Mors

8

A wave of frustration washed over me, a bitter cocktail of regret, fear, and a burning sense of injustice. Maybe it was the gravity of my situation, the cold realization that I had sold my soul just to keep breathing. Maybe it was the ghosts of my past, brought back to life by the horrors of the last night. Whatever the reason, my frustration was a hot, simmering rage.

I was trapped in this hell for the rest of my life… I think. That is, if I even get to live for another day, or month, or year. Is it so strange that a day ago, I would have begged for my life, yet now, I was beginning to think death would have been the better option? The life I chose came at a price—a morally corrupt choice. Does that make me a bad person? Yes, it does. Undeniably. Unmistakably.

What am I supposed to do now? I cannot become a criminal like him. I refuse to become a devil.

Why did he choose me anyway? He had an army of men at his disposal, men who were undeniably smarter, more powerful, and more skilled than I am. So why me? The question had been gnawing at me since this morning. It couldn't be my beauty. I'm just an average, plain girl. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, truly assessing my features. Okay, maybe not average, but certainly not the most beautiful woman in the world. The only striking thing about me were my forest-green eyes with their golden flecks, a remnant of my dad. They were the only thing that stood out on my face, a small part of him I still carried with me.

The door to my room burst open, startling me out of my thoughts. "I'm here to escort you for lunch," the maid from before, the overly energetic one, announced without a hint of a knock. I frowned in irritation. Was privacy not a concept in this place?

"Can you please knock next time?" I said, forcing a tight smile. I didn't want to be a b***h, but a little courtesy would go a long way.

"Oh," she said, her cheerful expression melting into a frown. "I'm so sorry. I... it won't happen again. Please don't tell the boss about it," she whispered, her eyes wide with terror. I immediately felt a pang of sympathy. Of course. The man was beyond terrifying. I was sure even the devil himself would piss his pants if he ever faced him.

"I won't," I assured her, standing up. "Lead the way."

She turned on her heels and swayed her way into the hallway, her movements surprisingly graceful. I was amazed she hadn’t broken her legs from turning so fast. Maybe she has a lot of practice in her.

"Oh, and the boss ordered me to take you to him after lunch," she said, glancing over her shoulder. I groaned internally, already dreading another encounter with that man. I forced another smile, which I let drop the moment her back was to me. This whole charade was exhausting.

We walked down several hallways and stairs, taking so many twists and turns that I completely lost my sense of direction. Finally, we stopped in front of a massive door with gleaming gold handles. I wouldn't be surprised if they were pure gold. This whole mansion, every part of it, was a shrine to obscene wealth. The decor was flawless, the art on the walls precious.

The maid opened the door and let me in, but instead of following, she began to close it. I quickly reached out, stopping the door with my hand.

"What's your name?" I asked. She looked genuinely surprised that I had bothered to ask.

"It's Abriana," she beamed, a real, happy smile lighting up her face. I returned it with a genuine one of my own before I let her go.

"So, it's you," a voice said, and I turned in surprise. My heart skipped a beat. A woman stood there, an ethereal vision. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, a goddess with flawless mocha skin and seductive, hooded eyes. Her plump lips were painted a perfect shade of nude, and the knee-length dress she wore showed off her curves without looking cheap. She was the very definition of sophistication.

"Who are you?" I blurted out, unable to contain my curiosity. She looked far too smart, too poised to be involved in this world.

"My name's Abana," she replied, her eyes assessing me from head to toe. She gestured to the chair beside her, and I awkwardly sat down. I've never been good with people; I'm an extreme introvert, and every conversation feels a little bit like a performance.

"Do you know me?" I asked, remembering the look of recognition on her face.

"Not really, no. But you're the talk of the Costa family," she said, once again looking me up and down. Her gaze wasn't dirty or judgmental; she just looked at me as if she were trying to solve a puzzle.

"Oh," was all I could manage. The thought of being the subject of everyone's gossip was unnerving. What were they saying about me?

"I'm really curious, though," she commented, leaning in close. "How did you end up being Don's w***e?" She slapped a hand over her mouth as if she’d made a grave mistake. "Excuse my words. I meant to say, 'f**k buddy'."

"It's okay," I sighed. "And to answer your question, I'd like to know that myself." I was supposed to have a fun night out and go home before midnight. So how did I end up here, in the clutches of the mafia? It was because of my own carelessness. I should have stayed home. I should have been more careful. But I walked into my doom with my eyes wide shut.

"What do you mean?" she asked. I just smiled weakly and shook my head, not wanting to get into it.

Just then, a maid appeared as if from nowhere and served me lunch. I need to be more aware of my surroundings, I thought. If I had been, I would be dealing with a hangover in my apartment right now.

We ate in silence. She didn't ask any more questions, and I didn't try to make small talk. I kept a close eye on her from the corner of my vision. This woman was pure grace. She ate gracefully, sat gracefully, and even wiped her mouth gracefully. I wondered how long it took her to become such a perfectionist.

"You're new here, and you look like a good woman, so I will give you a piece of advice," she whispered, leaning in again. My curiosity got the better of me, and I leaned in as well.

"You look anything but willing to be here, so I'm guessing they forced you. Am I right?" she asked, her gaze pointed. I nodded.

"By now you must know you can't get out of here until you're six feet under the ground," she said, a grim truth I was already well aware of.

"The men here are not to be messed with. They're too powerful," she continued. I wanted to tell her I knew all that, but she gave me a look that silently told me to shut up.

"But you have the greatest weapon of all: your beauty and your body. You can easily bring any man here to his knees. Don will be harder, but the way to a man's heart is through his d**k. Pleasure him well, and he'll be your puppet," she said in a hushed whisper, and my ears burned at her bluntness.

"I've said enough. You're a smart woman; you'll know what to do. You can't get out of this, but you can capture the heart of the leader," she said, and with that final piece of advice, she rose and walked away gracefully, leaving me alone with my scrambled thoughts. Could I really do that? Her advice sounded so simple, but could I truly make a demon fall for me?

And what about my own happiness? Would I have to sacrifice everything just to live a slightly more peaceful life?

"Are you done?" Abriana's voice startled me, and I turned to her with a flustered look on my face.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry, I came to escort you to the capo," she apologized, giving a small bow.

"No, it's okay. It wasn't anything," I said, my mind still reeling. "Lead the way."

She led me to the fourth floor, the same one my room was on. We walked to the end of the hall, stopping at the last door. I noticed there were only three doors on this floor; mine, this one, and one other.

"Come in," a cold voice commanded from inside, and I shivered, a familiar chill running through my veins. My blood froze with fear. I was terrified of this man. I knew what he was capable of, and the fear of the unknown—of when he would snap and kill me—was a constant, silent terror.

I stepped inside alone. The room was a massive office. Shelves filled with leather-bound files lined the walls, and a large wooden desk dominated the space. Behind it, sitting in a leather chair, was the devil himself.

"Sit," he commanded. I obeyed without a second thought, my eyes fixed on him, terrified he would jump on me at any moment.

"You are free to go back to your apartment," he said in a low, even voice. My jaw dropped. I would be able to go home? Was this a sick joke? Was he toying with me? My mind raced with suspicion. There had to be a catch. I was sure I would have to pay a price to return to my own life.

~•~