Trapped In Two Mafia World

Chapter Four: The Door That Closed Behind Me

Darkness swallowed the room so completely that for a moment I wondered if I had gone blind.

My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat, refusing to move. The silence that followed the sudden loss of light was heavier than any noise outside in the club. It pressed against my ears, my chest, my thoughts—until the only thing I could hear was the frantic rhythm of my own heartbeat.

Then I heard him breathe.

Slow. Controlled. Certain.

The lights did not return immediately. And somehow, that felt intentional… like another piece of a game whose rules only he understood.

“Afraid of the dark, Mila?” His voice moved through the shadows, low and calm, finding me even when I couldn’t find him.

“I’m afraid of nothing,” I answered too quickly, the lie trembling at the edges.

A faint click echoed somewhere to my left.

Soft amber light returned—not bright enough to comfort, only enough to reveal shapes. Edges. Possibilities. The room looked different now, warmer in color but colder in meaning. The tools I had glimpsed earlier rested in deliberate order, their metallic surfaces catching the dim glow like quiet witnesses.

Nothing here felt accidental.

Nothing here felt safe.

He was still seated, but something about his posture had changed. Less distant. More… present. Like a predator who had decided the chase was over.

“Come closer,” he said.

Not loudly. Not forcefully.

But my body reacted before my mind could argue.

One step.

Then another.

Each movement felt like crossing an invisible line I wouldn’t be able to uncross.

“Stop.”

His eyes studied me again, slower this time. Not just looking—reading. As if every secret I had tried to bury was written somewhere on my skin.

“You came,” he said quietly.

“You told me to.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

The words lingered in the air, sharp and deliberate. I didn’t answer, because I wasn’t sure which truth he wanted to hear—the brave one or the honest one.

Silence stretched again.

But this silence felt different. Thicker. Anticipating something.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.

“For the interview.”

A faint smile touched his lips, but it held no warmth.

“Is that what you still believe?”

My stomach tightened. “You said—”

“I say many things.”

The calm certainty in his tone made arguing feel useless. Dangerous, even. Like stepping deeper into water without knowing how far the bottom was.

My gaze drifted—just for a second—toward the objects arranged on the nearby table. Leather. Silk. Steel. Shapes that suggested restraint more than harm, yet carried a quiet intensity I didn’t fully understand.

His voice followed my eyes.

“Curious?”

“No.”

Another lie. Softer this time.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You should never lie in a room like this, Mila.”

A pause.

“It removes your ability to choose.”

Choose.

The word echoed strangely inside me. Because nothing about tonight had felt like a choice.

And yet… I was still standing here.

“I can leave,” I said, though the sentence sounded fragile the moment it escaped.

“You can,” he agreed easily.

He didn’t move to stop me. Didn’t threaten. Didn’t even look concerned.

Which made the door behind me feel farther away than before.

“Then why does it feel like I can’t?” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

But he heard.

“Because some doors close long before you notice them.”

A chill slid through me, slow and certain.

He finally stood.

The movement was unhurried, controlled, as if time itself adjusted to him,

Every instinct told me to step back.

I didn’t.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

I already was.

And that was the problem.

There was something dangerous in the way he watched—like he wasn’t seeing who I pretended to be, but the version of me I tried hardest to hide. The part that was tired of being powerless. Tired of being afraid.

“You want something,” he murmured.

“So do you.”

“Yes.”

The honesty of it sent a strange ripple through the tension. No denial. No disguise. Just truth, standing between us like a blade.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Trust.”

A quiet, disbelieving laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “In a place like this?”

“Especially in a place like this.”

The room felt smaller again. Warmer. More dangerous. Like the air itself was waiting.

“And if I say no?” I asked.

“Then you walk out that door,” he replied calmly.

“And you never come back.”

Something in my chest tightened at that—not relief… something else. Something I didn’t want to name.

Because leaving should have been easy.

It wasn’t.

