Groomed By The Mafia

Prologue

“Look, Topolina, watch how well you take my c*ck,” Leonardo had said, holding up her head to face the mirror as he rammed into her from behind. Alessia had watched in a mixture of horror and lust as his huge member slipped into her warm hole. She saw how needy her expressions were, how she looked beneath him—begging for his c*ck, how her eyes rolled back, and how her lips quivered in pleasure.

“Shhh,” Alessia patted her cheeks, trying to bring herself back to the present.

Gosh, she was a mess. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment as she took in her state. Her hair was in full volume, curls sticking out in every direction. Her neck was covered in bite marks and hickeys. She further pulled down the blanket.

“Aaaah!”

Alessia’s eyes widened, and a soft gasp of disbelief escaped her lips. Her entire body had been turned into Leonardo’s canvas. He had left his mark on almost every inch of her flesh. She looked ravaged.

Here she was, alone in bed, reminiscing about their moments. Alessia stepped out to find Leonardo.

Loud voices came from the study.

That was Leonardo’s voice. Alessia stopped in her tracks briefly. She had stepped out to find him and ended up in the third wing of his house—the one that was out of bounds.

“What the hell is happening?” Alessia whispered to herself.

Curiosity got the best of her, and she moved toward the sounds.

“Capo, we found him at the docks trying to flee like a little rat. He was one of those that fucked up the security at the Creek,” Salvador’s voice rang through the air.

Alessia eavesdropped for a while and pieced together the full conversation.

The Creek attack had been an inside job. The captured man had planted a corrupted chip in their data room, allowing hackers to intercept information and breach security.

“Come in, Alessia.”

Leonardo’s deep voice came out in a commanding tone. Alessia froze in her tracks.

Shit. He knew I’ve been eavesdropping all along.

Taking a deep breath, Alessia pushed the doors open and stepped into Leonardo’s study, where six men stood, staring at her as if she were a specimen under observation. She turned to Salvador, the only other familiar face, and gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Sit.”

“If they want blood, we will paint Sicily with the blood of every fucking breathing thing they love and own.”

Alessia watched the ruthless fiancé of hers, Leonardo Morano, as his dark, menacing tone pierced the room.

He was the devil she was in love with.

Alessia landed on the cool stone floor of the garden, her feet barely making a sound. It was a smooth and clean landing; definitely, this wasn’t her first time escaping her room through the balcony.

She looked around to make sure the coast was clear and hastily wrapped the knotted bedsheets she had used to break her fall, into a small canvas bag hidden behind the fragrant rose bush. Alessia understood the cardinal rule of sneaking out—leave no trace behind. The night was erie and the petals brushed softly against her fingers as she worked, their sweet perfume mingling with the night breeze.  

"Sneaking off again, I see."

A rich, velvety voice startled her, stopping her in her tracks. She whipped around, her honey-coloured eyes widening in surprise to see her brother, Marcello grinning mischievously. The silver glow of the moon highlighted his features revealing the young lad with obsidian-black curls framing his heart-shaped face. He was a mirror image of her features albeit more masculine.

"Brother!" Alessia gasped, taken by surprise at the sudden appearance of Marcello. Realizing, she wasn't going to be in any trouble, her fright was quickly replaced with a mischievous thought. Alessia clutched at her chest dramatically and gave an oscar worthy performance

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" She said

Marcello’s deep chuckle rolled through the quiet garden, low and warm. "Oh, Alessia," he drawled, his tone rich with amusement. "Again with the drama, eh? You're such a Little Worm, always trying to squirm your way out of trouble."

"See for yourself!" Alessia exclaimed, grabbing his hand and pressing it firmly against her chest. "My poor heart is still racing! I nearly collapsed right here in Mama’s roses, who told you to give me such a fright?"

Marcello shook his head, his amusement growing. He knew his little sister well—she had a flair for dramatics and an uncanny ability to cutely talk her way out of any scolding.

"Alright, hurry up," he said with a mock sigh, his tone softening with a hint of indulgence. "Before Mama and Papa find out their little bellissima is out in the wild, defying curfew again."

Alessia smirked, brushing past him with a playful flick of her dark curls. As the youngest of the Rossinis, and their only daughter, she was undeniably spoiled by her family. Her parents adored her, and her two older brothers doted on her endlessly. But no one had a softer spot for Alessia than Marcello.

