The Mafia's Vow: Stolen for Revenge, Claimed for Love

EVELINA “You stupid, worthless wench!” my husband roared; another slap landed square on my cheek. Seven, I counted in my head as it snapped to the side, pain blooming across my face, momentarily blurring my vision. I blinked rapidly as unconsciousness tugged at me. Then came another blow. This one sent me crashing to the floor. I reached out instinctively, falling to my knees and wrists on the cold, tiled floor, wincing as pain shot up my arms, the skin raw from landing on them repeatedly for the past six months. But I didn’t care. The pain was nothing. I’d fall on my hands and knees a thousand times, and if I couldn't fall on them, I’d fall on my neck, if it meant protecting the baby growing inside of me. Eight, I thought. Just two more. The slaps usually stopped at ten, as I had come to master over the past five years. I also knew that falling to the ground before the slaps got to ten was not good. I had to get up. Because like a well-rehearsed dance, I could tell what came next after I hit the floor. The kicks. The ones that had landed me in the ER more times than I could count, and had taken two of my babies from me. I couldn’t lose another one. Not to him. He’d taken too much from me already. My freedom, my voice, my… hope. Memories of the blood dripping down my legs as I lost my first baby. Barely three months old, he didn’t even let me feel her first movement before he took her from me. And just when I found hope again with the second child, a girl. Oh, the joy when I heard her little heartbeat, felt her first little kicks, and decorated her nursery, counting the days to when I would finally meet her. Thirty days. It was exactly thirty days and I would have held my baby girl in my hands. Waking up to a quiet hospital room, the silence, deafening, the walls a bit too clean. It made me nauseous. But nothing prepared me for the silence in my womb, the emptiness that was left behind after the doctors had to take my baby girl out because she was no longer alive in my womb. I couldn’t protect my baby. I failed her. I could not keep her safe. But not this time. Fueled by fear, I pushed myself up on trembling limbs. His hand dug into my hair as I stood. “You foolish, ungrateful b***h,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “Just like your father. I saved you from his many enemies, and this is how do you repay me?” Another slap. “You disrespect me, you disobey and ridicule me in front of my staff,” he growled. “I should’ve let them kill you, just like he did the rest of your pathetic family.” Enzo raised his hand to strike again—but a knock on the bedroom door interrupted him. The heavy wooden door creaked open. Rafael, Enzo’s Underboss, stepped in. His boots echoed against the polished floor as his eyes swept across the wreckage—shattered vases, broken lamps, crushed flowers. For a second, I thought I saw his jaw clench. But with Rafe, it was hard to tell. Stoic. Cold. His thoughts never touched his face. He stopped a few feet away and bowed slightly. “Boss.” Enzo scowled at him. “What is it?” “We’ve got a problem.” Enzo released his grip on my hair. His expression morphing from furious to business mode. Wasting no time, I scrambled away from him, crossing the room to the couch. I collapsed onto the cushions with a groan, curling up as tightly as my bump would allow. “Speak.” Enzo put his hand in his pocket, turning all his attention to Rafe. “I was going through the finance books last week,” Rafe began. “I noticed that the new warehouse in Viare hadn’t made a payment in a month. I called Slim to find out what was going on. Turns out the second and third batches of Pixie Dust never made it to the warehouse.” Enzo’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? I sent those shipments out myself.” “Yes, sir. But they never arrived, they were— intercepted.” “You’re telling me two entire shipments of my Pixie dust have been missing for weeks and no one thought to report it?” Enzo roared. Rafe stilled, his head hanging low. “The next words out of your mouth better be the names of the person who took them or news that they’ve been dealt with.” Enzo growled. I knew all too well what that meant. Somebody was going to lose their head. Rafael sighed but remained silent. Enzo frowned. “What aren’t you telling me?” Silence. “I won’t repeat myself.” “There have been... challenges with running the warehouse in Viare, boss.” Enzo put his hands in his pocket, a