“Why me?” I whispered.

This time, the silence that followed felt different. Not tense. Not sharp.

Heavy.

“Because,” he said slowly, “you’re the only one who hasn’t pretended not to be afraid of me.”

My breath caught.

“And that matters?”

“It matters more than anything.”

The words settled deep, somewhere I couldn’t easily reach.

I should have left then.

Should have turned around, opened the door, and escaped whatever this night was becoming.

But my feet stayed still.

“Tell me to go,” I said quietly. “If this is a test… tell me to go.”

His eyes searched mine—longer than before.

As if the answer mattered to him more than he wanted it to.

“I won’t tell you to go,” he said at last.

The confession felt louder than a shout.

“Why?”

“Because if you stay,” he said softly, “it has to be your choice.”

Choice.

I want to stay

Strip, Mila,” he said.

I looked at him in confusion.

“Did you just say what I heard?”

“I said, strip, Mila,” he repeated.

It was as if there was something in his voice that made me want to obey, but I refused.

“No. Why would I do that?”

Then he said in a very harsh tone,

“Do you want the job or not?”

Remembering the fact that I was here for an interview in the first place, I answered,

“Yes… but for an interview.”

“This is the interview, Mila. This is your interview. Now do what I say.”

Tears rolled down my eyes as I took off my clothes. It felt so unlike me, but I had just finished an orgasm section, nearly f*****g his younger brother. And now him. What sort of scene is this? How do I explain?

Taking off my clothes, shame cut through me as I went bare. My whole skin was revealing to him as he enjoyed the sight.

Then he walked toward the tools next to him—the leather wrist cuffs resting beside a spreader bar. He took them and came toward me, handcuffing me and clipping them to something above that I didn’t even notice.

He went down, spreading my legs and slowly using his fingers to pierce my c**t, like as if it belonged to him. Then he licked his hands and went back to get the folded black silk blindfold. He covered my eyes, like as if not wanting me to see the atrocity he wanted to do to my own body.

But still… this was new, and it felt good at the same time.

He carried my legs up, spreading them in between his d**k, as if trying to feel my ass with his arm.

“What are you doing, Torri…?” I asked.

“Shhhh!!” he replied.

That was when I noticed that after the blindfold, he had also stripped. What was going on? I wasn’t feeling with my hands, but I could feel that it was big—I think bigger than his brother’s.

It felt so good on my c**t.

As he slid his d**k in, I let out a very loud moan, knowing I had just lost my virginity to a cruel mafia. He went faster, like as if he was already into this like a pro.

Everything felt so hot. Heat crept through my body. My n*****s were strong as he tightened his grip on my boobs and rode me like a bicycle.

After a lot of minutes of dangling in the air, sensation creeping in and out of my v****a, I could feel it in my stomach.

He dropped me down and untied me. He removed the handcuffs and took off my blindfold.

Then I saw it—his body, well-defined with bruises.

He knelt down, telling me to handcuff him and whip him. My legs were still unsteady from what I had just gone through. He looked at me like he cared and asked,

“Are you good, Mila?”

I said yes, because of course this was the best thing I had ever experienced.

Then he said,

“You know I own you now. Your body, your soul—everything.”

I didn’t even argue.

As he continued,

“Now whip me while I am handcuffed.”

Being new to this, I whipped him like I was tapping him.

Then he shouted,

“No. Whip me like you own me. Whip me in the same spots where my bruises were left. Whip me like I control you.”

And then I made it louder.

Whip.

He moaned like he loved it. The satisfaction of the love in his moan made me whip him more.

And then

A sudden, violent knock exploded against the door behind me.

The sound shattered the moment like breaking glass.

We both turned.

Another knock. Harder this time. Urgent. Wrong.

His expression changed for the first time since I entered the room—not fear… but something colder. More dangerous.

Someone on the other side didn’t belong here.

And whatever is happening here was just about to end and surprisingly I didn’t want it too.