Page 1 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

1

Felicity

The last students file out of the dance studio, their laughter echoing in the hallway. I stretch my arms above my head, working out the kinks from a long day of teaching. The clock on the wall reads nine-thirty p.m. Another late night.

I gather my things, shoving my ballet slippers and water bottle into my bag. The studio feels empty now, devoid of the energy that filled it just moments ago. My footsteps echo as I walk to the door, flicking off lights as I go.

The night air is cool against my skin as I step outside. Streetlights cast an orange glow over the sidewalk. I unthinkingly inhale the scent of the city, exhaust fumes mingled with the warm aroma of pizza from the shop next door.

I quicken my steps, my sneakers hitting the concrete so loud that it feels like there are two of me out here. There was at one point,when someone tried to mug me last week, but I’ve been told they’ve been arrested and charged for a slew of other incidents.

This city is supposed to be safe, but it doesn’t feel like that these days. Something has changed. The usual hum of distant traffic is absent, replaced by an eerie silence that makes my skin prickle. Even the stray cats that usually prowl these streets are nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, the stillness shatters. A car engine growls to life behind me, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet night. I whip my head around and spot a black SUV idling at the curb. Its windows are tinted so dark they’re like mirrors, reflecting the streetlights.

My heart thuds against my ribs as I face forward again, trying to look casual. “It’s nothing,” I mutter to myself, but my legs move faster of their own accord. My dance bag thumps rhythmically against my hip as I walk, the familiar weight now feeling like a hindrance.

The SUV’s engine revs, and tires crunch on asphalt. A quick glance confirms my fear. It’s moving, crawling down the street like a predator stalking its prey.

“Hey,” I call out, hoping to attract attention from any nearby apartments. My voice sounds thin and scared in the empty street. “Is someone there?”

No response. Just the slow, steady approach of the SUV behind me. In light of my previous experience almost dying at the hands of a man with a gun, I abandon all pretense of calm and break into a run, my bag bouncing wildly. I pray it doesn’t fall to the ground, but I wouldn’t stop to pick it up. Material things can be replaced, but my mental and physical health cannot.

My heart leaps into my throat at the sound of squealing tires behind me. I can’t outrun a car.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps pounding the pavement behind me. I break into a sprint, adrenaline surging through my veins and allowing me to move faster. There’re more than one person chasing me now. What the hell is going on?

A gunshot cracks the air, and I scream, ducking instinctively. More gunfire erupts, but it’s not aimed at me. I risk a glance back and see men in dark suits engaged in a firefight with my pursuers. That can’t be the police. They don’t dress like that, and they’re never out here at the hour.

Before I can process what’s happening, strong arms grab me. I struggle, kicking and clawing at my attacker, but his grip is like iron.

“Stop fighting,” a gruff voice growls into my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “We’re here to protect you.”

My heart races faster than it ever has, and I don’t believe a word he says. With a burst of desperate energy, I throw my elbow back, feeling it connect with something solid. His ribs, maybe. The man lets out a pained grunt, but his grip on me doesn’t loosen. If anything, it only tightens.

“I said stop,” he says sternly through clenched teeth.

Suddenly, another set of hands grabs my legs. My feet leave the ground, and I’m suspended between two men, twisting and thrashing in their grasp.

“Let me go,” I shout, my voice cracking with fury and terror. “Help! Somebody help me!” My screams echo off the buildings, but no one comes to my aid. It feels like I live in a ghost town,long abandoned by everyone with even the slightest splinter of common sense.

The men carry me swiftly down the sidewalk, my wild kicks barely slowing them down. Up ahead, I spot a sleek black limousine idling at the curb, its tinted windows hiding whatever waits inside.

“No, no, no,” I mutter, redoubling my efforts to break free, but it’s useless.

The limo’s rear door swings open with a soft click. Before I can react, I’m unceremoniously shoved inside, the plush leather seat cold against my flushed skin. I scramble to sit up, but the door slams shut, and it’s locked from the outside when I try the handle.

The limo’s interior envelops me in darkness, the scent of leather and pine air freshener filling my nostrils. My heart beats like a trapped bird against my ribs as I scuttle backward, pressing myself against the far door. The cool glass window chills my skin through my thin blouse. That door handle is locked too, giving me no hope of escape.

Two men slide onto the seat across from me, their bulky frames blocking the dim light from outside. Their faces are expressionless masks, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses despite the late hour. One of them leans forward, his meaty hand reaching toward me.

I jerk away, my elbow banging painfully against the armrest. “Don’t touch me.” My voice is raw from screaming earlier.

The man pauses, his hand hovering in mid-air. “I’m Viktor, and this is my brother, Alexei. We’re not going to hurt you, MissMorris,” he says, his deep voice surprisingly gentle. “We need to get you to safety.”

I glance between the two men, searching for any sign of deception. “Safety from what?” My words come out in a rush. “Who are you people? What do you want with me?”

Neither man answers. The one who spoke settles back in his seat, exchanging a quick glance with his partner. Before I can press further, the limo lurches into motion. Tires squeal against asphalt as we pull away from the curb, the sudden acceleration pushing me deeper into the plush seat.

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