stance he took when he was paying full attention. “Slim reported being warned multiple times to shut the operation down in Viare and pull Pixie Dust out of the market,” Rafe added. “It seems there are people in Viare who do not want us selling Pixie dust there.” “Threats? From whom, the police?” Enzo frowned. Rafe shook his head. “No sir, Valenti.” Enzo scoffed. “That bastard acts like he owns Viare. That used to be our territory.” Enzo walked to the table and poured himself a glass of whiskey. “If my invalid of a father hadn’t gambled it away to Valenti Senior, it would still be mine.” He turned to Rafe, a crazed look in his eyes. “But I want to take it back, Rafe. Viare will be mine again,” he chuckled and took a swing of his drink. “Tell Slim to get ready for another shipment, I'll sell where I damn well please, and there’s nothing Valenti can do to stop me. He can bark threats all he wants, but Enzo does as Enzo pleases.” He took another gulp of his drink. “Ignore his threats.” “I don't think that's a good idea, boss,” Rafe said grimly. Enzo’s expression darkened. If there was one thing Enzo hated, it was someone questioning his decisions, let alone calling it a bad idea. Had it been anyone else, they’d have lost their tongue because of challenging his order, but this was Rafe, his underboss and Enzo trusted him. Way too much if you asked me. “Why do you say so?” “When I got word that the shipments were seized by Valenti’s men, I sent men to retrieve them, but they got caught.” Rafe pulled a few folded photos from his leather jacket, “there was a message.” He handed another set of photos to Enzo. “Fuck.” Enzo muttered. Two guesses were that whatever was in that picture was nothing short of grotesque. I would expect nothing less from Alessio Valenti. Il Mangiatore di Cuori. The heart eater, they called him. Known to rip the heart out of every man he killed. Just like he did to my family. That monster. “There was a note as well, boss,” Rafe pulled out a folded piece of paper and motioned it towards Enzo. Enzo regarded it for a while and sighed. “Read it to me.” His jaw clenched as if steadying him for whatever he was about to hear. I held my breath too, expecting the worst. “Last warning, Romano, unless you’ve got more men to spare.” Rafe read out loud Enzo laughed maniacally, his eyes scanning the images again. He crumpled them in his fist and closed his eyes. “Oh, you mock me, Valenti,” he growled. “What are we going to do about it?” Rafe asked. “Slim’s out of Pixie Dust, and our customers are getting... restless.” Enzo threw the pictures on the floor and strode to the window. He took a swig of his drink, staring out over the lawn. His mind was working, which was not good. No, Enzo was reckless. Impulsive. And his solutions always brought fire. Like pouring gasoline on an already raging fire. And to prove my point, he turned, downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the table. “Rafe,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “get the car ready. I think it's time we sent Valenti a message of our own.” He smirked. “If it's war he wants, I might as well give it to him.” He crossed to the couch where I lay, picking up his suit jacket, then turned to me. I flinched, curling myself tighter on the couch, dread creeping over me. “We’re not done yet,” he said gruffly, placing a kiss on my swollen cheek. The feeling of his rough stubble on my cheek caused me to whimper. Goosebumps crawled all over my skin. I watched with dread as he walked towards the door with Rafe in tow. He flung the door open and disappeared, his footsteps receding down the hallway. “You messed with the wrong man, Valenti,” his voice echoed. Enzo’s threats were never just words. They were blood. Fire. Chaos. And going to war against Valenti was signing off, not just his death sentence, but mine and my baby’s. Because believe it or not, compared to Valenti, Enzo was a much lesser evil. Valenti made even the devil seem like an angel. He left nothing but destruction in his wake. Outside, Enzo’s voice boomed through the house, barking orders. Doors slammed, boots thundering down the hall, I could imagine the maids scurrying away in fear to hide in their quarters. All I could do was lie there and curl myself around the only thing in the world that was still mine, and pray that when the fire came, because with Enzo it always did, it would not consume us all. Because if Enzo declared war on Valenti... Then none of us were safe.