Page 42 of Runaway in the Mafia (The shadows of Cosa Nostra Chronicles #3)

“Never.”

I didn’t argue. Was too busy ripping his belt off and unzipping his pants.

He shoved my dress up and ripped the satin into two parts.

Then he came at me. Slid into me. A weapon custom-made for me.

Armed. Loaded. Aimed to destroy me. I welcomed him.

It felt like heaven. Like we’d left the norms of culture and tradition and found an alternative universe.

How was this so good? How was this so addictive?

I couldn’t think. Could only feel. I couldn’t figure out where he ended, and I began.

Need, passion, desire, lust. My hands pulled.

I never wanted to let this go. But I had to.

You must, Ahana. He was insane. He proved it by pounding into me like a madman.

His grip on my hips were bruising. Yet this was the only time I wanted bruises to mark my skin.

The only time I wanted more of them. Again and again.

I wanted to be painted only by his airbrush. Only by his touch and his words.

“I’m fucking tired of you,” he growled angrily.

My heart cracked.

“Fucking sick of you always running away.”

I didn’t want to.

He yanked my hair and bit my lip. My back scraped along the wall as he pulled my ass along with him and throttled back to the wall. I gasped at the force behind it. “You’re fucking mine.”

I was out of it. Couldn’t get myself to disagree with him.

My world tilted. Spiralling out of control.

Again. I didn’t even see it coming. The cliff.

The drop. The climax. We came together. Half-standing, half on the floor.

My blood burned on my lips. His cum spilled all over me.

Yet again, I’d take a morning-after pill and pray to the Gods because I’d lost my mind.

Again. Let him in. Again. I was in a vicious cycle, and I couldn’t pull myself out of it.

I’d thought I was so strong. Turned out I was nothing but weak. One look from this man, I spread my legs and begged him to take me. When I should have been thinking of my family. The shame I would bring them. The heartache to Pāpā—with an angry scream, I shoved him away from me.

“No.”

“Too late.”

“No. No. No.” I stormed away. Came to a stop a few feet from him. “I’m not yours.”

“Oh yes, you are.”

“Don’t you get it?” My sigh was heavy. It numbed my insides. “I’m not mine to be yours.”

Silence. My heart beat wildly. I knew he’d back off. But knowing and wanting were two different things. “Say something,” I said to the darkness before me. A beat passed. Two. Then the brightness of the light hit me. A painful glare in my eyes. Just like reality.

“What the fuck are you telling me?”

My eyes squinted and squeezed. Adjusted to the lumens and focused on him. He was ten feet away from me, one hand on the wall, the other fisted in his unzipped pants.

“I’m not yours,” I whispered.

“Yeah, yeah. So you keep telling me.” His gaze sparked. “Whose are you then?”

I moved my throat. Words refused to cooperate.

He took a stride, and I jerked back. His gaze thinned. A fisted hand came to his jaw to rub thoughtfully. “Spit it out.”

I swallowed the painful lump in my throat.

“I’m married,” I croaked, and he jerked to a stop halfway up to me.

The temperature dropped to ice-cold. Then it morphed into morbid heat.

His gaze twisted. Darkened and burned. His body vibrated with malignant energy.

Malice splintered on his face. Like an icy lake defrosting, it cracked and spread. If venom had a look, this would be it.

“Dead,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“No.” I shook my head. “I have a husband.”

“Not for long, you won’t.” His tone was sharp. Final.

What is he going to do? “You ca—”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it!” he roared before surging towards me.

I screamed and crashed back to the wall.

He stopped, startled, as if realising his actions, only then, and shifted and paced to the other side of the room.

Ran his hands through his hair. Gave me his back and laughed.

There was nothing humorous about it. Heavy silence seeped in.

He threw a glance to the side, his eyes gazing past the wall of glass. For the first time, I noticed his house. It was beautiful. Perfect. Worthy of being in a magazine. Worthy of him. It was light and airy. So unlike the mood in the room.

“Is he the one who hit you?” His gaze had dropped to the floor.

“I—” I didn’t even know how to answer that. So I didn’t.

“How many times?” he growled.

I shook my head. He erupted. Spun and stormed towards me. I crawled against the wall. He stopped six feet from me.“How many fucking times did he lay a hand on you, Ahana?”

“I don’t—”

“Bullshit. When a man lays a hand on you, you know exactly how many times. You should.”

