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40. The Woman in the Walls

Author: Priyal Dessai
last update Last Updated: 2025-08-20 16:35:36

[CAMI]

Long after we’ve left the room, my mind feels like it's harbouring a tornado. There are so many thoughts, questions, and fears that they all collide and suffocate each other until I am unable to breathe.

I step out to the balcony, needing space, needing air. Mist from the fountain sprays against my face, cool and damp, and I let the water flowing across the stone lick between my toes. The sea stretches endlessly beyond the cliff, blue-black and violent, waves battering against rock like they’re trying to break free.

I breathe out, long and heavy. If we make it out this time—if this second attempt at escape works—I’ll have to start over. A new life, in a new place. Erase myself, and pretend none of this ever happened. Pretend I was never here.

But that possibility feels like a delusion. Zeke wouldn’t let me go. He wouldn’t lose me. And if we fail… then I just hope it’s quick. That whatever waits for me in his hands doesn’t last long.

I close my eyes. I try to remember who I was
Priyal Dessai

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  • Beauty and the Mafia Beast   46. Worshipped by the Devil

    Content warning: Explicit sexual content. Only read when you’re alone![CAMI]The sound that escapes Zeke’s throat when he hears what I want him to do is not human. He peels me off the wall, stumbles as he guides me to the desk. With the back of his hand, he carelessly pushes the folders from the surface, letting them plop to the floor in a scattered heap. With a smooth tug, he moves the laptop to the very edge, which concerns me, until I notice he still has his other hand across my stomach. I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been and—I swear I’ll never forgive myself… and I swear I don’t fucking care.His hand doesn’t just shove me—it presses, like he’s making a point as my hip clips the edge of his desk and the rest of me folds over it. My palms slap the polished surface, my cheek scraping against the cool wood with a gasp.“Stay there.” His voice is a fucking command, but the way his fingers slide up the back of my neck, curling like a collar, makes it feel like something else enti

  • Beauty and the Mafia Beast   45. The Dangerous Game

    [CAMI]Marco walks ahead of me, his hands tucked into his pockets. He’s too tall, and I stare at the back of his head, trying to glare a hole into it, because how does he manage to appear so relaxed most of the time?He stops in front of a door I haven’t seen before. Not surprising—the villa is so massive it feels endless, like a labyrinth built to swallow me whole. He knocks once.“Come in,” Zeke’s voice carries through.Marco opens the door but doesn’t step inside. He gestures for me to go. For a second, I consider refusing, but I’ve already asked for this. So I step forward.Zeke isn’t alone. Dante’s here, hunched over a laptop, files scattered across the table between them. The glow from the screen paints his face in hard lines. Important mafia business, obviously, and I’m the interruption.Dante gruffs when he sees me. Zeke only glances up, his fist curling, his elbow digging into the table. His gaze pins me in place—a prisoner all over again. I suddenly feel very small. I swall

  • Beauty and the Mafia Beast   44. Unkillable

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  • Beauty and the Mafia Beast   43. The Cost of Wanting

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  • Beauty and the Mafia Beast   42. Beggar's Confession

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  • Beauty and the Mafia Beast   41. Do You Want To Leave?

    [ZEKE]I don’t know what leads me here, to this door. To the gnawing urge to get her alone.It isn’t reason. It isn’t even desire—at least not the kind I can weaponize. It’s an itch under my skin, a fever I can’t fucking scratch. A compulsion, I guess, that makes my legs move before I’ve decided where I’m going. I’m at the door before I realize it.I don’t knock. I never knock. I don’t need to. But for a split second, my hand hovers anyway. Stupid. Weak. What the fuck am I doing?Have I lost my mind?That night with Naomi—my mind wasn’t mine. I’d thought about it, thought about her, thought about something else entirely when I shouldn’t have. Like some stranger had taken over, like I wasn’t the one pulling the strings anymore.I look down at my hands now. I can still see the blood. Her friend’s blood. No. Not her friend. Vance’s man. I remind myself of that fact the way a drunk reminds himself not to drink. Over and over, until it almost feels true.But it doesn’t stick.Because I saw

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