The Mafia's Captive Heart

Terror

I scrubbed out of the operating room, exhaustion creeping up my legs. Two days ago, we'd performed a complex surgery on Mrs. Jenkins, and I wanted to check on her progress.

As I entered the hospital room, Rachel greeted me with a bright smile, her eyes shining with excitement. She was sitting beside Mrs. Jenkins' bed, flipping through a magazine.

"Hey, Alessia! Check out my new bag!" Rachel exclaimed, holding up the sleek, designer handbag.

I raised an eyebrow, impressed despite myself. "Wow, you finally got it! How did you manage that?" I asked, glancing at Mrs. Jenkins' chart.

Rachel beamed. "My husband got it for me."

I nodded, making a note on the chart. Mrs. Jenkins' vitals looked good. "Really? I thought he wasn't keen on buying it."

Rachel's smile hinted at a secret. "He wasn't, at first."

I looked up, curiosity piqued. "So, what changed his mind?"

Rachel's voice took on a conspiratorial tone. "I made him happy, and he wanted to make me happy too."

I studied her face, searching for clarity. Did she mean what I thought she did? I checked Mrs. Jenkins' IV, ensuring everything was in order.

"Rachel, what do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Jenkins stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Doctor?"

I smiled warmly. "Hi, Mrs. Jenkins. Just checking on you. How's the pain?"

Rachel leaned back, her eyes never leaving mine. "I'll tell you later," she whispered.

I nodded, focusing on my patient. But my mind whirled with questions.

As we walked to the doctors' quarters, Rachel's voice dropped to a whisper. "A man becomes a slave to the woman who knows the best way to make him happy."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "How?"

Rachel's smile was sly. "During sex."

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to know more. But Rachel continued, her words painting a vivid picture.

"The woman should take full control. Make him feel like he's the only one who matters."

We stopped outside the quarters, and Rachel leaned against the doorframe.

"You see, Alessia, Mafia men have s*x with women below them from behind. It's about power, dominance. But with a woman they love and respect... they face her. They want to see her pleasure, her passion."

I felt a shiver run down my spine. Rachel's words were both shocking and captivating.

"Are you saying...?"

Rachel's eyes locked onto mine. "I'm saying, Alessia, that a woman who knows how to make a man happy can have him wrapped around her finger. And that's power."

I thought of Julian, of our cold, calculated marriage. Was this the key to unlocking his emotions?

"Rachel, how do you know this?"

Rachel's smile hinted at secrets. "Let's just say, I've learned from the best."

I wondered if she meant her husband or someone else entirely.

As the day wore on, exhaustion claimed me. I changed into casual clothes, ready to leave. Just as I stepped out of the hospital, a familiar figure emerged from the crowd.

The stranger who'd given me a ride a week ago approached me, his smile warm.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," I replied, my voice polite.

"I'm Mark," he introduced himself, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Before he could continue, I intervened, my words tumbling out in a rush.

"Mark, thank you for the ride last week. But I need to tell you something. I'm married."

Mark's expression faltered, surprise etched on his face.

"I'm saying this because I don't want you to get into trouble," I explained, my voice firm but gentle.

I quickly flagged down a taxi and stepped aside.

"It was nice meeting you, Mark. Take care."

With that, I jumped into the taxi and sped away, leaving Mark staring after me.

As the taxi hurtled through the evening traffic, my mind drifted back to Rachel's words.

"A man becomes a slave to the woman who knows the best way to make him happy."

Could it truly be that simple?

A part of me doubted it, especially when it came to Julian.

His cold calculation, his emotional distance...

But another part of me whispered, "What if?"

What if Rachel was right?

What if I could unlock Julian's emotions?

Determination ignited within me.

I would give it a try.

No matter how daunting the task seemed.

As I arrived home, Julian's presence loomed.

I took a deep breath and stepped into our opulent penthouse.

As I entered the penthouse, I was met with the acrid scent of cigarette smoke. Julian stood by the window, his phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low and menacing, speaking in rapid Italian.

I didn't understand the language, but one phrase made my blood run cold:

"Dovremmo ucciderlo e tagliarlo a pezzi."

