Married to the mafia boss Series

Angelo

Looking at the clock at my bedside table, it’s too fucking early. Five o’clock in the morning and the vibrations of my phone wake me up. I put in my hearing aids and answer with a growl in my voice. My right hand man, Christian, tells me good news.

The girl has been brought to The Dark Twist one of the popular nightclubs that the Mafia owns. Down below is a dungeon, perfect for my newest guest. I can’t hide the devious smile on my face, there is so much potential now that we’ve gotten hands on Vasiliev’s daughter. I’m sure he’ll do anything to get her back-after we have our fun.

Sleep can wait, I’m much too anxious to see the girl. Getting dressed, I remind myself to praise Christian and Piero for a job well done when I get to the club. They can take whichever strippers their heart desires and whatever booze they crave and it’ll all be on me.

The drive doesn’t take long to get to The Dark Twist but with my anticipation it feels like the longest car ride of my life. My leg is shaking anxiously and my mind racing with all the wonderful outcomes of having this advantage. If my father was here right now I’d laugh and spit in his face. All my life he told me I’d never amount to anything, that he was glad I wasn’t his heir because I wouldn’t be able to handle being boss.

Well, fucking look at me now, Pop. I’m running this city and I’m doing a pretty damn good job, too. I own this place. I’ve gained my respect and have taken out all who dare to go against me. I’m a force to be reckoned with, and I dare anyone to challenge me. They’ll have their throats cut out.

I never wanted this job. Never wanted to be Don, but there’s no escaping destiny. So, instead of complaining, I might as well fuck destiny as hard as I can.

Entering the empty club, the manager is there watching new girls who are half naked auditioning with a metal pole on stage, cleaners are wiping up all the vomit, spilt alcohol, and other messes from the previous night. Over in the corner are the two guys who make me want to kiss them for actually succeeding in getting the girl.

My smile falters as I see the state Christian and Piero are in. One has a black eye and split lip. The other has claw marks on his forearm including a good bite mark that is swollen, purple, and leaking blood.

“What the hell? I thought you said you guys got the girl? Looks more like you tried to wrestle a fucking bear.”

Christian gives me an annoyed look. “The body guards were easier to take out than that bitch.”

Piero nods silently agreeing with his partner.

“Come on, how tough can she be?” I roll my eyes.

Unlocking the three locks on the door to the basement, I turn on all the lights and enter the hidden dungeon. The basement looks like any regular basement, storage for the club including alcoholic bottles, new equipment in case things breaks, old equipment that is broken, including old furniture. Far away in the back, behind a shelf is a locked door that no one would ever find just by looking around, and behind that shelf-door is the dungeon. Soundproof and all.

The dungeon is dark, dreary, and smells of mildew and sewage. The cement in cold, making the air chilled. In one of the cells, behind the thick metal bars, is a girl. Her honey blonde hair is long and covering most of her face. My guess is she’s passed out. Her tiny pink nightgown is riding up exposing her creamy pale thighs. One thin strap is hanging off her shoulders, her breast nearly exposed. There is not much to be left to the imagination as I can see through the silk material making out two pointed nipples.

“Get up,” I kick the bars.

Nothing. She must really be knocked out.

It’s okay, I have patience. Sitting in the chair nearby, I sit crossed-legged with the most perfect view of her. Getting up at five o’clock in the morning is starting to catch up with me as I start to yawn. Five hours of sleep is not enough to run on.

Resting my eyes for only a moment by the time I wake up more time has passed than I realized.

The girl is up, her big blue eyes carefully looking around. She’s scared, of course, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t scream or beg for help. Doesn’t ask me where she is or who I am. Walking over to the bars of her cell, I look down at her. She looks up at me, mouth parted and eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re a prisoner of the Mafia,” I say. “You better hope your father loves you enough to negotiate a few contracts with us.”

Her look stays the same. A blank stare showing no emotion. It aggravates me that she hasn’t said anything still. I was hoping to get a rise out of her, but she sits still, eyes roaming everywhere trying to take in her location.

The door opens behind me and in walks Christian and Piero looking royally pissed off. “Is the bitch finally awake?” Piero cracks his knuckles.

“When’s the fun going to begin, boss?” Christian’s mouth nearly waters as he looks the girl up and down.

“When I say so,” I growl.

Christina and Piero are around the same age as me. We grew up together, their fathers working under my father. They exude loyalty and I have always been able to trust them. Maybe not with my secret, but I trust them with my business, my deals, my warehouses, my money. It’s the reason they’re my left and right hand men.

It doesn’t mean I like them. They’re misogynistic pigs. Sure, I can act like a misogynist pig, too, but they take it to the next level. While looking at the girl I see someone who is innocent, I wouldn’t dare defile her in way I know Christian and Piero are thinking of.

No, not in that way. But, to grab Vasiliev’s attention, we have to make him think his precious angel is in danger.

“Come on, we deserve to have some fun after that bitch put up one hell of a fight,” Piero winces as he touches the deep bite marks on his arms.

“You think her father taught her how to fight?” Christian tilts his head asking.

“Nah, I doubt it.”

“Will you two shut up?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “If any of you lay a hand on her I’ll chop off your hands and your dick next.”

They hold up their hands in surrender. “Woah, boss. Okay, we get it,” Christian takes a step back.

“He just wants to get his cock wet first,” Piero snickers.

I give them both a warning look that shuts them up. A look that not all obey. It’s still hard to earn some of my men’s respect. They’re still tainted by my father and Luca’s rule, they still believe what they heard from them-that I’m weak.

It might have been true, but not anymore.

The ringing in my ears a constant annoying reminder of revenge and constantly fuels my anger. The only thing that calms the ringing noise in my head is when I get my hands around a traitor or Bratva’s neck.

That and some pussy.

