My mafia Daddy

2. CRASH COURSE INTO FATE II. ________________

XANDER POV

•

When I reach my office, I sink into the black leather sofa. I shrug off my suit jacket, letting it drop carelessly beside me. Three buttons undone on my black shirt, giving my throat and chest space to breathe, the inked lines curling up from my collarbone to my jaw flex as I exhale and glance down at the file in my hands. That’s when the strange feeling hits again. Excitement? Or a flicker of something close to nerves. Nervous? Me? Ridiculous. I don’t get nervous. I don’t get afraid. I was raised to carve those things out of myself before they ever had the chance to root. And look at me, there’s nothing fragile in the man I became. I’m thirty years old. Dark brown hair, usually a little messy like I just ran a hand through it after breaking someone’s face. Piercing hazel eyes, the kind people avoid holding for too long because they see too much in them. Golden-tanned skin covering a body built from discipline, violence, and routine: trained muscle, carved shoulders, sharp lines. Six-foot-five. A walking problem. A temptation wrapped in tattoos.A snack on legs, as I once overheard some i***t girl whisper, right before I silenced the entire room with one look. But my looks are the least dangerous thing about me. I’ve been the ruthless head of the Italian mafia. Italy and New York since I was eighteen. I’ve slit throats and shaken presidents’ hands in the same 24 hours. I’ve buried men who begged and men who didn’t get the chance. Good looks don’t protect me from what I am.

Stone-hearted.

Cold-blooded.

No mercy.

No forgiveness.

No hesitation.

People see the tattoos, the ink crawling up my neck, coiling around my arms, sweeping across my chest and think it’s rebellion or vanity. It isn’t. Every line is a story. Every mark is a grave. Every piece of ink is a reminder of the power I carved out of this world with my own two hands.

And yet…

Here I am, staring at a f.ucking file with a pulse pounding in my throat. Nervous…no, impossible and ridiculous, right? I lean forward, fingertips brushing the edge of the folder again, the leather sofa creaking beneath me, but my mind won't stop thinking.

Two days.

Two days until I see her.

Ninath.

My past colliding with my future.

A future that is already spiralling toward me like gravity. Inevitable, pulling and tightening, as if the world had been arranging itself for this moment long before I ever knew her name. Because nothing in my life ever happens by accident. Not death. Not blood. Not obsession. All of it follows the same twisted lineage…the one carved into me by the man who raised me. My father.

“There is only power and lust, my son. Remember that. Only the weak feel anything else.”

His voice is burned into my bones. He carved that creed into me long before I understood the meaning of his words. That man never loved anyone. Not truly. Except for one woman. The single fracture in his armour, and when she didn’t return his devotion, when she ran straight into another man’s arms, something inside him snapped clean in half.

•

I learned early: feelings were liabilities. Attachments were weapons turned against you.

And yet…

Here I am, pulse tight, chest stretched, the edges of my world bending toward a girl I’ve never seen. I can feel it, that forming crack in the armour he welded onto me. Maybe it’s because she’s tied to Nina. Maybe because her existence rewrites everything I thought I knew.

Maybe because fate has a sick way of looping back on itself.

Or maybe…

I was never as hollow as he wanted me to be. He married my mother for lineage, not affection. Their union was a transaction and I was the “price”. Our world, blood, iron, and hierarchy were the only things he ever cared for. So, he raised me that way.

•

Since the age of three, I trained in combat, tactics, firearms, knives, psychology, interrogation, and leadership. I wasn’t raised. I was engineered. I was only ever looked at as his successor and nothing more. Son, yes, but only if I lived up to his expectations…and I did. I excelled. Always. Everything he demanded I did with finesse. Violence of perfection. Now? For the first time in a long damn time… I don’t feel engineered. I feel something alive. Something dangerous. Something he would have hated. And it’s all because of her. Two days. Just two days. And everything I was engineered for might finally crack. Just like that time fourteen years ago… Just like the first time I slipped. Cracked. Became something my father didn’t design.

And now…

He isn't here…he is dead and for the first time in those fourteen years, I feel something moving in me. A pull I can’t ignore as I lean back into the sofa. The tattoos coiled down my arms shift with the movement, serpents, wings, shadows and marks of every vow I’ve made. The one etched over my ribs catches the glow.

When you’re favoured by God, you’re also favoured by the devil.

Fitting. Too fitting. My gaze drops again to the file. Her file. The girl my past bleeds into. The girl my future is already racing toward. As the girl I intend to claim before Marcus even knows how to pronounce her name. Yes, she’s his blood. Marcus’s blood. The girl whose birth ended a life and tied mine to hers even before I knew she existed. I run my thumb along the edge of the folder, feeling the faint tremble beneath my skin. I want to know the girl Nina died protecting. The girl who, whether she knows it or not…already belongs to me.

