Chapter 3: A Ceremony of Mafia

He pulled away from the kiss, leaving my lips tingling and swollen. His piercing red eyes held mine a few seconds before he leaned back slightly and muttered, “Get ready. We’re leaving.”  

I blinked, still breathless and lightheaded. “Leaving? Where are we going?”  

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached beneath the bed and dragged out a sleek black leather bag, tossing it onto the mattress. “Your welcoming ceremony,” he said flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument.  

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded and quietly opened the bag. Inside, there was a stunning black dress, its silky fabric flowing like liquid darkness.  

Minutes later, we walked side by side down a wide corridor. His presence was commanding, the click of his polished shoes echoing through the hall like a king walking to his throne. My heart hammered in my chest as we approached the doors to what I assumed was the venue.  

The moment we stepped inside, dozens of eyes snapped to us. Murmurs swept through the crowd, but no one dared to look away. My knees nearly buckled, but his grip on my hand tightened, offering silent reassurance.  

We ascended the steps to the podium, his arm sliding around my waist, anchoring me to him. I felt his strength and dominance seeping into me, calming the storm of nerves swirling in my gut.  

He raised his hand, silencing the room. The air thickened, anticipation hanging like a blade.  

“As promised,” he said, his voice carrying a lethal edge, “I have brought my woman.”  

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Before I could even process his words, he turned, pulling me closer and pressing his lips to mine in a hard, searing kiss. It lasted only a moment, but it left me breathless and stunned as he pulled away and declared, “You can all meet Martha Howard. And a clear warning…She is mine.”  

Cheers erupted, but not everyone celebrated. My skin prickled under the sharp glares from the women scattered throughout the room. Their eyes burned with jealousy and hatred, and despite his possessive hold on me, I shrank under their scrutiny.  

His hand gripped mine, guiding me down the podium steps. I tried to focus on his touch, but the whispers and stares gnawed at my confidence. 

Just then, two women strutted toward us, their dresses hugging every curve of their bodies. They didn’t even glance at me as they latched onto him, one on each arm.  

“Oh, Don, you look absolutely delicious tonight,” one purred, pressing her body against him. “I can’t stop imagining you fucking me until I can’t even stand.”  

I froze, my stomach twisting in disgust.  

The other woman giggled, eyeing me like I was a piece of trash. “You should let go of this bitch and grab someone who can actually keep up with you.”  

I flinched, my breath hitching. Bitch? Did she really just…

Before I could process what was happening, Raphael's hand shot out, slapping her so hard across the face that she stumbled back, clutching her cheek in shock.  

“Didn’t know you hated your tongue so much to toss it away” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.  

Grabbing her by the throat, he lifted her slightly off the ground, her feet barely scraping the floor. “If you’re so desperate to be fucked,” he snarled, his voice dripping venom, “I’ll make sure your pussy scream for mercy by the time I’m done.”  

He turned briefly, locking eyes with me. “I have a pussy to fuck,” he said with a wicked smirk, before dragging the woman away like she was nothing more than a rag doll.  

I stood there, frozen, my heart shattering into pieces. Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.  

What was I expecting? That he’d treat me differently? That he’d respect the invisible bond that formed between us earlier?  

I was nothing more than a contract. A toy to parade around for show. And I hated how much it hurt.

My blood boiled, searing through my veins like fire as I sniffed back the tears threatening to spill. My lips trembled, but I bit down on them hard, silencing the ache building in my chest.  

“If he can fuck a pussy, it’s no crime for me to kiss a few lips,” I muttered under my breath, scoffing bitterly.  

My eyes darted around the room until they landed on him—a man who looked every bit as dangerous as the Don but carried a smoother edge. His hair was dark, swept back neatly, and his sharp jawline could cut glass. His icy blue eyes gleamed under the dim lighting, and the smirk that tugged at his lips screamed trouble. He wasn’t as ruthless-looking as the Don, but there was an undeniable charm to him.

Without thinking, I stormed toward him, grabbing his collar and slamming my lips against his. The room fell silent for a heartbeat before a collective gasp echoed, quickly followed by cheers and whistles.  

His hands moved to my hips, pulling me flush against him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing mine with raw hunger. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if I wanted to drown in this moment.    

Suddenly, a deafening crack filled the air, and suddenly the man’s hands were ripped off my hips. Before I could process what was happening, a sharp punch sent him flying into a row of tables, shattering glasses and furniture in his wake.  

“Martin!” a woman’s shrill scream pierced the air. 

“You had no right to punch him! She’s your whore girlfriend, and she kissed your greatest rival first! Martin only reciprocated; he didn’t do anything wrong!”  

Her words kept ringing in my head, knocking the air from my lungs.

 Rival?  

My head snapped toward the Don—toward his burning, furious gaze. Pain, anger, and jealousy twisted his expression into something terrifying. My knees buckled under his stare, guilt crashing down on me like waves against jagged rocks.  

Before I could explain, Martin was suddenly on his feet, throwing a punch straight at the Don. The impact echoed in the room like thunder, and the Don staggered slightly before his lips curled into a feral snarl before letting out a deep growl and then chaos erupted.  

Shouts. 

Crashing. 

Fists flying.

 Tables overturned. 

I stumbled back, covering my ears as the sounds clawed at my skull. My breaths quickened, coming out in sharp gasps as memories began to resurface.  

My father’s drunken voice rang in my head—taunts and threats mingled with the sound of breaking glass. His hands grabbing my arms, pinning me down, while I screamed and begged for him to stop.  

“No,” I whimpered, shutting my eyes tightly, trying to push it all away. But the past refused to let go.  

The noise around me began to fade, drowned out by the pounding of my heart. My body trembled violently as terror wrapped around me like chains, dragging me deeper into the abyss.  

Suddenly, strong arms encircled me.  

I flinched, but the touch wasn’t harsh. It was firm and grounding. A deep voice called out to me, cutting through the fog clouding my mind, though muffled and distant.  

“Martha!”  

I couldn’t tell who it was, but I felt myself being lifted into a bridal carry. My head fell against a broad chest as the person began to move, their steps fast.  

Even as fear threatened to consume me, I felt the steady rhythm of their heartbeat against my cheek, anchoring me to the present.  

I forced my eyes to stay open, even though exhaustion clawed at me and then everything went blank.