Page 3 of The Mafia King's Lost Son
He looks around forty, handsome in a polished expensive way that screams old money and older crimes. Dark hair going silver at the temples. A suit that looks specifically tailored for him. His eyes are cold when they sweep over us, like he’s looking at objects instead of people.
“Good evening, ladies.” His voice is cultured, pleasant. It makes my skin crawl. “I hope you’ve been comfortable.”
None of us answer. Carmen starts crying again, quiet terrified sobs. Maya has gone white as paper.
His eyes scan across us, and I see the exact moment they land on me. Something shifts in his expression—interest mixed with intent that makes my stomach turn.
Oh shit. No no no no no.
“You.” He points at me. “Come here.”
I don’t move because my body’s locked up in pure animal terror.
“I said, come here.” He’s still smiling, still pleasant, but there’s a hint of steel underneath now.
“Don’t.” Maya grabs my arm. “Please, don’t go with him.”
His smile widens. “She doesn’t have a choice. None of you do.”
He crosses the room in three long strides and grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet hard enough that it’s definitely going to leave bruises.
“No! Let me go!” I fight immediately, scratching at his face, twisting in his grip, trying to stomp on his expensive leather shoes. Anything.
His open palm cracks across my face so hard my head snaps sideways. The sound echoes through the room like a gunshot. My cheek explodes in a white hot pain and tears spring to my eyes involuntarily.
The other girls scream as I taste blood in my mouth.
“Listen very carefully.” His voice drops low, and he fists his hand in my hair to force me to look at him. “You can walk out of this room on your own two feet, or I can drag you out by your hair while you fucking bleed. Either way, you’re coming with me.”
He yanks harder and I cry out as pain shoots across my scalp.
The threat in his voice is absolutely real. This is a man who’s done worse than hit a woman. Much worse.
My survival instinct kicks in as much as I still want to hold on to my ego. Eventually the former wins, and I stop fighting. Letting my body go limp in his grip.
I’m going to die. I can feel it.
I probably would have been sadder if I had a family that would miss me but I don’t. So I’m just…numb.
“Smart girl,” he murmurs, and the satisfaction in his voice makes me want to vomit.
He drags me toward the door, his grip on my arm brutal. I stumble, trying to keep my feet under me, and catch one last glimpse of the other girls—Maya’s horrified face, Jennifer’s tears, Lisa’s empty stare.
Then I’m in the hallway, the door slamming shut behind us, and I’m alone with a monster.
He pulls me down a corridor lined with expensive art and fresh flowers. Their beauty is obscene compared to what’s happening. My bare feet slip on polished marble. When I stumble, he doesn’t slow down, just drags me harder.
There has to be a way out.
We reach another door and he shoves it open. A bedroom, but it looks more like an office judging from the heavy bookshelf and sturdy mahogany desk at the center of the room.
My stomach drops to the floor as the door closes behind us with a click that sounds very much like a death sentence.
“Now then.” He turns to me, and whatever pleasant mask he wore before is completely gone. What’s underneath is cold and hungry and utterly empty of anything human. “Let’s get properly acquainted.”
Before I can react, he shoves me against the wall so hard it knocks the breath from my lungs. My head cracks against plaster and stars burst across my vision, a sob leaves my lips before I can stop it.
Fight. You have to fight, Scarlett!
