Mated To The Mafia Boss

Inside a sleek black Maserati Quattroporte, a man in his late forties sat in the backseat, his fingers clenched around a blood-stained knife. The car sped through the dark streets, engine sounding like a predator purring under its breath. The scent of blood clung to the leather interior, sharp and metallic, as fresh as the deed he had just committed. A fresh wound marked the moment behind him, but his face wore a disturbing mix of satisfaction and rage. The tension in his jaw revealed more than he intended. His breath was slow, deliberate, as though forcing control over a mind on the brink. The city outside passed in a blur, neon lights, rain-slicked streets, and the occasional shadow that melted into the night but he saw none of it. His world had shrunk to this car, this moment, and the chaos unraveling in his chest. In his other hand was a folded letter, its edges crumpled, smudged with red. The blood had soaked into the paper, faint fingerprints marking its surface like ghosts. He stared at it for a long moment, unmoving. There was something in the silence, maybe an anticipation, a decision yet to be made. Finally, he unfolded it. The handwriting was rushed. Uneasy. But the message was clear. “The Black Vein group is being run by one of your closest allies. You need to tread carefully. I’m not writing this out of loyalty, but I’m writing it because someone has to warn you. Infiltrate your circle. Learn who belongs to you… and who’s already turned against you. The man behind Black Vein isn’t just a threat. He’s a bastard exiled by his own father. Ruthless. Hidden. Dangerous. More than you know.” He read the lines once, then again, slower. Each sentence landed like a weight on his chest. Betrayal wasn’t new to him, but it came from someone he doesn't expect , but this one… this was close. Too close. His secret had been tight, nobody knew about his story. He built his secret for a long time with nobody knowing about it . And now, that foundation was shifting, it has been leaked. He folded the letter slowly. Tight. His jaw clenched. The knife in his hand dripped again. A soft plip as fresh blood landed on the pristine car floor. It crawled toward the stitching, seeping into the carpet like a secret being swallowed whole. He glanced at the blood still dripping from the knife onto the car floor. “No one dares uncover my secret,” he muttered, his voice low with menace. There was no hesitation in his voice. No remorse. Secrets had built his life , but they had also demanded sacrifices. The man who had tried to expose him had done so out of some naïve sense of justice. He should’ve known better. In this world, truth didn’t protect you. It made you a target. His lips curled into a sneer. “He got what he deserved… for trying to blow the whistle on me.” He let the knife fall to the seat beside him, then leaned back, eyes narrowing as he gazed ahead. The city lights reflected off the glass, but his mind was already somewhere else, the next target.