MIO PECCATO ( My Sin)

Chapter 4

Sophia entered the quarters quietly. One look at Dove lying curled on the blood-streaked sheets was enough. The girl’s legs were still parted slightly. Her pink p***y was visibly swollen and leaking a mix of c*m and faint traces of virgin blood. Her breasts bore red marks from rough sucking. Her n*****s were still puffy and sensitive. Sophia felt a sharp pang of pity twist in her chest. She had seen many new wives break under Don Storm’s hands, but this one looked especially fragile—like a porcelain doll dropped from a great height.

“Easy now,” Sophia whispered. She approached the bed and helped Dove sit up slowly.

The moment Dove tried to move, a sharp cry escaped her lips. Pain radiated between her thighs. Tears spilled down her porcelain cheeks. “He… he assaulted me,” Dove sobbed, her voice has gone raspy “He forced himself on me. I told him no… I said please… He just shoved it in without asking. It felt like I was being torn apart. My breasts hurt so much… everything hurts.”

Sophia pulled the trembling girl into a gentle hug. Dove clung to her, and cried bitterly. The Citadel’s rules allowed no real privacy, but in moments like this, the maids formed their own quiet sisterhood of survival.

“I know, little one,” Sophia murmured, as she stroked Dove’s long black hair. “When Don Storm told me to prepare you earlier, we spoke for a while, remember? I told you the truth. You are now the Donna of the Black Heart Syndicate. His wife. That means fulfilling his needs—whenever, however he wants. Fighting it only makes the pain worse. And it can't be considered an abuse, you're 19 years old dear”

Dove shook her head violently,more tears fell. “It hurt so much… He didn’t care. He just took what he wanted. I thought I was going to die inside.”

Sophia nodded sadly, as she helped Dove to her feet. The girl winced with every step. Her thighs were trembling. “I understand more than you know. I’ve been walking these halls practically naked for three years. Every maid here has been turned into a w***e for the Syndicate. We all signed contracts at beginning—some willingly for protection, others forced like you. Try to quit? It means death. Or they wipe your memory in that basement room with the machines. Most don’t survive the process. So we stay. We spread our legs for captains, guards, guests… even Don himself when he needs relief. It’s the price of living under his roof.”

Dove’s hollow green eyes widened slightly at the bleak reality, but she said nothing more. Sophia guided her into the luxurious ensuite bathroom. She turned on the large marble tub and filled it with warm water and soothing oils. She helped Dove sink into the bath. The warm water stung at first against her abused p***y, but slowly eased the burning ache. Dove leaned back and closed her eyes. She let silent tears mix with the steam.

Sophia washed her gently—careful around the swollen n*****s and between her legs. “You’ll get used to it in time. Some nights are worse than others. But you’re his now. The only untouchable one among us. That’s something, at least.”

After twenty minutes of soaking, Sophia helped her stand and dry off. She picked up the discarded black lingerie from the floor. She slipped it back onto Dove’s small frame. The sheer fabric did little to hide the fresh marks on her body. Then Sophia grabbed a soft bathrobe from the closet and wrapped it tightly around her. She gave her some modesty for the walk.

Quickly, Sophia stripped the bloody bedsheets. She replaced them with fresh black bedsheets. “Can’t leave evidence of weakness lying around,” she muttered. Finally, she supported Dove as they left the main quarters and moved down a connecting hallway to a smaller but still elegant adjoining room—Dove’s new personal space. It had a queen bed, a vanity, and soft lighting.

Sophia helped her lie down. She pulled the thick duvet over her fragile body. “Sleep now. The pain will lessen by morning. I’ll check on you later.” With one last sympathetic look, Sophia slipped out. She closed the door softly.

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MEDICAL WING

Storm strode into the medical building with purpose. His black Polo shirt and jeans still carried the faint scent of gunpowder and antiseptic. Guards snapped to attention. They murmured “Don” as he passed.

The doctor, Dr. Hale, stood outside the ICU door. He had charts in hand. He looked exhausted. “Don Storm,” he said carefully. His voice was respectful but with a hint of fear. “The surgery was successful. We removed the bullet. However… it nicked the edge of his heart. Your brother’s condition is very delicate. He’s stable for now, but until he regains consciousness, he remains in serious danger. Infection, internal bleeding—we’re monitoring closely.”

Storm said nothing at first. His cold gray eyes bored into the doctor like he wanted him inside than his brother. Then he nodded once. “Prepare me.”

Nurses quickly outfitted him in full ICU protective gear: a sterile blue gown over his clothes, a surgical mask covering his mouth and nose, a hair cap, shoe covers, and gloves. They also fitted him with a face shield for extra caution. Every inch of exposed skin was covered to protect Marco from infection.

Storm pushed through the heavy ICU doors. The room was cold. It was filled with the steady beeps of machines and the hiss of ventilators. Marco lay in the center bed. His younger brother’s face was pale and still. Tubes snaked into his arms. A breathing mask covered his mouth. Monitors tracked every heartbeat. The bullet wound was bandaged heavily on his chest.

Storm approached the bed slowly. He was very tall even in the sterile gear. He stared down at Marco—his baby brother, the one he had sworn to protect after their mother’s death. Hatred for the Volkov Russians tripled in his veins. It burned like acid. They would pay in rivers.

“Brother,” Storm said softly. His voice was muffled slightly by the mask but thick with rare emotion. He reached out a gloved hand and gently touched Marco’s arm. “You need to pull through. I promised Mom I’d take care of you. You can’t leave me now. If you go… I will truly run mad.”

The machines continued their steady rhythm. No response. Storm stood there for a long time.

“You’ve always had my back,” Storm continued quietly. “In every fight, every deal. When I took the throne after killing Father, you stood beside me. The Russians think they can weaken us by taking you. They’re wrong. When you wake up, we burn their empire to the ground.”

Storm stayed in the ICU for nearly an hour. Finally, a nurse gently reminded him of the time limit for visitors. As he stepped back, his eyes lingered on Marco’s still form, he exited and stripped off the protective gear in the antechamber, a guard approached. “Don, the men are asking what to do about the Russians. Word on the street is they’re celebrating the hit.”

Storm’s gray eyes turned to ice. “Double the watch. Prepare the docks for a lockdown. And find out who leaked the meeting location. Someone will bleed for my brother.”

He walked back toward the main Citadel.