(We should kill him and cut him into pieces.)

My heart skipped a beat.

Julian's eyes flicked towards me, his gaze cold and calculating.

He continued speaking, his tone unwavering.

I felt a chill run down my spine.

This wasn't the first time I'd overheard Julian's sinister conversations. But this time I was scared.

I hastily retreated to the kitchen, seeking refuge in the mundane task of grabbing a glass of water.

But my reprieve was short-lived.

As I turned to return, Julian's sudden presence made me gasp.

He materialized before me, his eyes blazing with intensity.

Without warning, he grasped my wrists, pulling me close.

His lips crashed onto mine, hungry and demanding.

I struggled to break free, but his grip tightened.

His hands roamed my body, squeezing my breasts, sending shivers down my spine.

The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the floor.

Julian's kiss deepened, his tongue invading my mouth.

I felt trapped, suffocated.

Fear wrestled with a spark of unwanted desire.

How could I fear and crave him simultaneously?

His rough touch ignited a fire within me.

My body betrayed me.

Julian's hands slid under my shirt, exploring and playing with my t**s. " Argh..." a soft moan escaped my lips.

Just as Julian's hands ripped apart my pants, his fingers digging into my hips, I summoned every last shred of courage.

"No," I whispered, my voice trembling.

Julian's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening.

"I won't do it like that," I continued, my heart racing. "I'm not a slave, I'm your wife."

Julian's face twisted, surprise flickering across his features.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, without a word, he removed his pants and lay on the table.

His eyes locked onto mine, a silent challenge.

I climbed on top, my hands on his chest.

My lips brushed against his skin, and I felt his muscles tense.

A low moan escaped his lips: "Argh..."

I guided his d**k into me, feeling his warmth spread.

Slowly, I began to ride him, my hips swaying.

Julian's eyes never left mine, his gaze burning.

For the first time, I saw something in his eyes, something akin to... respect.

His hands grasped my hips, pulling me deeper.

Our bodies moved in sync, a primal rhythm.

As I rode him, Julian's moans grew louder, his breath hot against my skin.

For the first time, I heard him lose control, his sounds primal and raw.

"Ah...fuck..."

His hands grasped my breasts, his fingers tweaking my n*****s.

Pleasure shot through me, mingling with fear.

"Argh..." I whispered, my voice trembling.

His grip tightened, his hips thrusting upward.

"Argh...Dio mio..."

His Italian phrases filled the air, passionate and urgent.

I felt his body tense, muscles coiling.

His release was sudden, explosive.

"Ah..!" he roared, his body shuddering.

I collapsed onto his chest, our hearts racing.

For a moment, we lay there, entwined.

Julian's chest heaved, his arms wrapping around me.

His fingers stroked my hair, gentle.

suddenly Julian's phone rang, I felt a sense of dread wash over me.

He answered, his voice low and gravelly, and I watched in horror as his expression transformed.

"Ahh, si?" he said, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

His conversation was brief, punctuated by Italian phrases that sent chills down my spine.

When he laughed, I felt a cold dread spreading through my veins.

"È fatto," he said, his words dripping with malevolence.

(The job is done.)

My mind reeled as Julian beckoned me to the window.

"Vieni qui, Alessia."

(Come here, Alessia.)

I approached, my heart racing, my legs trembling.

Julian pointed outside, his finger gesturing toward the darkness.

And then I saw it.

Mark's lifeless body lay on the ground, a single bullet wound in his forehead.

A scream lodged in my throat as Julian's men emerged, their faces expressionless.

One grasped Mark's hair, pulling his head back.

A glint of metal flashed.

Mark's head separated from his body.

I stumbled back, my hand flying to my mouth.

No, no, no!

This can't be happening!

Julian's grip on my arm tightened.

"Questo è ciò che succede quando si-crossa me," he hissed.

(This is what happens when you cross me.)

His voice was like a snake's hiss, sending shivers down my spine.

I felt trapped, forced to witness his brutality.

My mind raced with thoughts of escape.

How could I get away from this monster?