The girl in the cell looks small. She’s too quiet for a prisoner. Maybe she didn’t speak English. Maybe her father told her that if she was in this exact same scenario that she better keep her mouth shut of any secrets. To not let on to how scared she is.

I don’t need a trembling body, tear soaked face, or sobbing pleas to tell me that someone is scared. You can tell by the vacant, vulnerable look in their eyes. The one that is clinging onto their lives and innocence so tightly that the thought of dying is the worst thing imaginable… until they realize they are likely to be tortured.

I have had my fair share of beating. My own tormentors. I’ve been pushed past my breaking points. My pain threshold is so high that I could endure the worst form of torture and still not spill a single secret. I’d rather die. I swore an oath. I’d never break my oath.

Christian and Piero taunt the girl some more. I’m suddenly bored of her lack of emotion. I would prefer the tears and the sound of her sobbing to me that she’ll do anything to return to Daddy safely. This is… unexpected. Not getting a rise out of her, I let my thoughts wander to what I’m going to say to Vasiliev about having his daughter. What would infuriate him the most?

Writing the demands in my head, Christian and Piero’s obnoxious laughter makes me discreetly touch my ears, tuning off the hearing aids. Silence fills the world-all except the ringing.

After losing myself for a good few minutes in a daydream of planning my ransom note-Christian and Piero are snapping their fingers in front of me.

I sigh, “What?”

Reading their lips Christian says, “I said, are you going to get some pussy upstairs? Maximo has some new whores.”

“Maybe.”

A girl would be a nice distraction.

“I’m heading home for the night,” I advise against what my dick really wants. “I have a lot on my mind and it’s bad enough that I have to worry about you fuckers taking turns watching our newest prisoner.”

“Don’t trust us, boss?” Piero frowns.

“Not with her. But I guess I have a little trust that you will be doing your job,” I roll my eyes. “Just think about how much you like your dick and how much I’ll enjoy cutting it off if I find out you stuck it in our prisoner.”

Christian and Piero gulp. “Yes, boss.”

Relecuntaly, I head home and pray that I won’t get a phone call in the middle of the night that the girl is dead or badly beaten or raped. Christian and Piero are too smart to go against my orders, but I know well enough that sometimes your dick overpowers your minds sensibility.

Like every night, the phone on my bedside table lights up and on the screen is a message from Liliana.

Liliana: Please call me. I’m worried.

Angelo: I’m getting ready for bed.

Liliana: I haven’t heard from you in a while. I miss when you actually called and talked to me.

Angelo: There is nothing to be worried about.

Liliana: Will you come visit soon?This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I don’t respond back to her text. I set the phone down and stare up at the ceiling. In the corner of my eyes I can see my phone continuously light up. I love my little sister with all my heart, but I can’t. I can’t talk to her. There’s a darkness inside of me that I don’t want to transfer onto her. I don’t want to burden her with my worries. She fears I have depression-she wouldn’t be wrong. The hell if I’m going to see a shrink. I’m not crazy.

It’s nothing booze and women can’t cure.

Until the glass is empty and I’m post-orgasm.

The world is quiet around me. I love the quiet. I miss the quiet.

I crave the quiet.

Closing my eyes and laying on my back-face up toward the ceiling. I let out a sigh I can’t hear. It’s been a while since I’ve cried. The last time I cried was when I was nine years old.

Liliana was barely out of her toddler years, a fresh faced innocent little girl with spiral blonde hair and the biggest eyes with the longest eyelashes. We were all out shopping and Liliana wanted a doll, our father refused to buy it for her. Not because we weren’t rich. No, we were filthy rich. But our father was an asshole, a controlling son of a bitch. He wanted sons, daughters were a weakness and the hell if he was going to buy a pink doll.

I remember grabbing the doll and hiding it as we walked out of the store. When we were far from the store I handed it to Liliana. Her eyes lit up and she squealed with delight, jumping up and down. She hugged the doll tightly to her body. Our father saw what I did and grabbed me by the arm pulling us away from a crowd. He slapped me hard across the face and I cried. He slapped me again telling me real men don’t cry. I still didn’t stop, I was so young and didn’t have a grip on my emotions yet. He hit me again and kept doing so until all my tears were gone and my cheek was red and bruised.

I hadn’t cried since, but there were times like now when I feel so alone. I feel hatred towards the world, and toward the God that has forsaken me, so much that I want to cry.

Cry out in unfairness. Cry out because of the depression. Because of the emotions swirling inside of me that don’t understand how to be regulated-that are overwhelmed. That needs an outlet. The part of my mind that tells me to harm myself so I can feel some type of control over myself. The same part that is trying to find ways to ignore the curse of my ears. The endless pitch of noise driving me slowly to the brink of insanity.

Liliana has a right to worry.

I need help, but I’m too damn proud to get any.

Keep continuing on.

I wish I had a break. A break from this body and mind. A vacation from being Angelo. I wish more than anything to cease to exist-just for a while. Just until I can compose myself. So I can feel like how I felt before everything happened in Chicago.

Before I lost my hearing.

Laying in bed, eyes closed, deaf to the world, listening to the hum, I think of my niece. The only joy that my mind knows. I think of her innocence and ignorance to the real world. It must be nice to be that age, not a single care in the world. What I would give to be a young child again-the age before my father started ruling over me. To go back to a time when I didn’t see my first dead body, or commit my first kill. To a time when life seemed so much more simplistic.

How did I ever get to this point?

How did his life get so fucked?

Sitting up in bed I look out the window to see the night sky. Millions of stars lightyears away. The wishes kids make on shooting stars is silly come to think of it. I did so many times. I wished for toys, games, such frivolous things. I wish I could still make those frivolous wishes.

The only wish on a shooting star I have in mind is the wish to be happy.

I wish to be happy.