Falling for the Mafia Lord!

CHAPTER 001

The cave was damp and smeary with smoke, blood, and stone. Chains rattled each time she attempted to move her weight, and the metal tore into her wrists where they were clamping her up against the pillar. The fresh welts of his whip stung upon her skin, but her body even in her agony failed her.

Don Alessandro DeMarco leaned forward and spoke in the deep growl of a fire that enclosed her. F*ck*ng big, amoretto, you have boobs.

Her chest was lifting and falling in a wild motion, and the heat was burning in every part of her. It was the manner in which he articulated his words in that heavy Italian accent that caused her thighs to shake regardless of how much she resisted it.

Her lips parted. D... don, she said, the word broke out of her tongue.

His fangs tore deeply into her chest, sucking, and set dark marks like a brand. The pain of each bite made her head spin. She made an attempt to turn around, but the chains held her captive, and she had to put up with it.

Her voice cracked. “P… please.”

He paused, and looked up to see her face. His breath was cool of her cheek, slow and steady. So sweet, Amoretto, you are so sweet, he mumbled. She could feel his words bursting into her ear and the chill of goosebumps running along her arm.

Her fists clenched. This is the fifth time I say so. I’m not part of the Russo Mafia.”

The crack of leather was heard long before the words had come out of her mouth. The whip was swinging over her body and cutting through. Her head flicked back, she made a scream between her teeth.

“Liar.”

He pushed his fingers inside her panties and driven himself roughly and deep into her. Her body buckled. She tried to suppress the moan but the moan broke out.

You are tight, dolcezza, you are tight, said he with a vicious chop of his fingers. His free hand took her by the jaw, and she had to look where he stared. That is what happens to whoever attempts to hurt me.

Her chest was heaving, her legs trembling. She felt pain and pleasure running across her skin that made her body confused that she was not able to know which one is the pain or pleasure. Not even Julian, whom she had thought loved her, had ever thrilled her body thus.

His name came out like poison through her mind. Julian. The reason she was here. Two days ago she was just a silent hacker, who earned her money by picking and stealing secrets behind the firewalls in the darkest corners of the internet. It was mucky business, and it kept her alive.

Then Julian came with a deal. It was fast, he said, painless, safe. She trusted him. She loved him. But he had been lying the whole time.

Here she was, now; in the dungeons of Don Alessandro DeMarco.

Again her throat tightened as she tried. Don Alessandro, I swear by heavens I tell the truth. It was just… a deal. I didn’t know who it was for.”

He grinned and curled his lips into a black smile. “Oh hell, as if I care.” His voice was rumbly low and vile. “This is only the beginning. You will want to be dead when I get through with you.

Her voice broke out in a shriek. “It was Julian! He made me do it!”

The name was at air as curse. She ought to have remained silent, but she could not bear the burden on her own. Had she been falling, he would fall with her.

The smirk of Alessandro broadened and vile pleasure flashed in the eyes. “Then he will join you soon.”

Her body froze. “What do you mean?”

He snapped his fingers. The iron door was difficult to open. Two huge men pushed a body between them, and the grating of boots over the stone floor reverberated through the dungeon. The sight of the broken body caused her eyes to open wide.

“J… Julian, she said, in disbelief that ate at her throat.

Blood stained his shirt. His face was puffy and one eye was almost closed. But in his broken condition he threw up his chin, and his jaw set tight with defiance.

Alessandro smacked her on the *ss and walked to him. Do you want to talk now, little boy?

Julian curled his lip and blood dripped out at the corner of the mouth. Why do you suppose I will now confess?

Her voice broke. Simply tell him the truth, Julian!

The laughing that Alessandro gave was low and mocking. He extended his hand. One of his men gave him a gun in the palm. He had it in his hand, so natural as though it were a part of himself.

Her heart beat rose and he moved away again to press the barrel against her forehead.

Say to him, Julian, say! she cried, and the words cut her throat.

Alessandro lit a cigarette, and blew the smoke into her face. Unless you speak now, nerdy, she will be bidding adieu to Bella Vita.

She choked on the smoke, and her chest contracted. Her knees sank, and, as her body hung upon the pillar, the chains rattled. “Julian, please!”

He laughed and spat up blood on the floor. “That’s not worth a threat. She could die for all I care.”

Her heart cracked wide open. Her flesh had turned cold; all muscles were wearing out. She had loved him. She had trusted him. He had promised it, and now he disposed of her like rubbish.

With a laugh Alessandro filled the dungeon, and echoed back off the stone walls. With brutal merriment in his eyes, he pushed the gun further into her skin.

Unless he speaks, amoretto, you will die.

The world slowed around her. The smoke, the heat, the rattling of the chains--all this reduced itself to the chilly steel of her forehead and the sneer of his face.

Was this the end?

Would Don Alessandro DeMarco do such a thing as to draw the trigger?

Or was this the commencement of her hell?

CHAPTER 002

The chains were no longer cutting her wrists but the phantom sting remained. Whenever she closed her eyes she could see the blood, hear the gunshots, smell the acrid smoke of the bullets splitting the skull of Julian. The memory caused her chest to heave and the laughter of Alessandro seemed to reverberate over the final sigh Julian gave.

“Amoretto!” Her spiral was pulled out by his voice. Mighty and dominating and flowing like honey sweet.

Her head lifted. He came toward her very gradually, each stride conscious. Her heart beat was louder, and beat hard against her ribs. She was now more afraid of him than ever. The image of him burned itself in her soul last night, the Don of the DeMarco Mafia, killer of her boyfriend, the man who could order her death at the point of his finger.

“How are you, amoretto?” There was that mocking gentleness in his question, as in a song that is supposed to pacify and yet h