The Mafia And His Obsession: Part 1 by Lylah James

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9

 

 

Her

 

I felt his groan against my skin as he pushed inside of me again. My body wasn’t my own as he used me as his toy.

For a brief moment, I fantasized. I replaced the image of Valentin with someone else. Someone who actually cared about me.

Instead of taking me against my will, he was making love to me. I thought of a man who loved me.

Closing my eyes, I imagined someone younger than my husband. I imagined someone handsome. Strong. Beautiful. Someone worthy of my love.

Instead of leaving scars, the man was filling me with hope.

The fingers that were touching me caressed my skin softly.

The lips touching my neck were whispering sweet words.

Each thrust into my body, he was making sweet love to me.

I imagined a future where instead of getting raped, I was being loved. Instead of living in fear, I was carefree and smiling. I imagined it all.

And in my dreams, the handsome man looked very much like the man behind the doors that separated us.

A small glimpse. One look. Our gazes connected and it felt like the world had stilled for a moment.

Then it was gone. The moment broken when I remembered the rules.

But those eyes stayed with me longer. The look he gave me, one which was very different from what I was used to, it stayed with me even after he was gone.

But just like the doors that separated us, we were two worlds apart. Just a far away look that haunted me since then, but a look I had to forget.

Fingers bit into my hips, causing me to hiss in pain. My eyes snapped open to see Valentin glaring down at me. His anger caused my insides to tremble, knowing whatever pain was coming next would be ten times worse.

“When I am fucking you, I want your eyes on me,” he growled, thrusting harder. “Remember who owns you, little girl.”

I will never forget. Not when you remind me every day.

No words. No sounds were made from me. He craved my pain, my tears, he wanted my voice—to hear me scream. But he took that away from me long ago.

He took everything…until I had nothing left. Yet it was never enough for him.

I was owned. Never an equal.

A payment to a debt that couldn’t be repaid.

A sacrifice from my part—I just didn’t realize that this sacrifice would cost me everything. Until it was too late.

Now, I just had to stay alive and bear the pain. I just had to survive. Just breathe. As long as I was breathing, they were safe.

I was just unwilling collateral in this game of war and revenge. A battle I wanted no part of. Just like they said, everything is fair in love and war.

Only difference, this was just war. No love. No emotions. Just bloodshed and pain along the way, until one person was sitting on the mighty throne.

My head snapped to the side, my mind freezing and thoughts scattering as the slap brought me back to the present. I tasted blood on my tongue, and the corner of my lips stung, proof enough that he had hurt me, made me bleed.

His hand wrapped around my neck, his strength undeniable even in his old age. My eyes widened as his fingers tightened around my throat, blocking my air passage. I struggled for air, my vision blurred from the lack of oxygen.

I clawed at his hand, desperate to break free.

I can’t breathe! I screamed in my head.

Seconds passed as he continued to thrust into my body, scarring me inside and out. The hold around my neck only became worse with each hard thrust as he picked up his pace. His release was close and he used me as his toy.

The last thing I saw was his face tightening, his head thrown back in pleasure as he came inside my unwilling body. My vision faded into nothingness.

A black void pit as I fell deeper and deeper into the darkness before hitting the bottom, my body in shambles, broken and bleeding.

A sacrifice. Every day was a sacrifice. I accepted death so they could live.

The next time my eyes opened, my mind felt numb. My body was hurting, sore in all places, and I knew it was marked with my husband’s sadistic pleasure. Just the way he loved it.

I blinked against the sun, showing me that it was morning already. Another daylight in the darkness of my world.

I tried to move, but my throat closed up as pain racked my body, and I trembled, feeling both cold and too hot. One second it felt like I was burning from the inside and then it felt like I had been dumped into freezing water.

I gritted my teeth against the pain and forced myself to move. My naked body pressed against the mattress, and I bit on my lips, holding back my cries.

The tears were silent on my bruised cheeks, and I swiped them away.

No tears, honey. They won’t get you anywhere. They make you weak.