Marcello remembered the first time he saw her as a newborn.

"Mama, she’s red and tiny—like a baby rat!" he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose at the squirming bundle in his mother’s arms. As if she knew he was talking about her, the tiny, red-faced baby had looked up at him and given him a gummy smile, tugging his heart. From that moment on, Marcello Rossini had been extremely doting to his younger sister, Alessia.

"Sigh."

Marcello shook his head, watching her vanish into the night with the grace of a cat. "She’s still a red-faced rat," he thought, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

…………..

"Mmmph, mmmph."

The temperature inside the room was cold and oppressive with an utter silence until muffled screams came piercing the silent atmosphere.

"Bang!"

It was a gunshot;

The sound ripped through the air, reverberating off the padded walls due to the soundproofing. Not a single soul outside could imagine what had just happened but the sound of the shot lingered, vibrating in the very bones of those present in the room. 

The once-pristine white walls were now grotesque canvases, painted with vivid splatters of crimson and flecks of darkened innards and guts. The air reeked of iron and death, heavy and nauseating.

“Too noisy.”

The voice that followed was chilling—calm, devoid of any emotion yet deep and smooth like a devil's lullaby. It belonged to only one man: Leonardo Morano. Known in hushed whispers as the Devil himself, his mere presence drained the warmth from the room.

In the dimly lit chamber, no one dared to breathe. They clung to the corners like frightened children witnessing the true form of the heartless man. His imposing aura pressed down on them like a crushing weight, and the flickering light of the overhead lamp cast dark shadows across Leonardo's sharp, angular face, presenting the vision of a demon from hell.

“You know what I hate the most?” Leonardo said, glancing at the faces of the scums who thought they could stand against him.“Betrayal.”

The room seemed to shrink around the men seated at the long oak table. No one moved, no one blinked, each man consumed by the gnawing fear of being the Devil’s next target. They were part of the Morano Mafia, yet they dared to embezzle from the business, traffic women and children and sell drugs outside of the Morano territories.

“If any of you weak c*nts decides to betray this famiglia and break Omertà,” he continued, his tone so venomous it could poison the air, “I will carve out the eyes of everyone you love the most and make you feed on it”

The threat hung in the air like a noose, tightening around the room's collective neck. There were sharp intakes of breath, from the fact that they had been temporarily spared.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors creaked open, breaking the tension like a jagged knife. Every head snapped toward the intruder, their hearts pounding erratically as if trying to escape their chests.

Salvadore E, Leonardo Morano’s loyal right-hand man, stepped in with hurried, deliberate steps. His face was pale, his forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat.

“She’s out again, Capo,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet trembling under the weight of the Devil’s gaze.

Leonardo’s lips twisted into a distorted yet disturbing curve that could pass as a smile.

The men froze, their eyes darting between each other in silent, frantic shock. Was he smiling?

“Leave.”

The single word uttered in a low, commanding growl, was enough to send the men scrambling. Chairs screeched against the floor, heavy boots thudded against the wood, and within seconds, the room was empty, save for Leonardo and Salvadore.

Leonardo leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin, his piercing gaze fixed on the wall ahead.

“Hmmmm, Topolina,” he murmured, the faintest trace of amusement in his otherwise menacing tone. “What are you up to now?”

…………..

The alleys were disturbingly quiet, and the only evidence of life in the area was a flickering street lamp post.

Soon the silence broke.

Brmmmm Brmmmmm

The sound of a bike approaching could be heard from a distance. The rider soon pulled up into the neighbourhood with a cloud of dust behind him, flashing a powerful luminous headlight that outdid the street lamppost. 

The final destination was a wall covered with graffiti made with coal, cheap paints, blood and other human matter, that still smell through the arts, most likely the work of juveniles and junkies.

The rider dismounted gracefully, clad head to toe in an all-black leather outfit, with every detail—from the reinforced boots to the armoured gloves, dark blackout Kala Carbon helmet and  … a rubber duck keychain? 

Whoever, the unidentified rider was, they definitely had a weird taste. 

The rider knelt, lifting a concealed compartment in the graffitied wall.

“Beep... Boop... Beep... Boop.”

The sound of keys being pressed echoed faintly. After a moment, the hum of machinery rumbled to life. The wall split apart, revealing a hidden passage shrouded in darkness. The rider mounted their bike once more, revved the engine, and vanished through the gap.