Captive To The Mafia Lord

JOVAN 

“I love you.”

“Really? You mean it?”

She snuggled closer and placed her head on my chest and I wrapped my legs around her.

“Yes, you mean the world to me.” 

But that was false, in fact, a funny one. While one laid nakedly in my arms, my other hand secretly clutched my phone, in the middle of a phone sex with another girl.

And that’s how it’s done. Killing two birds no—playing two girls with the same single script.

And that's me. The free spirit, carefree guy with an ardent belief in hedonism and sensual pleasures. I would be young forever, even when my bones become as brittle as the breeze. 

As the girl on the line neared climax I slipped my hand under the duvet and stroked my meat, closing my eyes to savour the fresh ecstasy erupting in my head.

I woke up alone. No girl was allowed to remain past 5AM and this was a strict rule. If I wished to extend our affair by a day or two, I knew how to reach them and if not, there were many girls in the rivers of Los Angeles, ready to please and worship me. 

I jumped off the bed and reached for my phone. Sure enough, there were about three messages in it—all from the girl I slept with last night. But I tossed the phone away and headed to the bathroom. I felt bad for her though, playing around women required a certain level of emotional investment. And even though I underwrite the exchange with expensive gifts and lavish treatments, the girls often fall deep into the hoax. 

Thirty minutes later, I stepped out of the house, dressed in a black suit and ready for the day ahead."

“Will you stop for coffee on the way boss?”

“No, Eric,” I said to my driver. I slept with the barista two weeks ago. Nice brunette girl with a  firm grip and sloppy lips. I might hit her up again, who knows? 

“I’ll have Lenora order me breakfast. Let's get going already, we have so much to do today.”

"Yes boss." 

I opened the doors to this institution the day I tossed my graduation cap, and I haven't looked back since. Today, my bank sits at the apex of the nation’s economy. We don't just move money; we loan money to businesses and build houses for people.

What more could I ask for? 

Arriving at the bank, I saw that the compound was full to the end. Customers. A complacent smile tugged at my lips as Eric pulled at my private parking lot. Before stepping out of the car I took one look at my face in the side mirror. Sharp jaw, tanned skin, brown eyes and broad shoulders. Sleazy. 

"Welcome Mr Rosfrith," my employees rose as I walked into the reception. I flashed a smile in response, as I walked past but I could still feel their gazes—piercing through my skin, poking me. But then what? It was expected. 

My office was at the the first floor of the building, but just outside the elevator, a noise stopped me in my tracks. 

"I'm sorry Ma'am, but you cannot withdraw from your current account without a cheque."

"What! But I already applied for a debit card."

"Then you'll have to wait in line. I'm sorry, but that's bank protocol." 

The altercation came from one of the cashier stands in the customer service area. But issues like this were common to that segment and I was supposed to ignore and walk away. But I couldn't. 

A girl stood at the cashier stand, slightly bent forward as she argued with the employee. Her voice wasn’t shrill like most customers throwing tantrums. It was strained — like someone trying hard not to break decorum.

She looked out of place.

She wore a simple cream blouse tucked into a dark skirt, the fabric hugging her waist in a way that made my gaze linger longer than necessary. Her hair fell loosely down her back — not styled, just naturally soft, like she hadn’t tried to impress anyone.

Innocent.

That was the first word that came to mind.

Too innocent.

There was urgency in her posture, desperation she was trying to hide behind forced composure.

And strangely…

Then her voice rose.

"What the hell is this supposed to mean? I need money now!" 

"Exercise patience madame, the card will be ready soon, or you can provide other means of identification."

"And do you seriously mean that?"

"It's alright madam," I stepped forward and stood between her and the counter. "You can have as much money as you need."

"Sir!"

The cashier's face went wide with shock, but I threw him a knowing look. Then I led the lady away into the elevator. 

"Oh, this is fast turning into a horrible day," she said as the elevator took flight. 

"I'm sorry for what happened back there. Mrs..."

""No, Ms. Donatella," she finished, her voice grounding me as she accepted my handshake.