I did. “Six.” And his gaze raged. Went pitch black. He changed right in front of me. Went from a lunatic to a monster in one shift. “But it doesn’t matter,” I added hastily.

“It doesn’t matter?” he snickered in a cold tone I didn’t recognise. “A man laying a hand on you doesn’t matter? Is that what I should do, then?”

“No,” I burst out.

He forced his steps to slow until he caged me with his body. “Will that make you have a go at me?”

“No,” I whimpered.

“Toss you around a few times?”

“Stop it.”

“Leave some broken bones?”

“No. No. No,” I screamed. He glared.

My throat burned. The act of breathing itself became an agony. “It doesn’t matter because I can’t leave him,” I said, defeated.

He was up on my face. “Can’t or won’t?”

I shoved him off me and stumbled away. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going back to him.”

“No. You’re fucking not. Never again.”

“Ugh…” I pushed my hands in my hair and clenched them into fists. Frustration rioted inside me. How was I going to get this man to understand? “You don’t get it.”

“Help me then. Tell me how a man got to fucking whack you around.”

“You can’t understand how it is,” I said softly.

“Oh, I do. Some man, married you, fucked you, beat you, and you want to go crawling back to him.” He cocked his head and gestured to me. “Right?”

I sighed. Pretty much.

“Now let me be crystal clear to you. You’re fucking mine, and I don’t allow anyone to disrespect what’s mine, and that includes you.” He forgot himself and barrelled towards me, pinning me to the wall. I didn’t even flinch anymore. “Do. You. Fucking. Understand?”

“I can’t,” I mumbled weakly.

“What’s his name?”

I shook my head wildly. If I told him. He would link everything.

Get to Pāpā and blast him with the truth.

He didn’t understand our culture. Subtlety was as bred in him as gentlemanly skills.

He had zero inclination to think of another man’s health.

He would charge in and take what he thought was his and leave disaster behind. “I can’t.”

“Doesn’t matter, my pretty little fiancée. I’ll find out.”

He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Sergio, get the fuck over here, my fiancée needs a ride back.” His glare shifted to calculated maliciousness.

He switched languages and let out a stream of Sicilian.

He kept me caged in his arms while he spoke.

Harsh sounds. It didn’t sound anything like the beautiful language I was used to.

When he ended the call, he was geared up.

Fresh kill swam in his eyes. Dark energy vibrated within it.

He was boiling with a murderous rage, but his touch contradicted it with how gentle it felt.

His index finger trailed my jaw from my right ear to the dip of my chin.

He hovered close. Didn’t kiss me, but inhaled like I was his reason to breathe.

Then he stepped back. Time crawled at a snail’s pace under his watchful gaze.

Dark with intent. Seconds crawled into minutes, and neither of us uttered a single word.

What could we say that could change the course of this path?

But within our silence and painful breaths, words crept through unbeknownst to us.

I couldn’t fathom this man. Couldn’t understand his obsession when he could so easily walk away. He could have anyone. Someone who wasn’t broken or tied down. By responsibilities or a monster at a dead end.

His refusal to give in scared me. It made me believe things.

Made me hope. And hope was dangerous when you paired it with me.

I had to keep it away from me to walk the path I was meant to.

So I fought to believe something else. Something that couldn’t hurt me.

It was his arrogance, I told myself. That was it.

He never lost, and he wasn’t going to start with me.

Even if he might discard me soon enough.

Because for him, I was just another notch on his arm.

For me, he was what could bring down my family with one word.

I would not let him get away with it. He could stare at me all he wanted. I’d never give him a name.

The sound of a horn cut into our dark bubble. It should have been relief I felt spark to life within my chest.

“Go on.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Get out. Isn’t that what you wanted to do all along?”

I eyed him worriedly. “What are you going to do?”

He shrugged angrily. “Nothing I can do if you don’t give me a name. Right?”

Right.

I backed away hastily and stumbled to the door.

But his words stopped me right in front of it.

“You should know a little something, though, about your fiancé.” I gripped the handle.

Couldn’t bring myself to turn around. “Any man who touches you, I will kill. But a man who used you as a punchbag…” He paused.

I glanced over my shoulder and regretted it.

He was in the middle of the living room, glass in hand, murder in his eyes.

“He’d better pray to be eaten alive before I get to him. ”

I didn’t hang around. Pulled the handle down and slammed it shut behind me. But just as it did, the noise of shattering glass reached me. It was as deadly as a gunshot in a dark alley.