THE MAFIA'S BLOODY POSSESSION

Ace’s POV

I thought I was just dropping off papers for my professor.

One wrong door.

One second too long.

And suddenly I’m staring at America’s most dangerous Bratva twins — the Volkov brothers — mid-kill.

Nikolai, the older one, lets his voice hit my ear like a cold blade:

“You’re not going anywhere.”

My heart stops. These two don’t forgive. They don’t forget.

They destroy.

I’m already mentally saying goodbye…

Until Nikolai slams his knee between my legs, grinding hard against me through my pants — slow, filthy, owning every inch.

My body betrays me instantly.

Behind me, his twisted younger brother Ivan bites my earlobe and laughs low:

“Bro… he’s rock fucking hard for us.”

Now I’m tied to a chair.

Wrists burning.

Heart pounding.

One brother is ice-cold violence wrapped in total control.

The other is pure chaos hiding behind a dangerous smile.

They’re not done with me.

Not even close.

What the hell are these two monsters going to do to me tonight?

                                    *******

Six minutes earlier. 

I sprinted down the streets of Vanguard, Chicago, my heart pounding in tandem with my quick, panicked footfalls.

My back and hands ached. In fact, my entire body and even my dignity hurt. Eight hours behind the counter of a bar in East Vanguard would do that to a person. With the cheap beer, sticky counters and entitled students with privilege dripping off their tongues, my entire shift felt like a punishment I didn’t remember earning.

Cars honked, streetlights flickered like they were dying— everything in Vanguard flickered, including hope— and by the time I reached Wellspring University, I was drenched in sweat.

Stupid, stupid me. 

I still had no idea how I’d first read the deadline as 12pm, plenty of time for me to finish my shift at eleven and leisurely walk the twenty minutes to turn it in.

I’d just taken a bathroom break and picked up my phone to cross-check his instructions when I saw it.

—10pm sharp. Anything later will be graded as an automatic F.

10pm.

I clutched the assignment tighter as I took the stairs two at a time. It was already crumpled as I’d rewritten three times because Mr. Williams graded like he was paid to hate happiness.

This paper was my lifeline.

If I didn’t turn it in, I wouldn’t graduate next semester. And if I didn’t graduate as soon as possible, my student loans would consume my soul like a starving demon.

I reached Mr. Williams’ office door and pushed it. It opened soundlessly into darkness. 

Weird that the lights were off. He couldn’t have left just yet.

“Professor?” I whispered my heart beating. God. I’d do anything; his laundry, his grocery shopping, him even if he wanted me to for God's sake.

I stepped in, and it swung shut behind me.

Only then did I notice the faint glow from the back of the room— a desk lamp tipped sideways, its light casting dim, shaky shadows.

Then I heard it.

A choked breath interrupted by a wet cough.

My stomach dropped. Kneeling near the desk was Mr. Williams, a gun pointed at his head.

Mr Williams wasn’t like other professors. He never raised his voice, never smiled, never joked. His silence was louder than most people’s shouting, and when he looked at you, it felt like he could see every mistake you’d ever made.

He was broody, sharp-edged, and entirely unreadable. He was like a man trained to hide the truth. Like someone used to power that came from more than just academia.

A masked man dressed in black held him by the collar, one gloved hand fisted in his shirt.

Mr. Williams’ voice cracked, as he shook in the man's hold. “Please— I did what you asked— I told you everything— please…”

Everything in me froze, and the world tilted.

The man holding him spoke, voice low and even, and he sounded like a professor correcting a bad answer. “This isn’t about what you told me. It’s about what you were planning to do.”

What the fuck is going on right now?

Before I could process any of it, Mr. Williams’ gaze drifted past his killer’s shoulder… straight to me.

Our eyes met. Oh no.

His widened with panic and something resembling hope. Mine were probably wide with just terror because the man noticed and turned.

The killer didn’t shout, didn't panic, when he saw me standing there, knees knocking together, still holding the assignment that had been so, so important a minute ago. 

He just… sighed. As if this was simply an inconvenience, a book out of place on a shelf.

Then, calm as anything, he pulled a gun from inside his jacket.

I inhaled sharply.

That was enough.

I didn’t wait to see if he was aiming for Mr. Williams or me, when he pulled the trigger.

I ran.

I bolted out of the classroom, shoes slipping, lungs burning. Down the hallway, down the stairs, nearly crashing into a bulletin board, sprinting blindly for the exit.

I burst outside into the cold Vanguard air, stumbled to the sidewalk, bent over, and gasped for breath.

My hands shook. My pulse thrashed. My brain refused to settle.

“What…” I swallowed hard. “What the hell just happened?”

Behind me, not as far away as I’d like, a door slammed open. My entire body reacted as if it was thrown into a freezing lake.

He’s coming for me.