•

My train of thought shatters when the file slips from my hands and hits the ground. A small, notebook-sized photo tumbles out alongside scattered papers, and I swear my heart stops dead in that instant as I see her.

„F.uck…” I whisper to myself, the word barely escaping, hanging in the air like a forbidden prayer. I can’t catch my breath, and believe me, this is the first time that’s ever happened. My chest tightens, lungs seizing as if she’s already wrapped her delicate fingers around my throat, squeezing the life out of me while breathing something darker in its place.

This is her? Marcus’s daughter? Why is she so f*****g beautiful?

The thought crashes through me like a wave, but it’s drowned out by the storm raging in my veins. Every line of her face, every curve hinted at in that frozen image. It’s a blade twisting in my gut and carving out desires I never knew I harboured. This is cruel, pure torment, the universe’s sick joke on a man like me. Handing me perfection wrapped in innocence, tied to my enemy’s bloodline, and daring me not to unravel it. Marcus’s little princess, ripe for the taking, is a weapon I’ll wield against him by claiming her first.

„Fuck, baby girl, you’re an angel in disguise…” I mutter as I kneel to retrieve her photo, my knees hitting the floor harder than they should, like I’m already bowing to her unwitting power. I’m entranced. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring. Minutes? Hours? Time dissolves as I trace her features with my eyes, committing them to memory like a thief staking his claim. Those long ginger curls, wild and untamed, begging to be wrapped around my fist as I pull her head back, exposing her throat for my teeth. Her dark emerald eyes, almond-shaped and piercing, stare back at me with an innocence that mocks my depravity. They’d widen in surprise and then glaze over with lust as I pin her down, forcing her to watch every filthy thing I do to her body. That button nose, freckles scattering like stars across her cheeks, a constellation I ache to map with my tongue, tasting the salt of her skin while she squirms beneath me. And those plump, juicy pink lips… God, the way they’d stretch around my thick c***k, gagging and drooling as I f***k her pretty mouth, tears streaming down her face from the sheer overwhelm of taking me deep. She’s not just beautiful… she’s a siren call, her body a masterpiece sculpted to undo me. That hourglass figure in the orphanage blue dress, hips flaring wide like handles for my grip, breasts full and perky, straining against the fabric like they’re desperate to spill into my hands for squeezing, pinching, and marking with bites. Her slim waist, so fragile I could span it with one hand, yanking her back onto my lap as I grind against her ass. Golden skin glowing with untouched purity, an innocent smile that hides the fire I know I’d ignite. Turning her into a whimpering mess, her virgin p*****. clenching around my fingers as I stretch her open, preparing her for the brutal thrust of my c***k. It’s more than lust. Again, it’s an obsession blooming in my chest, roots digging deep into my soul, poisoning every rational thought. I can already feel her and taste her, as phantom sensations ghost over my skin. Her tiny frame pressed flush against mine, trembling as I rip that dress off, exposing her to my hungry stare. Those juicy lips wrapped tight around my throbbing shaft, her tongue swirling desperately as I hold her head in place, pumping into her throat until she chokes and swallows every drop of my c**m like the obedient s.lut I’ll train her to be. Her moans turning to desperate cries as I bury my face between her thighs, lapping at her slick, pink virgin p*****., sucking her c.lit until it’s swollen and throbbing, fingering her tight hole while she bucks against my mouth, flooding my tongue with her sweet juices. Then, her screams of my name echo through the room as I slam into her, f.ucking her senseless, pounding her raw, her walls gripping me like a vice, milking me as I fill her up over and over, breeding her until she’s dripping with my seed. I’d take her all night, flipping her onto her stomach to claim her ass too, stretching that forbidden hole until she’s sobbing in ecstasy, fainting from the overload, only to wake up begging for more like my good little submissive baby girl. Marked, owned, ruined for anyone but me. And the worst part? She’s Marcus’s by blood, his precious heir, but fate’s handed her to me on a silver platter. I should leave her be, let him have his claim… but as I stare, the line blurs and vengeance bleeding into possession, hatred warping into something feral and unbreakable. I’ll steal her from him, break her in ways he’ll never know, and make her crave the monster who destroyed her world. She’s swallowed my soul whole, and I don’t want it back.

