Page 5 of Claiming His Mafia Princess

Nevio is quiet. I can hear his thudding heartbeat and the sound of his feet, but not a word comes from his mouth.

Not once in all of this did he even talk.

“Put me down.” I screech, trying again to plead with anyone with reason — but I am not sure the silent shadow of a man can be reasoned with. I’m still reeling with shock when he offloads me into the front seat of his blacked out SUV. He leans over me to put my safety belt on, his face so close to mine.

He pauses, a breath away from me, and looks me in the eye. I see a villain, a monster, and he sees my fear. My heart stops and starts, and my breath catches. Nevio is looking at me — no, into me - but - his eyes are softer than a villain’s eyes should be. They whisper a silent apology to me.

But it doesn’t stop him. He is still taking his prize.

When the belt is clicked over me, he cups my face in one of his enormous hands. His long hair hangs in his face, and I see the blood colored stain on his neck that I have heard whispers about all the years. The mark of the devil, the superstitious ones call it, my mother was part gypsy, and she believed that is what it was. My oldest brothers bullied him when they were kids, but Nevio became a killer that even the strongest men fear now.

In that second looking at me, time freezes, my panic turns to calm — somehow I know he will not hurt me. At least not here in front of Mas, maybe later, but for now I see his remorse. His silence speaks for him. His hand is warm against my wet cheeks, and his thumb wipes away a stray tear before he moves away and licks it off his finger.

That should scare me, but in some confused state of mind, it turns me on. I think my mind has snapped. Nevio leans in and kisses my tightly sealed lips. His breath is warm, and his lips chapped against mine. I don’t let him in, but when he pulls back, I can taste him. I’m not ready to give myself to him, or anyone. Not like this.

My brother bet me in a poker game — something I never ever dreamed would have been possible. Not even in my wildest nightmares could I have come up with this.

The betrayal cuts deeper than any knife ever could. Masaccio might as well have stabbed me himself.

When Nevio slams the door I jump, but I do not run. I know better than to think you can escape the Mafia. I have been a prisoner all my life. I will never get away.

It is snowing again, and wind howls and whips it up as we pull away from my home — I can see the flashing of the Christmas tree lights in the mirror as I look back. The decorations I put up. The warmth I added to that house.

Celso is on the front steps. I can see his face as we’re torn away from one another.

I feel angry at him. Where was he when I needed him? Why did he not stop this? How could they?

“It could have been worse.” I jump at the deep sound of Nevio’s voice. I don’t look at him. I don’t want him to see my tears as they stream down my cheeks.

I’m terrified. My entire life has just been ripped out from beneath me. I was literally taken from my bed in the dead of a winter’s night - and he thinks it could be worse?

“It was me or Lorenzo, and I know you know what he does to his women.”

I swallow the vomit that claws up my throat. Would my brother have given me to Lorenzo? Is he really that cold?

“I made sure that I won,” He says, driving slowly through the thick weather, “I will not hurt you, Dalila.”

It’s too late. I am hurt beyond repair by the betrayal of my brothers.

It’s like the world has been flipped upside down.

Nevio is speaking to me, and I am the silent one.

The roles flipped on their head. I have lost my voice. I was given no chance or option or choice in this matter — if I was, it wouldn’t have been this man. “But I will also not let you go.”

The words crush the last sliver of soul I had, and I close myself up inside mind. I put up every defense I have and wipe away my tears — they will not break me. No one will break me. No one can hurt me if I am numb.

“Where would I go?” I turn and glare at him, my fear and pain turn to anger and murth. “If I got away. Where would I go? Back home? What home?”

He just looks at me, then back at the treacherous road ahead of us. I don’t even know where he lives — the man is a ghost. The quiet inside the car swallows my emotions whole, and the air takes on my anger, making it thick and harder to breathe. When the weather thins out slightly, Nevio takes one hand off the steering wheel and puts it on my exposed thigh. I was so angry I didn’t even feel the biting cold as I was dragged outside half naked.

His hand feels hot like a branding iron against my clammy cold skin, yet goosebumps of pleasure, not cold shiver across my body. Why does his touch feel good? I should want to shove his hand away, but it feels good — like a comfort that is both frightening and familiar.

Squeezing my legs together, I fight against my own conflicted mind and tell myself this is just shock. I am in shock. The car slows down and rolls to stop outside a massive gate; it is covered in icicles, and I can see the snowflakes falling in the glow of the headlights as it opens. The path ahead is unlit, black and as if I am being driven straight through the gates of hell into an unknown abyss.

Nevio pulls his car into a garage, and the doors close behind us, plunging the place into darkness, his hand still on me. “Welcome home.” Nevio’s voice vibrates around me. I gasp. His hand slides higher up my thigh, and I can feel his body heat as he leans closer to me.

Frozen, I don’t pull away, I just sit there trembling inside and out.

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