She Belongs To The Mafia

Chapter 11

Cherilyn Knight's Point Of View.

I woke up screaming, my throat raw from the agony that tore through me. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before—so intense, so brutal, that I could not even comprehend it fully. It felt as though my organs were being stretched and ripped apart, as if my very body was betraying me. Each breath was a struggle, my lungs burning as if they were being squeezed from the inside. I gasped for air, but the pain took everything away—my strength, my will, my sanity.

My body convulsed violently, shaking uncontrollably as my limbs twisted and contorted in ways that seemed unnatural. The muscles in my arms and legs went rigid, tightening painfully until they felt like they would snap. My hands clawed at the air, my nails digging so deeply into my palms that I felt something wet. It was blood. My own blood. In a panic, I tried to unclench my fists, but another wave of unbearable pain hit, making me scream again, louder this time.

My voice cracked, hoarse and desperate as I cried out for help. “Please! Help!” ...but there was no one. I was alone in this torment, lost in a sea of pain that seemed endless. My body thrashed on the bed, and the sensation of bile rising in my throat became overwhelming. I vomited, the acidic burn in my mouth only adding to the chaos inside me.

“When will this end?” I whimpered, tears streaming down my face. “Am I dying?” My mind raced, frantic and delirious. "If I am dying, can not it just go faster? Just end it—please, end it!" ...but the pain continued, wave after merciless wave, until I could take no more. My body, exhausted and broken, began to shut down. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, and my consciousness slipped away, pulled under like a drowning victim sinking into the abyss.

In the distance, everything grew quiet. The deafening silence was almost a relief, but then the memories came flooding back, sharp and vivid.

When I was young, I had lived in what I believed was a castle. My father, I thought, was a king, and I was the princess of that small, fragile world back then, I was happy — blissfully ignorant of the reality that surrounded me. I never knew what it felt like to be hungry; I was fed regularly, though not with the indulgence one might imagine a princess would receive. I never experienced pain, because I was sheltered, protected by those around me.

I never understood sadness either, because I was loved—or at least, that’s what I had believed. To young, happy Cherry, the world was perfect. My innocence shielded me from the truth that loomed just outside my view but it was all a lie.

I lived in a castle, yes—but the windows were broken, the walls were thin, and they were riddled with holes. My father was no king.

He was a man with a loaded gun hidden under his belt, always ready, always dangerous. I was no princess in a gown of silk—I wore tattered clothes, threadbare and worn from years of neglect but in my naïveté, I believed we lived richly. I believed we were happy, and that belief was all that mattered.

It was like living in a dream, one that soothed me, wrapped me in false comfort. But dreams, no matter how sweet, always come to an end. And when you wake up, the present hits you with the cold, hard truth of reality. It strips away the fantasy and leaves you staring at yourself in the mirror, seeing not the princess you once imagined, but the tired, broken person you’ve become.

Old, unhappy, and weak—this is who I am now.

“Reality is a b***h,” I whispered to myself, tears spilling over once again.

“Wake up, Cherry,” A voice called, breaking through the darkness. It was cold, sharp, almost impatient.

I opened my eyes slowly, wincing at the light that pierced through the dim room. My body ached, but the blinding pain from before had subsided, leaving me feeling sore and drained. I blinked, trying to focus, and saw a figure standing over me.

"The training will start now.” It was a cold, commanding tone, one that sends a shiver down my spine. I blink and try to focus, realizing that this nightmare is far from over.

It was Nicole, the Don’s assistant, her face composed and unreadable. She was not offering me any sympathy, just cold professionalism. Her dark hair fell elegantly around her shoulders, framing her sharp features that seemed to reflect the ruthlessness of this place.

“Come on, Get up,” She said, while her voice was smooth yet unyielding. “We have a lot to cover today.”

I tried to push myself into a sitting position, my limbs still heavy from the pain and the remnants of my earlier torment. My body protested every movement, but I managed to straighten up, swallowing back the remnants of nausea that threatened to overwhelm me again. “What kind of training, again?” I asked, while my voice was trembling. I was both fearful and curious, unsure of what horrors she had planned next.

Nicole raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my defiance. “The kind that will teach you how to serve the Don effectively. You need to understand your place in this house and what is expected of you. There’s no room for weakness.”

“Serve him? You mean be his slave?” I shot back, a mixture of anger and despair coursing through me. “What do you know about what I have been through?”

She leaned in slightly, her expression never wavering. “I know more than you think. I have seen what happens to those who resist. You are lucky to even be here, Cherry. The Don sees potential in you, but you will need to show him that you are worth his time and pleasure."

Disgusting.

“Lucky? Is that what you call this?” I gestured around the lavish but sterile room, “I am a prisoner, not a guest. You can not honestly expect me to just accept this.”

“Accept it or not, it does not change the reality,” She replied, while her tone was firm. “You need to focus on survival. Many have come before you and failed. I don’t want you to be another name in a long list of disappointments.”

She smirked while her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as I considered the truth in what she was saying. The hopelessness of my situation wrapped around me like a cold shroud. “What if I refuse to play this game?” I challenged, my voice more steady than I felt.

Nicole straightened, again a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Refusal is not an option. You will learn that the hard way, just like everyone else who thought they could defy the Don. Your resistance will only bring you more pain.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the cold finality in her words. I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of dread and determination. “Fine. What do I need to do?”

“First, we will start with the basics,” She said, crossing her arms as if preparing to impart knowledge on a reluctant student. “You will need to understand the dynamics of this house, the people in it, and what they expect from you. You will also need to learn how to please the Don—his tastes, his preferences, everything.”

I felt my stomach churn at her words. “You mean how to cater to his every whim?”

“Exactly,” She said, while nodding slightly. “It’s not about losing yourself; it’s about adapting. In this life, adaptability is key. You either learn to bend, or you break.”

With that, she motioned for me to stand. I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing at the thought of what lay ahead but I knew I had little choice. I could not afford to break—not yet.

As I stood, the weight of my new reality settled heavily on my shoulders. “What’s first?” I asked, bracing myself for whatever torment was to come.

“Let’s start with the basics of obedience,” she replied, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “Follow me.”

I steeled myself, knowing I had to keep fighting, even if it meant playing along with this twisted game.