Good god—her hands were the softest things I’d ever felt. I didn't even realize I was lingering until she had to forcefully tug her fingers back from my grip. It was a brief contact, but my head had already spun through a thousand different ways this could end. 

"It's not your fault." She said shyly. "I left home in a haste, I didn't realise I'd left my cheque on the dining table."  

"Oh, it happens to everyone," The elevator stopped and I led her to the cash dispenser down the hall. "And if you don't mind," I counted a wad of cash from the machine and put it in her palm. "You don't have to wait, the queue will only get longer. I can have your Debit card delivered by mail."

"Really?"

"Or I can bring it along to the Ocean's Prime when you meet me for dinner tonight." 

"Whoa!"

This girls cheeks turned red, her eyes lighting up. She placed her hand over her face, but she couldn't hide her smile. She was so fresh and deliciously frail.  I couldn't deny my desire at this point, so I leaned forward and stared right into her eyes, and sure enough, she was smitten.

"I'll be waiting for you, don't stand me up." I reached toward her face and tucked a strand of loose hair, but I let my hand linger there, feeling the slow rise and fall of her chest. I could almost picture her in my bed already. 

"Before you leave you're Miss," 

"Donatella." She smiled 

"Nice name, but what's your surname?"

I remember glancing at the payment slip the other time, but it only her showed her name, her last name was intentionally left unfilled. 

"Have a great day sir." The elevator was gone before I could blink.

The rest of the day sped by quickly and soon I was at the entrance to the vast sea food restaurant. To my surprise, Donatella waved me in as soon as I stepped inside and I walked over to her. 

"I didn't think you would come?" I said, "but my blind faith did well tonight."

She burst into laughter. 

"Oh you're so funny, what do you mean blind?"

"I'm not sure, but it's the word that describes the state of my entire existence as I saw you at the bank this morning." I reached for her hand. "You wouldn't understand this feeling, Donna, and I don't even know how to explain."

Of course I scored. I played my cards right and my words were well strung.  Donatella agreed to meet with me the next day. We had another dinner afterwards, fast forward to two weeks she's agreed to meet up at my place. It's finally show time. And to think the dates were already boring me out. This was the longest 'prelude' I've ever done. 

I was at her place that evening, waiting for her to prepare so that we can take her to my place. But little did I know. 

Donna's apartment was modest and cozy—giving a college student dorm vibe. There were two cushions in the living room, a center table and a flat screen TV. 

"Hello, Donna, are you ready yet?" It's been 25 minutes and I hadn't heard any movement from inside. 

I crossed to the other side of the room, reaching for the bedroom door. But a harsh blow landed on my nose, shooting through my system.  I let out a gasp, shock spiraling through me. But I hadn't recovered when another landed in the middle of my face. This time, knocking me out.

When consciousness returned, the air was different. Damp, strange and heavy My head throbbed as if split open from the inside. I forced my eyes apart, vision swimming before slowly settling into focus. Concrete walls, rust stains and dim hanging lights. This wasn't the room. 

It was an abandoned warehouse! 

My hands were bound behind the chair, ankles tied so tight my legs had gone numb.

Panic clawed up my throat, what was happening? 

I begin to jerk fervently trying to loosen my hand and break out, but the door suddenly flew open.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?"

A tall man walked into the room, accompanied by two men who carried different kinds of guns. My blood turned hot in my veins. 

"You're the almighty Jovan Rosfrith aren't you?"

"What!" I strained my head in the direction of the voice, my vision was blurry and my mouth was filled with a sandy metallic taste.  

"What is going on here, who are you?"

The tall man moved closer and crouched in front of me, face inches away from mine. 

"I'm Lorenzo Vittorini," he said. "Donatella is  my sister." 

"So," I rolled my eyes and shrugged. "We're dating, that's normal." 

"Normal," his eyes flashed with danger. "I ran background check on you Jovan. Seven women in three months, that doesn't even include your countless one night stands. And somehow you think I'll let you toy with my little sister? I'm going to kill you."