THE MOBSTER'S FAKE WIFE

C1 – A DEMON

"Ezra, please! Don't hit me anymore!" Lucy begged, backing away with her hands raised, trying to shield herself.

But Ezra wasn't listening. His eyes blazed with a dark fury, his jaw clenched tight. Lucy knew that if she didn't act fast, things would get worse. So she bolted for the stairs. Her heart pounded as she took the steps two at a time, feeling him right behind her.

She made it to the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and turned the lock with trembling fingers. Leaning against the sink, she caught her reflection in the mirror—and what she saw made her flinch.

Her lip was swollen, red and throbbing from the slap Ezra had landed moments ago. He'd come home in a foul mood—nothing new there—and ordered her to strip.

"I need to unwind," he'd said. And though she hated being treated like a possession, she obeyed. But when, as usual, he couldn't get it up, the blame fell on her.

It was always her fault.

"YOU'RE SO USELESS YOU CAN'T EVEN GET ME HARD! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"

The slap connected with her face, his ring splitting her lip. Lucy closed her eyes. She'd been living in this hell since the day they married. A heavy thud snapped her back to the present. Ezra was on the other side of the door.

"Open up, bitch!" he yelled from the hall.

Lucy pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle a sob. Another thud rattled the door, then another.

"No, please!" she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Leave me alone, Ezra! I'm begging you!"

CRACK!

The wood splintered with a sharp noise.

She let out a strangled cry as she saw Ezra's hand punch through the gap he'd just made. The lock was flimsy—she knew that. So she threw herself against the door, pushing with all her weight, trying to hold it shut.

"Ezra, please!" she screamed, desperate. "Don't do this! Just leave me alone!"

From the other side, he pressed an eye to the broken wood. His gaze was cold, inhuman, and a cruel smile curled his lips.

"Now it's going to be worse," he said, his voice eerily calm. "For disobeying me, for failing as a wife—your punishment will be far more painful."

Lucy shook her head, trembling with fear.

"E-Ezra... please..."

The door finally gave way, and Ezra burst through like a raging bull. His eyes were bloodshot. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her toward him.

"You thought you could hide from me? Huh?!" he snarled, shaking her hard. "You think you can avoid me?"

Lucy twisted, fighting to break free. Her nails dug into his arm, but he barely flinched. His grip was iron—like he

"You're my wife!" he roared, spitting the words with contempt. "And you'll do what I say! That's what you're here for—to please me. And you can't even do that right!"

She sobbed, bracing for what was coming. But then, something shifted. Her fear sparked into a flicker of courage—of rage. And with every ounce of strength she had, she grabbed a marble figurine from the shelf and swung it. The object crashed into Ezra's head, splitting his scalp open. Blood started pouring down his face.

He staggered, and Lucy seized the moment. She wrenched herself free and bolted for the door.

"You're gonna pay for this, you bitch!" he bellowed from the floor.

Lucy ran, flying down the stairs two at a time. Her heart felt like it was about to explode out of her chest, and every step brought her closer to the front door—to freedom. This was her one shot. If Ezra recovered, he'd kill her. She was sure of it. But just as she was about to reach the door, a voice from behind made her freeze.

"And where do you think you're going, sweetheart?"

She turned slowly, her face pale. Ezra's murderous eyes made her tremble with terror. Blood was still dripping from the gash on his head, but he didn't seem to feel it.

"Look what you did to me," he said, advancing toward her with slow, deliberate steps. "To me... your husband!"

She backed away and, without thinking, ran toward the kitchen. Her hands scrambled desperately for something—anything—to defend herself. Her fingers closed around the butcher knife in the block. She grabbed it and spun to face him, pointing the blade at him.

"Stay back!" she screamed, her voice breaking.

He laughed.

"Seriously?" he said, still advancing. "You know you don't have the guts. You're weak, Lucy."

Rage shot through her like lightning.

"It's not my fault you're not a real man!" she shouted, fury pouring out—all the pain he'd made her suffer because of his pathetic inadequacy. "It's not my fault you can't get your dick hard!"

Ezra's eyes went dark. He lunged at her—but Lucy didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, she drove the knife into his thigh. He let out a gut-wrenching scream and dropped to his knees.

"You goddamn whore!" he growled, clutching his bloody leg.

She didn't stick around another second. She ran to the garage and jumped into the car—the keys were already in the ignition, as always. She gunned the engine and peeled out, not caring about the bodyguards outside who tried to stop her.

Her only goal was to escape that hell.

The car disappeared into the night, while Ezra screamed from the front of the house, clutching his bleeding leg. But she didn't look back. She couldn't. She wouldn't. Because for the first time in a very long time, she felt like she had a chance to live.

And to make that happen, she had to go to the only man who could protect her: her husband's brother.