She Belongs To The Mafia

Chapter 8

Cherilyn Knight's Point Of View.

Lucas shoved me roughly toward the Don's massive door, nearly knocking me off balance. I hissed in pain as my knees hit the floor, reopening the wound I had. Lucas, usually strong and arrogant, suddenly looked tense after he pressed the button to signal the Don of our arrival. As the door unlocked, he grabbed my arm and dragged me inside. I could hear him clearing his throat nervously before speaking.

“Don, I brought the girl as you requested,” Lucas said, while his voice was shaking slightly.

The Don’s chair slowly turned around, revealing his scowling face. His expression made me cringe internally, and I quickly averted my gaze.

“Requested?” The Don raised an eyebrow, while his tone was cold and hard. Lucas flinched at the mistake, while his hands were fidgeting, and I saw his face lose color.

“I-I thought you—” Lucas began, but the Don cut him off sharply. “I don’t make requests, Lucius. I give commands.”

Lucas’s eyes widened in fear. “Its Lucas Don and Yes, of course, I meant as you commanded. I am terribly sorry for my blunt mistake.” He stammered while trying to pose a fake comforting smile as he was not able to make eye contact with the don.

“Whatever. Leave now,” The Don dismissed him with a wave of his hand, while rubbing his forehead in clear annoyance. As Lucas hurried out, I heard the Don mutter, “Stupid,” while shaking his head.

Now as I was left alone with him, the tension in the room thickened. My body tensed, and I gulped, trying not to meet his eyes. His bored gaze landed on me.

“Stand up,” He ordered in a sharp tone.

I quickly stood, wincing as my knees stung again from the earlier fall. My eyes stayed glued to the floor as I waited for him to speak.

“It seems like you are of no use to me,” He broke the silence, and a chill ran down my spine. His words sank in, and fear gripped me. I knew exactly where this conversation was heading.

I was going to die, soon. I stayed silent, terrified that anything I said would make things worse.

“You are weak, and that’s a liability for me. I lead millions of people. They see me as formidable and powerful qualities that a good leader should have." He spoke with an annoyed tone, but it felt more like a death sentence.

Eh? What was that, a good leader? My Foot. My Inner self slapped myself for not looking the fragility of the time and still managing to roast him.

"Someone they can not mess with, you know. Apparently, people who works for me, who works under me also reflects me and you… well, you are not exactly helping at all.” He said further, his voice was laced with disdain.

Anger flared up inside me at his words. The nerve of him, blaming me for tarnishing his “great” image when he forced me into grueling work without allowing me to rest which i desperately needed, even when I was on the verge of collapse and then he calls himself a good leader?

“What do you want from me?” I snapped, as I met his eyes, while the fire inside me was seen pushing away my fear. I was adamant that I was not going to take this silently.

He seemed amused by my outburst. “Your bravado is impressive, but you can not fool me,” He said with a smirk.

“I am not faking anything at all” I shot back. “This courage is something I was born with. You would not understand that because you don’t have any of it.”

His smirk widened, as if my defiance was a joke to him. “Your attitude is refreshing, coming from someone like you. It makes me want to break it, to show you where you truly belong,” He said calmly, while emphasizing the last sentence and completely unbothered by my words.

“..and that gives me an idea,” He added, while his voice was dripping with malice. “Something that will teach you your place, and perhaps put that smart mouth of yours to better use.”

His smirk grew even more devilish, and the small flicker of hope I had been clinging to flickered out entirely, like a candle extinguished in a gust of wind as he continued speaking, detailing his twisted plan for me, each word felt like a sledgehammer, smashing the last fragments of my willpower. It was not just the cruelty of what he was saying that broke me — it was the casual way in which he spoke, like my suffering was a mere inconvenience to him, something he could toy with whenever he pleased. I stood there frozen, my body trembling, while my mind raced, trying to grasp onto anything that could save me from the reality he was laying out before me.

With every word, it was as if he was stripping away not just my dignity, but my very sense of self. I felt hollow, as though everything inside me had been shattered and was now scattered on the cold floor beneath us. His voice, cold and calculating, echoed in my ears, drowning out any remaining hope I had of escape. There was no way out, no salvation, only the terrifying knowledge that I was at his mercy and from the look in his eyes, there was no mercy to be found.

I felt my legs weaken, my knees wobbling as I struggled to keep standing. Each breath became harder to take, and the room felt like it was closing in on me. I had been through hell before, but nothing compared to the sheer terror and helplessness I felt now. It was as if he enjoyed watching the light drain from my eyes, watching me crumble under the weight of his words.