Dark Mafia Scene “Who laid a hand on you? Dallion's voice was low, cold, and dangerous. His dark gaze bore into her, daring her to stay silent. When she didn’t respond, the tension snapped like a whip, his voice booming through the room, “Who?” The butler, standing rigid against the wall, swallowed hard before stammering out the words, “It... it was Mr. Rivers, sir.” The atmosphere turned deadly as Dallion's jaw clenched, fury igniting in his eyes. “Bring him to me.” The butler’s eyes widened in fear. “N-now, sir? It’s... it’s late.” Dallion's hand, once braced against the wall near her head, slowly curled into a fist. His eyes never left her face, his possessiveness was palpable. Without looking at the butler, his voice dropped to a lethal calm, “Do you need a better time? Or shall I break your legs to teach you urgency?” The butler didn’t need any more encouragement. He fled the room, returning twenty minutes later with a trembling Mr. Rivers. “Dallion, my friend, what’s all this about?” Rivers began, his voice casual as if nothing was amiss. But Dallion wasn't’t here for pleasantries. His eyes slid to the knife stabbed into the apple on the table, and in one fluid motion, he yanked it free, the blade glinting in the dim light. Without a word, Dallion grabbed Rivers outstretched hand, slamming it onto the table. The sharp scream that followed echoed in the room as Dallion, with one swift movement, sliced through the man’s fingers. Blood splattered across the polished wood as Rivers screamed in agony, clutching his mutilated hand. “No one touches what belongs to me,” Dallion's voice was eerily calm, his expression devoid of any sympathy.
Lihat lebih banyak"Alright," came Sherryl Rain's answer, which Dallion couldn't help but raise his brow at. Had the matter been so worrisome that she wanted him to go talk to his sister, the one who had kicked and shamed her in public? Just remembering it, he could feel his blood begin to boil. She scrambled on the bed, pushing the pillow that was in the way to hear and see Dallion raise his hand. "Wait," he said, scooting closer to the center of the bed. He fluffed some more pillows around him. Once he was seated comfortably, his legs stretched long on the bed without crossing them, he saw her move closer to him. One second at a time. Sherryl Rain had agreed to his deal without truly processing what it actually was. But after taking in his simple words, she took a deep breath and moved towards him. The bed was soft enough to have her knees sink deep into it, which almost made her stumble, only for Dallion to catch her hand. "I must say, I haven't seen this worst way of seducing anyone until no
Today the dining room was quiet, not the kind of quiet that soothed anyone but the kind of guilt that scraped against the walls of cross empire.Dallion pulled the chair beside his,tapped it once, and Sheryl sat, this time it wasnot on the cold marble floor she was used to,but beside him, where dignity still dared to breathe.Grace lowered her gaze.His stepmother stirred her glass too long.And his father... just watched,like a man too tired to show his cruelty.Only Rosie’s seat sat empty. She didn't show up for breakfast .Sheryl’s arms were covered in scars that were in deep red, the doctor had given her ointment and was sure it would work pretty fast on her skin.Still, Dallion could feel her stiffness,like she was waiting for a command.Or a slap.Dallion didn't bother with anyone else at the table, he kept giving meals to Sheryl and keenly watched her eat just like his little muse.After her last bite, he rose.She followed without being told.Down the hall, past the p
With Dallion having left the hall and gone back to his room, Lady Fleurance rushed to her daughter’s side. Grace Cross followed her stepmother, stepping close to the chair where her younger sister sat, unmoving, staring into a void of nothing. She looked wrecked—utterly blank. Blood still trickled down from her mouth, staining the front of her designer blouse, crimson against silk. Her upper jaw was visibly marred, the skin there was pale and drying. Lady Fleurance bent down and picked up the bloody teeth that had been torn from her daughter’s mouth, her fingers trembling. “Rosie?” Her voice cracked, too gentle for the weight in the air. She moved to untie the ropes around her daughter’s wrists, the knots still tight around the arms of the chair. When Grace stepped forward to help, her hands raised, Lady Fleurance snapped, “Stop!” The voice cut clean through the tension, sharp and sudden. “Don’t even think of touching her. You and your brother planned this, didn’t you? You
Rose had been warned—and it wasn’t the first time the warning had come down hard on her. Again and again, she had mocked it. Taunted. Dismissed. And now, she had no one to blame but herself. “Would you be kind enough to get the ropes from the attic room,” Dallion said coldly to his sister. Grace Cross—the eldest daughter—stood unsure for a second. Should she wait? Should someone else speak up? But silence pressed down like a loaded pistol on the back of her neck. No protest came. “Yes,” she finally answered. Grace sitting in the chair—cast a final look at the trembling girl and then turned away, her heels echoing down the corridor as she headed toward the attic. Rose looked up at Dallion, eyes wide in alarm. “What are you planning to do?” she asked, her voice cracking just slightly. As Grace Cross walked toward the attic, a weight settled over her chest. She wasn’t stupid—she knew what was about to happen. And yet, no one—not even she—had expected it to escalate like this
The street was quieter than usual, too quiet for a place that fed on sin.Dallion paused by the rusted sign swinging above, its letters faded like the truths buried in this city.He wasn’t planning to step in. Not today.But something pulled at him—some whisper stitched into the air.And when he opened that crooked door, it wasn’t desire that greeted him.It was death.The metallic scent of blood greeted him like an old friend, curling into his nose.There, under the dim red lights, Bathsheba sat slouched, her body was trembling, lips cracked in a smile meant only for ghosts.Clutched in her hand was a blood-stained note."He left this," she whispered."Sheryl’s father... they shot him. He never had a chance to meet her as planned."Then her eyes dimmed, and she fell still—like the silence had come to collect its due.Dallion's guards buried Bathsheba beneath the weeping fig, there were;No hymns. No farewells. Just dirt on bloodied laceand the wind carrying her name into nothing.Sh
Feeling the soft mattress under the palm of her hands, she sighed. No slave would have the luxury she was having right now. She wasn't an idiot to not understand. While many girls trapped in the underworld trade were mistreated, her life was far better. It only made her question if she was really a slave. Then again, Dallion had threatened her long ago that he would hunt and find her if she were to ever run away from him—but was that really necessary? She was an average woman, where he was a man carved out of the Cross empire's deadliest bloodline. Some of the girls would consider themselves to be lucky. To have caught the eye of a kingpin from the higher society, as they would have the fortune of living like a queen. Then there was another kind who called it a curse, women who hated and feared the entire existence of men like him. Sherryl Rain didn't belong in any of them. Her initial plan of escaping had been washed away with the reveal of her being the daughter of a wanted spy
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