Conquered by the Mafia Boss

I watch his face carefully, but it’s hard to notice anything behind that wild beard. He doesn’t say a word and a chill runs down my spine.

“He’s not happy. Just like he’s not happy whenever you run off.”

Yeah, I’m just doing this to piss off my old man.

“I’m not trying to run off. I’m trying to live my life.”

“You’re putting yourself in danger every time you take off by yourself.”

In danger? What fucking danger? From the hot guys who want to get their dicks wet?

I climb behind Chuck on his bike and wrap my arms around him, gritting my teeth when the engine roars into life.

What should I say when I get back?

Dad’s going to want a reason why I left the fortress and returned much later than I said I would. Again.

Oh, sorry, Dad. I just had to meet with the guy who knocked me up, who happens to be the bane of your existence.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

My arms dig into Chuck’s abdomen as he bikes out of the city. My hair whips around my head as we drive on the freeway and finally take the exit twenty minutes later. Then I lean forward as he rides up the winding path to the fortress, my heart slamming against his back as the huge gates roll into view. They creak open automatically and Chuck drives into the compound, kicking up dust.

There’s a small gathering of people hanging outside the clubhouse when Chuck parks his bike and I slide off the seat. They look away when I glare daggers at anyone staring at me. I’m sure they think that I’m some kind of nuisance. A waste of their resources. The bitchy daughter who’s always going off by herself to do God knows what without an escort.

I walk straight into the clubhouse, ignoring those who wave to me as I seek out my bedroom. The noise almost cuts out when I slam the door shut and rake my hands through my hair, glancing at my meager possessions.

This is what my life has become. Small bits of freedom. A breather here and there before being dragged back to this place that I hate. The drugs. The alcohol. The strippers. A ball of hot shame grows inside me at the thought of actually raising my baby in this place. God, the baby.

Johnny was wrong. This is a disaster.

Loud footsteps crash down the corridor and my insides tense as I recognize the sound of those heavy boots. I sit up straight. Jesus, it sounds as though there’s an elephant thundering down the hallway. The door smashes open and I don’t even blink.

Mom crashes through the door with Dad, whose face is purpled with rage.

What now?

“STUPID FUCKING CUNT!”

“Carlos, stop!”

I stand to my feet, electrified. He throws Mom from his arm, and she makes a painful whimper as her head hits the wall. It’s not as though I haven’t seen him do it dozens of times before, but somehow it feels worse because she’s defending me.

“Don’t touch her, you fucking bastard!”

He whirls on me, spittle flying from his mouth. “I KNOW WHERE YOU WERE!”

I cross my arms as a thrill runs through me. “What?”

“Why the fuck were you at Le Zinc?”

So they saw me at the restaurant. Shit.

I put on a bored voice. “Some people like to eat out, Dad.”

He snarls in my face, jabbing my chest with his finger. “Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

“I was having lunch. With a friend.”

“A friend.”

He spits it out as if I uttered a disgusting swearword.

“You fucking stupid bitch.”

“You said that already.”

“You’re meeting Johnny Cravotta behind my back to hurt the MC.”

I slap his hand away from my face. “No, I’m not!”

“Are you going to stand there and lie to me?”

“I’m not-!”

“What the fuck did you tell that greaseball?”

Okay, this is a lot worse than I thought it was.

He lunges at me before I can dodge, and his thick hands wrap around my throat, squeezing hard. I scratch at his fingers as I gulp for breath, fighting back for all I’m worth. He pins me down. My head grinds against the dirty floor and my mother’s screams ring in my ear as blackness pricks at the edge of my vision.

“TELL ME!”

“Stop! Fucking stop it!”

“Get off me!”

“She can’t breathe!”

The screams become a distant roar. I can’t see-I can’t hear. My lungs burn. Fuck, it hurts. I claw at my father’s face and the pressure on my throat relieves.

I roll to my side as oxygen punches my brain and all my senses return. My chest heaves great breaths as Dad crouches over me.

“Start fucking talking.”

A surge of vicious hatred that I’ve never known before consumes everything. I don’t give a fuck about what he does to me.

“I was on a date-” I gasp.

“What?”