Married to the Don

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the torn curtains. Elena Russo lay curled up on the bed, her breathing shallow and uneven. She had finally drifted into sleep after a night of restless tossing, her dreams once again haunted by faceless shadows, screams, and the smell of smoke she could never escape.

Nightmares were a part of her. There were nights when she woke up screaming, and there were others when she didn’t dare make a sound. Whenever silence filled the house for too long, Marco, who was her uncle, came looking for her.

Her body ached from the beating she had received the previous night.

Her uncle’s temper had been triggered by something as simple as the soup being too salty, and Elena had paid the price.

"You have to run away, Elena. That man won't stop tormenting you until you die!" Her only friend back then, Adele, had warned her when they were younger.

"No, Adele. He'll find me no matter where I try to run off to," she had answered tearfully.

"He won't, damnit! Leave this place, delete it from your memory and start a new life elsewhere!" Adele had shake her by the shoulders, wishing she was shaking some sense into Elena.

"I don't even have any money! Uncle Marco feeds me!" She remembered screaming at Adele who didn't even flinch.

Adele glared at her. "He gives you food that even pets wouldn't eat." Elena didn't respond to that because she knew it was true.

Adele had continued talking, "I never knew you were a fool, Elena. Report him to the cops and you'll be free!"

Elena laughed humorlessly, "He's in the mafia, Adele. He'll escape."

She shook her head to get rid of the memory playing in her head. Her once-beautiful face was now marred by a bruise spreading across her cheekbone, the skin around her left eye swollen.

A dried line of blood ran from her temple down to her jaw. Her long brown hair, which once framed her delicate features, now hung in tangled clumps, looking unkempt.

Elena’s body twitched in her sleep, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her dreams had always been confusing... sometimes flashes of her parents’ smiling faces and the echo of her mother’s scream. Other times, it was just darkness.

“Where is that little b*tch?!” Marco's voice boomed across the old wooden walls.

Elena didn’t stir at first, she was fast asleep and didn't notice when the door burst open with a violent crack.

Marco’s bulky figure filled the doorway, his shadow falling over her frail body. He was dressed in his usual stained undershirt and wrinkled trousers, his face red from drink, his eyes bloodshot and full of hate. The smell of whiskey and sweat filled the small room, suffocating the air.

“There you are,” he slurred, stumbling forward. “Sleeping again, are you? When there’s work to do?”

Elena’s lashes fluttered, her body instinctively tensing even before she opened her eyes. But she was too slow.

With a violent yank, Marco grabbed the sheet from her body and threw it aside. When she didn’t move fast enough, his hand shot out, gripping her arm and dragging her off the bed.

She hit the floor with a thud, her shoulder scraping against the rough wooden boards.

“You sl*t!” he bellowed, “You useless, lazy sl*t! You think you can sleep all day while I’m out there killing myself for this house?”

He raised his hand, and before she could even look up, the first blow landed. Elena didn’t scream. She had learned long ago that crying out only made things worse. The first few months after her parents’ death, she had begged, pleaded, screamed for help that never came.

Of course, the neighbors had heard her, but no one dared to cross Marco Russo, even if he was just a small player in the mafia world. So she stayed silent.

His breath reeked of cheap liquor as he hit her. She stopped counting after the fifth strike.

After what felt like hours but was only minutes, Marco started to calm down and finally, he stopped. His chest heaved as he stood over her, panting heavily. He looked down at her like she was filth on the floor.

“You worthless brat,” he spat, his saliva landing near her cheek. “If it weren’t for me, you would be dead in the streets.”

Elena’s eyes flickered open, but she didn’t dare meet his gaze. She simply stared at the floor, her lips trembling but still sealed.

Marco sneered, “ You’ll never be anything, ” he muttered, stumbling back toward the door. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

He turned, grabbed the empty bottle from the table, and staggered out, slamming the door behind him.

For a long while, Elena didn’t move. Her body ached as she breathed heavily. The taste of blood lingered in her mouth. Her vision blurred as tears pooled in her eyes, sliding slowly down to the wood beneath her.

She let them fall. Tears were useless, but sometimes they were all she had.

She closed her eyes, her mind numb, her heart whispering the same question it always did after every beating.

Why me? But as usual, there was no answer.

Elena took a deep, shaky breath. Her ribs protested, and her hands trembled as she pushed herself up to sit.

She wiped the blood from her cheek with the back of her sleeve, leaving a dark smear on the fabric. Her reflection in the cracked mirror across the room stared back at her... a stranger with hollow eyes and scarred body.

"I hate you," she whispered. "Why can't you fight back, you coward?"

For a moment, she wondered if her parents could see her now. If they would be proud of how strong she had become… or broken at what she had endured.

Another tear escaped her eye. She didn’t bother to wipe it away.

She really hoped that everything will be alright and she would be free from this monster.

But for now, all she could do was sit still and wait for help.

Later in the evening, Elena sat quietly in the corner of her small room, her knees drawn to her chest, her chin resting on them. She was so hungry but she didn't dare go out to get some food. That's if there was any food left.

Her body still ached from Marco’s blows earlier that afternoon.

From where she sat, she could hear faint voices drifting in from the living room but she paid no heed to it, thinking it was probably one of the friends he gambled with.

But then, she heard a loud sound followed by the crash of glass, and Marco’s loud, trembling laugh that didn’t sound quite right.

Elena frowned. She had never heard fear in Marco’s voice before.

Before she could ponder on what was going on, she heard a deep, commanding voice that sent a chill through the air. It wasn’t loud, but it carried a kind of authority that didn’t need to shout to be obeyed.

Her heart caught in her throat. Who was that?

She rose slowly, wincing in pain. The voices g