fighter of his Master's ring. He had no idea what he was doing, all he saw was red and relished in the pain blossoming from his knuckles as he relentlessly punched the teen beneath him. He was pulled off the champion, being restrained as the master stood before him, not with an angry face, but one full of intrigue and glee.

"You will fight tonight." He stated to his slave. "And you will win."

He didn't respond as he was taken away to be prepared for the fight. Even when the bell rung, he was still seeing red, and one single blow to his opponent had rendered him on the floor and in an unconscious heap. The crowd that was roaring and deafening had suddenly fallen silent as the ringmaster declared a winner within the very first minute. It was so silent that he could hear his rapid heartbeat and the blood surging through his veins. And then suddenly he couldn't hear anything as the crowd erupted into a burst of volcanic cheers.

That was the day he became known as 'TKO' - Total Knock Out.

Every fight after that, was his.

Every night he brawled with men twice his size, and every night he relished in the after the pain of the fight.

He won, every single time, and he was the prince.

By the time he was twelve he was bulkier and more dangerous than anyone his age. He might have been short, but he was most definitely a force to be reckoned with.

That is until one of his opponents caught him off guard by slamming a steel rod into his rib, instantly breaking it as he staggered back at the familiar sensation.