Page 26 of Mafia King's Forbidden Obsession

Honestly, I’d seen the signs. But I chose to remain blind to them, attributing his late nights out to work when we both knew it was a lie. He was a construction worker; he rarely worked late nights.

But maybe I should be grateful that he didn’t abandon me when I was little. At least he waited until I was a legal adult before he absconded. Tears prick my eyes when I recall the struggle through college.

Being a medical student and combining multiple shifts wasn’t easy, but I eventually pulled through.

The events, as unfortunate as they were, made me who I am. It made me strong. And I have to remain so to get out of here.

My eyes flit around the room, searching for anything that might help. The window is locked, I’ve tried that. Even if it wasn’t, there was no way I could climb down. The mansion has no extensions… no balconies, or anything of the like.

The other option I have is the door. But even a mad person wouldn’t attempt that… for two reasons. One, the door is locked. It automatically jams when anyone leaves, and it doesn’t openfrom the inside. Two, even if I successfully use a hairpin to unlock the door, there are guards outside… and beyond.

Maneuvering two people is one thing. But maneuvering a multitude of guards? I obviously stand no chance.

Still, I have to try something. Damn, I hate being stuck. Just as I release a disgruntled groan, I hear the familiar click of the door unlocking.

My whole body goes on high alert. I jump to my feet, ready. If Ezra has come to inflict punishment for disobeying–

My thoughts are cut short when the door creaks open, and it’s not Ezra. A different man steps in. He’s shorter, with darker, tanned skin. Deep frown lines etch the space between his brows.

I don’t say anything and observe him. His aura seems different. Dark and intimidating, unlike the other guards that bring me food.

That's enough for me to know he isn’t a guard. Scanning his entire frame, I see he’s holding a large suitcase in his hand. I furrow my brow at this.

“Boss asked me to drop this off,” he says, in a flat, gruff voice. Then he drops the suitcase on the bed.

Before I can get a word in, the door slams shut behind him, and I hear the lock click again.

Well, that was unexpected.

I eye the suitcase on the bed warily as I slowly inch toward it. It has a sleek, velvety exterior, purple and laced with streaks of blinking stones. I’m suddenly apprehensive.

This isn’t what I expect just after attempting you-know-what on Ezra. But curiosity gets the best of me and I unzip the suitcase.

My eyes widen when I look inside. There’s clothing of different colors and patterns along with hygiene products. I hold my breath as I let the plush velvet lining soothe my eyes. I bring my hand to touch them. From how soft they feel, I can tell they’re expensive– designer silk dresses, delicate blouses, and… underwear.

Oh…

I bring a bra out and see that it’s my perfect size.How did he–

Of course he knows my size. He knows more than my size.

The apparel all smells faintly of a floral perfume, the kind that lingers long after a shower. I pull out a nightdress and hold it up, the bright lights bouncing off the burgundy satin material.Way too luxurious for me.

Confusion slowly sets in. If Ezra sent this then does that mean he’s forgiven m–

No. I quickly curb my thoughts with a vigorous shake of my head. I don’t need his forgiveness….

What I need is therapy…because I’m slowly losing it.

Chapter eight

Ezra

I watch as the workers offload the dozen trucks lined up. Tractors pick up the offloaded crates and line them against a wall where the products will be sorted and repackaged in different boxes, then reloaded in black vans ready for their trip to Canada.

I'm in my warehouse— an old, abandoned building situated on the quiet industrial street of Bushwick. Occasional flickers of light shine briefly against the bags of cocaine to my left. Tall shelves filled with different bags of drugs progress at every few inches of the space.

Where the shelves are insufficient, the items are placed on floor shelves or tables. The ones on my left are on a shiny silver table, the usual spot for smaller orders, while the ones to my right arestacked with brown cell tape on the floor shelves, their height spanning to almost touch the roof.