Forbidden Claim: A Mafia King’s Obsession

Chapter 25: Dinner

Nadia’s POV

The water of the shower is hot and feels like needles against my bruised skin. I scrub my body with aggression, using the expensive, floral scented body wash until my skin turns a raw, angry red. I try to wash away the the sensation of Lorenzo’s rough fingers on my body. I want to wash away the lingering ache on my neck, the bergamot and tobacco smell of him, and the crushing weight of my helplessness. But no matter how hard I scrub, the memory remains buried into my skin.

I step out and walk to the bathroom mirror, but it is completely fogged. I wipe a patch clean with my palm, staring at my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot, one side of my cheek bear red marks from Lorenzo’s slap earlier, my lips slightly swollen and my neck bears a deep red and painful mark from his bite earlier.

Look presentable.

His words echo in my mind, a sad bitter laugh escapes my lips as I walk into the massive walk-in closet. I haven’t seen Clara. I guess it’s his orders for her not to come. I stare at the extravagant, revealing dresses Lorenzo’s staff has stocked up the closet with. I choose a high-neck, long sleeve dress that perfectly covers the bruise on my throat. I dry my hair, leaving it down to fall on my hips, then I arrange my bangs properly.

I walk to the dresser and pick up a concealer, I’ve never liked makeup but I need to conceal the marks of his hand on my face. I apply a little, letting it hide the marks. When I am done, I light up a weak smile.

Leaving the safety of my room feels like walking into a battlefield. Every step down the grand staircase makes my knees feel weak but I keep steady, forcing my legs forward. I walk into the dining hall as the guards open the heavy double doors for me. Sitting at the head of the table is Lorenzo, looking perfectly put together in a crisp black shirt.

At his right sits an older woman, probably in her late forties, with a striking similar facial features with Lorenzo. Having seen her a couple of times on the news before Lorenzo kidnapped me, I get to know her name is Francesca. The moment I step into the room, the temperature drops instantly.

“Ah,” Francesca says, her voice smooth dripping with venom, she doesn’t rise or look away from the wine glass until I am halfway to the table. When she finally looks up, her eyes are sharp like ice spikes. “So, this is the sudden, inconvenient addition to our family.”

I pull out a chair, leaving as much distance from Lorenzo as possible. A maid immediately rushes forward and pours a deep red wine into my glass. The smell of food makes my stomach churn, but I force my hands to remain steady.

“Leave it, Mother,” Lorenzo says, his voice a low, warning purr. His focus has been on his plate, not sparing me a glance since I sat down.

“Leave it?” Francesca out a sharp, mocking laugh. She sets down her glass with a sharp, precise clink against the marble. “How could you, Lorenzo? You married a woman of no social standards. Without a phone call. Without an introduction. Without a single word to the woman who gave birth to you.”

She leans forward, the light of the chandelier catching the predatory lines of her face. “I had to hear about this bullshit marriage from an outsider. Do you have any idea how that makes me look? Do you have any idea how that makes this family look?”

“I don’t give a f**k how it makes you look, mother,” Lorenzo says with a bored tone. Though a muscle in his jaw twitches. “I did what I had to do.”

“And what exactly is that?” her gaze drifts to me, scanning me with absolute disgust. “I can see she’s got the beauty of a goddess. But she is way below your status, Lorenzo. You could have married into the Moretti, the Bianchi, or better still the Stanfords. Instead, you drag this into my home?”

I can see the frustration playing in her eyes. She definitely doesn’t know. She has no idea why her son married me.

“What are you playing at, Lorenzo?” she demands, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Did she bewitch you or something? Or have you finally lost your mind?”

Lorenzo finally looks up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. The intensity in his stare makes the air in room thin in an instant. “She is my wife. That is all the explanation you are entitled to.”

“She is a secret,” Francesca snaps. “Secrets are dangerous. If you are keeping her simply because you… want her,” she gestures at me with manicured fingers, as if I am an insect she is disgusted to be near to. “Then you are a slave to your impulses.”

“I am the Don,” Lorenzo reminds her, his voice a low rumble but radiating with absolute authority. “My impulses are the law. You will treat my wife with the respect befitting of her status, or you will not dine at this table.”

Why does he defend me in front of his mother? He hates me so much that drawing blood from me gives him so much pleasure… so why?

Francesca’s lips thin into a bloodless line. She looks at me and I can see the raw, undiluted hatred burning beneath her gaze.

“Respect?” she scoffs. “She is a girl with trembling eyes and is currently shaking in her seat! Respect is earned, Lorenzo. What exactly has she done to earn it?”

“Enough,” Lorenzo snaps, slamming his down against his porcelain plate with a loud, echoing clink. The absolute authority in his voice makes the temperature in the room drop to zero degrees. He then turns his dark, evil gaze to me, his eyes tracking the stiff line of my shoulders. “Eat your dinner, piccola.”

“I am not hungry,” I say calmly, staring right back into his monstrous eyes, refusing to back down, even though I am shaking uncontrollably.

His jaw tightens, a muscle leaping in his cheek. Before he can speak further, the heavy oak doors of the dining hall swings open. Victor rushes inside, giving a brief bow to Francesca then walking to the head of the table and whispers into Lorenzo’s ears.

I watch as Lorenzo’s expression shifts from irritated to icy and murderous.

“When?” he asks, his voice dangerously soft.

“Ten minutes ago, Don. They sent a message. They found the body of the rat you disposed. They say it is a declaration of war.”

Francesca’s expression hardens as she sets down her wine glass. “Lorenzo…”

He ignores her and stands up, his towering frame instantly dominating the room. He fixes his cufflinks, the aura of the cold, lethal Don snapping back into place. He looks down at me, his eyes boring holes into mine with an unreadable expression.

“Stay in this room with my mother,” Lorenzo commands. “Do not move. Viktor, double the guards in the perimeter. If anyone as much as breathe close to this estate without my permission, shoot to kill.”

“Yes, Boss,” Viktor replies, drawing out his weapon and following behind Lorenzo out of the room. The door slams shut, leaving me alone with the mother of the cold, calculating monster who owns me.

“Well… well, ” Francesca turns her gaze back to me, a cold, mocking smile stretching across her lips. “It seems like your new life is bound to be a very short, bloody one, Nadia.”