THE MAFIA WIFE

Chapter seven: THE FIRST TIME I PANICKED.

SEBASTIAN POV

She doesn't know.

She has no idea that while she lay unconscious on my bed, the world had already rearranged itself around her.

Hours after she fainted, the sound of my phone ringing distracted me from looking at her delicate body.

The infirmary.

He regained consciousness for less than three minutes; he coded after choking out a name.

Luciano Deluca.

That name alone ignited a fire inside me. Luciano is not only trying to get his hands on Natalie, but he is also infiltrating drugs into my kingdom.

“Cut off his head,” I said calmly. “Send it to Albanian territory. They will all feel my wrath.

Almost immediately, the call ended, and another came in.

Don Sergio Romano.

My father-in-law.

His voice was loud, harsh, and venomous, accusing me of kidnapping his daughter as if she had not run from him with her own two feet.

“You abducted my daughter,” he growled.

I laughed. Cold. Slow.

“You are full of greed,” I replied. “And your selfishness made your daughter run far away from you.”

Silence lingered.

“You married her without my consent,” Sergio finally said. “And you will return her to me unharmed.”

“Say that again, and I'll remind you why men don't make demands of me,” I said.

“She didn't even introduce herself with her real name because she doesn't want anything to do with yours.”

“She is my wife now,” I continued, my voice hardened. “And I will protect her from men like you.”

I hung up before he could say anything else.

Presently.

I stayed crouched in front of her; my hands still lingered near her ankle. She hasn't pulled away again.

That mattered.

“I won't hurt you or imprison you in our home.”

She let out a laugh, unconvinced.

“You already did,” she said.

Fine.

“Please,” she whispered, “just let me go.”

The word hit harder than a bullet, piercing straight into my chest.

“To Luciano?” I asked calmly. “Or back to your father?” Which is it that you want?

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I'll go very far away. Anywhere. Please… I don't desire this kind of life. I don't want the mafia. I just want to live normally.”

I stretched out my thumb and wiped her tears gently enough to confuse her. Intimate enough to bind her.

“There is no normal life for us,” I whispered. “Till death do us part,wifey."

My lips curved slightly.

“And I am death, and I say we stay together forever.”

I stood up.

“Mrs. Sarah will take you to your room. Dinner will be served by eight. I will see you later.”

I walked away before she could say anything.

Throughout the day I stayed busy with our new building project, but my mind never left her. I called Mrs. Sarah whenever I felt the need to know about her well-being.

With a careful voice, she said, “She hasn't eaten. She just stares into empty space. She didn't touch her lunch or snacks.”

My jaw tightened.

“Hmm. A hunger strike it is.”

“Did she ask for anything?” I asked.

“Yes… A request to allow her leave,” she replied. “And a bowl for her dog's food.”

She preferred to starve, but her dog should not.

When I returned home, the house was too quiet.

Then I saw it.

A rope tied together from torn bedsheets is hanging from a window.

Natalie.

I moved just as she lost the grip on the rope.

She fell.

Straight into my arms.

The world slowed.

I heard the slight wheeze of her breath leaving her lungs. The rope strained violently against the window frame, nearly snapping apart. Her body twisted, her hair flipping against my face as the scent of her shampoo filled my nose.

I caught her effortlessly.

Panic exploded from her, but not from me. She froze against my chest, eyes wide and body trembling.

I looked down at her slowly. My eyes caught her puffiness around her eyes.

Has she been crying?

Something twisted painfully inside my chest—something I had not expected.

Guilt.

Care.

Relief that she was not injured.

If she had fallen against the concrete floor and died, I would have lost her and… perhaps hated myself for it.

“I am home, wifey. It's very romantic of you to welcome me from the window.” I said.

She was so light in weight—too light for someone fighting so hard to escape.

I sat her down by the edge of the bed in her room.

“Get ready for dinner,” I said quietly.

She paused, her eyes darting toward the hallway as if someone out there might free her. Then she stood, walked into the bathroom, and shut the door.

I stood a little longer than expected before finally turning away and walking into my room.

I stripped and stepped beneath the shower. The water ran down my spine, but it did not wash her from me.

Not her natural scent.

Not the scent of her hair.

Not the feeling of her soft body in my arms.

I shut off the water, dried myself with a towel, and pulled on simple sweatpants and a loose T-shirt that left my tattoo fully visible.

I stepped out and called for Mrs. Sarah.

“Tell my wife dinner is ready.”

She nodded and hurried down the hallway.

I waited.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then five.

Anger crawled into my veins. I would not tolerate this stubbornness from her.

I was halfway to her room when I heard it.

A scream.

Sharp and loud.

Mrs. Sarah.

I was already running before I could think.

The bathroom door stood wide open.

Water dripping over the edges of the tub. The floor flooded.

And Natalie–

Her body was submerged in water, her hair floating around her. Her lips were pale.

Too pale.

Mrs. Sarah stood frozen in shock, eyes wide and hands trembling.

“She locked the door,” she cried. “I…heard the sound of dripping water….”

I didn't listen to her next statement.

I dived into the tub, pulling Natalie out; water poured from her hair and body like rain. Her body sagged weekly against my chest, her breathing barely noticeable.

“No.”

I panicked, and for the first time in years, fear crashed violently into me.

I pressed my ear against her chest.

Still breathing.

Barely.

I immediately started chest compressions.

“Get me a doctor,” I yelled at Mrs. Sarah.