•

I rise slowly, still clutching that damned photo, my eyes glued to her image as if tearing them away would rip out what’s left of my sanity. The room feels too small, too confining, my blood pounding in my ears like a war drum. I sink back onto the black leather sofa, the cool material a stark contrast to the heat raging through me. My free hand drifts down, unbuckling my belt with trembling fingers, the zipper rasping open like an accusation. I can’t stop this, won’t stop it. Gripping her photo tightly in one hand, crumpling the edges as if to imprint her into my palm, I free my throbbing c***k from my pants. It’s already leaking, swollen and veined, begging for release. I wrap my fist around the shaft, stroking slowly at first, imagining it’s her soft, inexperienced hand instead…hesitant, then eager under my command. Each pump sends jolts of forbidden pleasure through me, my thumb smearing the precum over the head as I squeeze the photo harder, her innocent smile warping under the pressure. Faster now, my breath ragged, hips bucking into my grip as visions flood me: her on her knees, those emerald eyes looking up in submission while I feed her every inch, her throat convulsing around me. I groan low, the sound guttural, as I edge closer, the leather creaking beneath me. One final, brutal stroke, and I spill over my hand, hot ropes of c**m splattering across my knuckles, wishing it was painting her golden skin instead, marking her as mine before Marcus ever lays eyes on her.

•

Her plump juicy pink lips, and a small round chin, one I’d love to grip as I kiss those lips until they’re swollen and begging for more. She looks so physically mature for her age, which only makes it deadlier for me. Her full hourglass figure is on stunning display in the blue short dress from the photo: wide, rounded hips, perky full breasts straining against the fabric, all balanced on a tiny, fragile frame with a slim waist. Her golden skin glows under that innocent smile, mesmerising me completely. I feel my c***k throb and twitch… I can’t help it; my mind races with visions of her tiny body pressed against mine, those juicy lips wrapped around my c***k, sucking me to life; her moans as I devour her pink virgin p*****., her screams of my name as I f***k her senseless through the night until she faints, only to beg for more like my good little submissive baby girl… By now, I’m rock hard again, the ache bordering on pain as I still hold my throbbing c***k, trying desperately to calm the beast raging inside me, but it’s futile. My hand betrays me, wrapping around the shaft once more, slick with the remnants of my earlier release. I stroke slowly at first, punishing myself with the deliberate pace, but the images flood back, darker this time, twisted with a sadistic edge that makes my pulse thunder. I can’t stop…the photo of her lies crumpled on the sofa beside me, her innocent eyes staring up as if judging, or inviting? What a monster I’ve become. My twisted visions assault me. Her tiny, fragile body bound to my bed, wrists raw from the ropes I’ve tied too tightly, her ginger curls splayed like a halo of fire on the sheets. I’d slap those perky breasts until they’re flushed red, n.ipples hardening under my cruel pinches, drawing whimpers from her plump lips.

Beg for it, baby girl!

I’d growl, forcing her thighs apart with bruising grips, my fingers digging into her golden skin hard enough to leave marks. Marks that scream mine. I’d tease her pink virgin p*****. with the tip of my c***k, denying her release as she squirms and pleads, tears streaking her freckled cheeks. Then, without mercy, I’d thrust in deep, splitting her open, revelling in her screams as I pound her relentlessly, her slim waist arching off the bed in agony and ecstasy. I’d choke her lightly at first, my hand around that small round chin, watching her emerald eyes bulge with fear and forbidden desire, her breath hitching as I control her air, her life. Then as I stroke my c***k slowly, deeper fantasies surge…whipping her rounded hips with my belt until welts bloom like roses, then flipping her over to claim her ass, stretching her tight hole brutally while she sobs, her body betraying her with floods of wetness. I’d make her bleed a little, just enough to mix pain with pleasure, training her to crave the hurt, to associate my touch with both ruin and rapture. F.ucking her until she’s a broken, quivering mess, fainting from the overload, only to wake her with more torment, forcing her to ride me while I pull her hair and slap her face, her moans turning to guttural cries of “Daddy, please” as I fill every inch of her with my c**m, breeding her like the possession she is. My strokes quicken, fist pumping furiously now, the leather sofa creaking under my weight as sweat beads on my skin. I groan through clenched teeth, the release building like a storm, exploding in hot spurts across my abdomen. Wasted seed that should be marking her inside and out, claiming Marcus’s precious daughter as my ultimate revenge.

„You sick, perverted bastard! This is Marcus’s daughter. You’ll save her from that orphanage and never touch her that way!” I growl at myself, the words hollow even as they leave my lips, but deep down, I know it’s a lie. For the first time in my life, I’m scared, terrified that this twisted lust for my enemy’s baby girl will shatter my control. I won’t be able to stop myself. I need to feel her, smell her, touch her, devour her in every way imaginable. Breaking her body and spirit until she’s addicted to the pain I inflict. Yet I know if I do, I’ll ruin her forever, because once I claim her, there’s no turning back. She’ll be mine. My little princess. My baby girl, Ninath and I won't stop if I cross that line.

It would destroy her.

I would destroy her…