Spared by the Mafia King

Chapter One

"Stop!" I halt, my stomach tightening into knots. I hear footsteps behind me. They are probably those of the voice that told me to stop and others. Who are they? Why did they kill that man? I should have taken the main road.

My instinct tells me to run, but something is holding me down. It feels like a force beneath the ground is pulling my legs. My mind is screaming at me to run, but my body is not having it. It refuses to cooperate no matter how much I beg it to. I am too frightened to move. The footsteps get closer, and I am still rooted to the ground.

"Turn around," he commands. I turn slowly and see a group of men. They are approximately ten in number. The man who told me to stop is probably the one in charge.

He is tall, probably six feet. Broad chest. Rough hair. Dark shirt. They are all wearing black. They look terrifying. My heart is in my mouth, I can barely breathe. Will he kill me the way he killed that man? My mind is not helping—screaming yes! You should have run. We both know they would have caught up to me in no time. I don’t stand a chance against ten hefty men. I am an average 5'6 girl who has never been to the gym her entire life. Entire life? Funny. I don’t remember the first sixteen years of my life.

The only memory I have of myself is from the day I woke up in that white hospital room three years ago. No memory, no relatives. The doctor said I had been in a coma for two years and three months after an accident that killed my mother. An accident I have no memory of—and almost claimed my life. He said my name was Elena Venturi, and I was eighteen years old. He broke the news to me like it was a normal, everyday occurrence. Like my life wasn't falling apart in front of me.

"You experienced trauma to the head due to the accident, and it has affected your memory. You may not recall events from before the accident," the doctor had said.

"This is what we call retrograde amnesia."

"Is there a chance of me recovering my memory?" I asked, a little hopeful. My voice didn’t come out well; it cracked.

"In rare cases, memories return, but the chance of that happening is one in a hundred," he had said, and my little hope was dashed. Just like that.

"Right now, the most important thing is that you are stable," he continued.

I didn’t want to be stable. I wanted my memory back.

"Your mother died while protecting you," he said matter-of-factly, like it was my fault. He didn’t show any form of sympathy.

He left the room afterwards, and a nurse came in later. She smiled, and I asked her for water because my throat was dry as hell. She gave it to me with a smile, and I gulped it down, after which I thanked her.

Two days later, I was discharged and told that the truck driver who hit our car left an amount of money that would be enough for my treatment, and I was given the rest. I was also told my age, my birthday, the location of my mother’s grave, and other information they had gathered. Pieces of a life that didn't feel like mine.

"Did you see that?" the man in command asks, fire blazing in his eyes. That brings me back to reality. I immediately remember that I am in a life-or-death situation. I saw these men kill two men in the alley just moments ago.

"No…o," I say, stuttering. He knows I am lying; it is obvious.

"Don’t you dare lie to me, or I will make you regret ever passing through this alley. Whether you saw it or not, you are going to die. Lying will just make it slower and more painful," he says, like killing is something normal and not about human life—like they are about to kill an animal.

I start trembling and begging. "Please don’t kill me… I will do anything you want… I will not mention what I saw to anybody. Please…" I start crying and begging. I don’t want to die just like that—without my memories, without my previous life. I don’t want to die in their hands. Not like this.

"What is happening?" a voice cuts in. It is a deep, rich baritone that makes my toes curl. The other man has a baritone voice, but it does not hold a candle to this one. I find myself curious to see the face behind the voice. The men part, and he comes into view.

"Sir," they all say in unison, bowing. He is definitely their boss. I bow subconsciously too, probably because I don’t want to offend him and end up dead.

"What is happening?" he asks the man who happens to be his subordinate. I smile inwardly. He isn’t even their boss.

"Who is she?"

"She saw the hit, boss," the man replies.

"Why is she still alive then?" My stomach curls. I thought this man would be merciful. I should have known from the energy I felt when he arrived. I look up immediately and I am surprised. I am not expecting to see a handsome man. Handsome is an understatement; he is otherworldly. He looks like trouble given a perfect face. The kind of man people stare at and then look away from. He seems momentarily still when our eyes meet. His eyes lack emotion, like he has been trained to hide it or never had it at all. His suit is tailored to perfection, like he walked out of heaven dressed that way. He stands tall, towering over the man who seems to be his right-hand. Nothing about him is loud, yet everything demands attention.

I suddenly remember that I am supposed to be begging for my life from this ethereal man.

"I am sorry… please… I won’t tell anybody what I saw," I say, kneeling as I beg him. Something flickers across his face, but before I can figure it out, it disappears. I continue begging. "Sir, please… spare my life…" He looks down at me, and I keep going.

"Spare my life, please… I will do anything you want me to do… Sir…" Tears fall freely from my eyes.

"You will do anything I want you to do?" he asks.

"Yes," I say before I even think about it. This man probably belongs to one of the Mafia families. They don’t accept offers like that without having an ulterior motive, and he looks like a ruthless man with no emotions. Well… he looks like my age mate. What could he want from me except s*x? He will be my first after the accident. I don’t even know if I have had s*x before that. I don’t mind—as long as he doesn’t kill me. The thought alone makes my pulse quicken. God. I am at the point of death, and this is what I am thinking about. So cool of me.

"Good," he says finally. I really want to know what goes on in that head of his. Was I always this naughty? No. This is the first time I have even thought about s*x since I left the hospital.

"Go," he says.