CLAIMED BY MY FATHER-IN-LAW: A twisted mafia story

GIANNA’S POV

Hands gripping my waist, pulling me down, forcing me to take every inch of him. I can’t believe I chose to lose my virginity to a stranger I just met at a club. My fingers claw at his shoulder, nails digging into his skin as my toes curl, but he doesn’t ease up. He keeps going.

With his wide hands guiding me, he rasped against my ear, his voice dark and commanding. “Take it. Take all of me, baby girl.

A whimper escapes me, his words unraveling something deep inside me. He moved with control, like he knew my body better than I did like he knew exactly what I needed.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think straight. The only thing anchoring me is the way he moves, slow at first, teasing my whole body, using his mouth and fingers on my nipples as he works his way down to my clit adding more friction while fucking me deep, rough and punishing. His fingers dig into my hips, guiding me, owning me and showing me who is in control until I have no choice but to surrender.

A sharp gasp tears from my throat as he bit down the beauty mark beneath the left side of my neck as he thrusts harder, dragging pleasure from me like he’s determined to ruin me for any other man. My head falls back, giving him full access to my whole body, my lips parting as silent moans fall from my lips, but he doesn’t let me escape.

He leans in, biting down on my jaw, his breath hot against my skin. “Look at me.”

The sharp command in his voice makes me instantly look deep into his eyes. And as soon as my eyes connected with his, I immediately regretted it. Because his pupils were dark and dilated, consuming and knowing, knowing that in this moment he was in control of me.

I don’t take my eyes off him. I can’t hide. Not from him.

A rough hand slides up my spine, tangling in my hair, pulling me closer until our mouths are barely a breath apart. “You feel this?” His trust began to slow, torturously deep, making me feel every inch of him. “This is mine.”

I don’t fight it. Don’t argue.

Because right now, whatever he wants from me is his.

His grip tightened. His lips finally crashed against mine, and I shattered, with him following right after.

A knock. Loud and sharp.

The dream immediately vanishes like smoke.

I jerked upright, gasping, my skin slick with sweat, my pulse racing. The sheets tangled around my legs. I could feel the heavy weight and warmth of his touch between my legs.

Another knock on the door came in, harder this time. Then the door swings open. And my father’s voice, cold and laced with authority, cut through the heavy silence.

“You think I wouldn’t find out that you snuck out of the house?”

My body instantly turned ice, a violent contrast to the heat still lingering in my veins. My stomach dropped as I recognized that tone in his voice.

He stands in the doorway with a scowled look on his face, his eyes pinning me in place. Even in the dim light, I see the sharp set of his clenched jaw, barely containing the anger simmering beneath his expression.

I could feel my color drained from me as I swallowed hard, my pulse now racing for an entirely different reason. “Does he know where I went to and what I did?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about papa.” My voice is hoarse, my throat dry.

My father steps closer, slow, deliberate. “Don’t insult me, Gianna, you thought I wouldn’t find out about you going to New York? I have told you countless times, you won’t find her. Get that into your head.”

I could feel my face going pale. He knows about New York, but I was so careful. At least he hasn’t addressed what went down between me and Mr stranger.

One thing I have learned from him is that I should always stand my ground with whatever decisions I make. I force myself to stay still, to not let the panic creep onto my face. “I was here. I didn’t go anywhere.”

The slap comes before I can react. Smack!, echoing into the silent room. My head jerks to the side, my cheek stinging.

I don’t cry. I won’t give him the satisfaction I have always given him for the past twelve years.

For a moment, the room is silent except for the sharp inhale through my nose. His gaze burned into my face watching me, as if daring me to challenge him.

When I say nothing, he lets out a sharp exhale with his shoulders sagging, as if the weight of his expectations in me had just come crashing down. “You were reckless, Gianna. But it doesn’t matter now.” His words were laced with finality.

I straighten, ignoring the way my skin burns from where his hand met my face earlier. “What do you mean?”

He strode to the door, his hands on the handle as he spoke without spearing me a glance. “This news is important, and I will be expecting you in my office in the next five minutes.” He slammed the door right in my face as he walked out of my room.

I immediately jumped out of my bed and rushed to the bathroom, my footsteps pounding against the floor. The light flickers on as I grip the sink, my pale reflection staring back at me, shaken. I splashed water against my burning skin. I took a steady breath, then turned on my heel, heading to his office.

The hallway felt longer than usual, each step heavier than the last. The thump... thump... of my heart filled my ear. As soon as I got to his door, I whipped my damp hands against my dress, took in a lungful of air and knocked. “Come in, his voice echoed behind the closed doors.”

The air felt thick as I walked in. His gaze flickered to me then back to his papers as he nodded toward the chair in front of him. “Sit,” he offered, sounding more like an order than an invitation.

His face remains unreadable, offering her nothing. No hesitation or mercy. Just cold finality as he utters the three words she’s mentally feared since the day she turned eighteen.

“You’re getting married.”