Abducted by My Ruthless Mafia Fiance

Chapter2

Chapter 2

Ten days later…

The ambient glow of iridescent lights enveloped her, throwing diaphanous rays on her partially exposed form. She entwined her bare legs around the chilling embrace of the stainless-steel pole—the fortress of her transient sanctuary.

“Why can’t I strip when others can? Am I your daughter?” Celeste made a heedless indulgence of her manager giving him a finger and drowned herself in a half a bottle of Jonny Walker.

In a mere time of two minutes her act had proven to be folly. It was rendering her mind to go in circles, her vision was in a haze, and her bones were as pliable as wax much against her expectation.

Amidst the throng of affluent patrons, whose faces adorned with lascivious grins and waving wads of currency, Celeste discerned Mr. Cold Mogul who came to the club only to see her dance since she took over this new job.

He is an enigmatic figure, enduringly established in his secluded booth. His gaze was irreplaceably steadfast and unwavering upon her with an intensity that both intrigued and unnerved her to her core.

At times, this waggish feeling flitted through her inebriated consciousness that perhaps he was a receptor of danger, lurking amidst the shadows. Nevertheless, despite the inscrutable veil enveloping his persona, there existed an undeniable allure, a magnetic pull in his eyes that held her captivated to him.

Emboldened by the liquid courage coursing through her veins, she dared to cast him a flirtatious wink, only to be met with a disdainful scowl and averted gaze from him.

Her gestures of goodwill, feeble attempts to develop a friendship between them were met with a silent turnoff, much like her resolute refusal of his persistent requests for private encounters.

He remained like a cryptogram, cloaked in a coulee attire, exuding an aura of intimidation that held her at arm's length always. It was also a reason for her dissent from his repeated solicitation of private meetings. And She bestowed upon him the epithet of Mr. Cold Mogul.

Amidst the pulsating beats of Britney Spears' "Toxic," she ascended her metallic sanctuary, succumbing to the intoxicating rhythm. Yet, within the tumult of sensations, the stark reality of her life emerged—her father's bankruptcy looming large and her mother's escalating healthcare needs casting a shadow over her disoriented state.

The drunken men were gazing at her in a lecherous gale. With a blend of defiance in her mind and trepidation in her legs because of lack of control on alcohol, she endeavored to liberate herself from the constraints of my undergarments, heedless of the manager’s arbitrary dictates. No doubt she was a mess in doing the stuff but much against her expectation she could ultimately see it! The storm in his eyes in the form of anger.

If she was not a keen observer, she could have missed it - the surreptitious move of his index finger telling someone to drive something away. And then it happened! Within a blink of her eye, all the Casanovas whose eyes were on her in thirsty stares disappeared like a fog in the atmosphere after a bright sunlight. She needs the money and she thought she could very well nail it on the day but for his possessive watch on her.

Who the bloody hell is he?

In a heartbeat neither could she see Mr Cold Mogul nor the greedy orbs of Lotharios on her.

Soon blackness surrounded her and the last thought was - As cold as a mystery that his eyes were to the world outside bizarrely they only ventilated warmth to her eyes, a feel of protection and safety.

She flicked open her eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on her surroundings. Catching a familiar form, her eyes tentatively traveled up to the glowering gaze of her pissed-off boss. "What the hell’s wrong with you tonight, huh?" he growled.

Unable to form a coherent sentence, Celeste groaned. Her eyes darted around the cluttered room. Bright round bulbs lined above rows of make-up mirrors; each had a fully or half-naked girl seated in front of it painting prettier faces over their original ones. Feathers and fluffs and bras and various dance costumes were strewn about, as dancers milled in and out. Pleased to find no one was paying attention to the manager and her, she relaxed. “Why did you try to defy me? I told you: do not remove your bra!!"

"It's an enigma why this rule applies only to me." She said in indignation. "How the hell am I supposed to make money? I'm not allowed to dance with anyone and I'm not allowed to go topless. So what’s the point of me being here?" Manager looked frustrated.

“You don’t need the money. Everything will be taken care of! Leave this place and get employed somewhere decent." Celeste stared blankly up at him as if he’d spoken a distinct language.

“I lost my job merely a week after I went there drunk. My insane mother wouldn’t stop doing drugs despite her weak heart, my father is stuck in a wheelchair losing one of his legs. I am the sole breadwinner of my house. As if I am less loaded with problems I have student loans and I am not even able to pay the rental of my matchbox size flat. The house owner is behind me for it. Anyways forget it!” Celeste closed her eyes and swung an arm across her face.

The manager sighed and strolled in with a glass of ice and a bottle of Club Soda. He sat next to her on the couch, bringing the glass to her lips. "Drink."

Without hesitation she drank and weirdly felt much better in seconds. It was then something popped up in her mind. She was out of the club like gail and saw Mr Cold beating the s**t out of the old hogs who were making a meal of her body until a few minutes ago.

Frankly speaking, Celeste did not know whether she liked or hated the view before her. His well corded muscles and tattooed arms were in perfect display in the style of a soldier defending his country. Those gray eyes which often felt like a mystery were now warm in mariner blue.

She controlled her intense emotions for him and asked in a neutral tone. “What do you intend to do by bringing their bones out of their body?”

And the answer he gave her next turned her world topsy turvy.