The voice rung through my ears like the words were being spoken to me right in this moment. Except they were the words by my mother—from the very last time I saw her.

She had held me in her arms and cried while telling me to never shed tears.

Don’t cry. Be strong. Promise me you will be strong.

Stupid words that held no meaning. How could I be strong when I was not even my own anymore?

She had forced me to walk away with my head held high, like I was a Queen, not someone meant for sacrifice.

After struggling out of bed, I didn’t bother to clothe my naked body. Instead, I limped into the bathroom, my body ravaged in the worst way possible. I knew when I looked into the mirror, I would see the damaged girl with no dreams or hopes left.

A pretty face with an empty soul. Eyes with no life, just staring, just observing, just living.

The door closed behind me, and I locked it, safe in my sanctuary. At least here, he wouldn’t follow me. It was a place where I could hide and try to clean my body the only way I could. Wash away my shame as I cried silent tears. Bathe myself while hoping I could bathe away the pain.

My eyes met my reflection in the mirror, and I smiled.

Just like I predicted. My reflection told the real story. My reality.

I walked closer, my fingers softly touching my face where my husband had bruised me. The touch moved to my swollen lips where he had hit me. The blood had dried, but it was still aching.

My gaze followed down the length of my neck, the red marks now slowly turning a deep shade of green and red. I touched the skin but winced at how sore and sensitive it felt.

He tried to strangle me for disobeying him.

When I am fucking you, I want your eyes on me.

I wished I was blind; at least then I didn’t have to look at his face and relive my nightmare every time. At least then, I could just stare into the darkness and act like this was just a bad dream.

I huffed a small laugh from my chest and then flinched. Giving myself a final look, I walked into the shower and turned on the water.

It cascaded around me, falling like beautiful waterfall. I reveled in the freshness and soothing rhythm, closing my eyes and just enjoying this slight touch of happiness.

I didn’t care how long I stood there, but by the time I walked out, my skin was red from the hot water and I was no longer cold. Instead, I felt warm, like I was almost floating.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Another smile touched my face. Valentin could try however much he wanted, but he would never own my soul.

I might have felt like an empty shell inside, but I was still living.

He could break me every day, but the fact that I was still breathing proved I was strong. He would break me and then I would stand up again.

He would rape me but I would clean my body of his filth.

At the end of the day, I was winning this game. His game was to break me. He did break me. Every day. But because my will power—my will to protect them was stronger than his will to break me. I was still alive because of it.

I will live. And I will protect. I was born to protect. I was born for this. And I will die only when I have fulfilled my duties.

After drying my body, I wore another black dress—clothes he had custom made for me. To hide my body for any other eyes. After all, I was only his.

I looked into the mirror and laughed silently. How stupid. How foolish. His own actions contradicted him.

He clothed me so that nobody could see me, yet he would take me in front of his friends. A prize he won so he would celebrate to show his victory.

I combed my hair, watching the silky strands flow behind my back after I was done. The marks he left me were now hidden.

We were back to being the perfect couple. Perfect wife. Perfect husband. Perfect life.

Only problem—the mirror showed our reality. I had the sudden urge to break it into pieces. An act of rebellion, just for a moment I wanted to show my anger. I wanted to take it out. I wanted to see the scattered pieces on the floor—just like the scattered pieces of my life.

Instead of doing just that, I took a step away. And another. I kept moving back until the door was against my back.

An act of rebellion meant more pain. Not just for me.

So I didn’t let my anger out. I reined it in, deep inside of me, locking it there, hiding it. With another glance, I walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom again.

My eyes moved around the bedroom, everything polished and perfect. Except the bed.

Taking a deep breath, I fixed it and made it perfect—just like everything.

The sun shone into the room, bathing it with warmth. I craved to feel it on my skin yet here I was, trapped inside with just a glimpse.

I shook the thought from my head before taking my wool and knitting materials in my hand. Sitting on the chair that faced the window, I started knitting.

A shawl for my sister.

The closet to my left was filled with them. Shawls with different colors. Different patterns. All for my sister. And every night I dreamed of giving them to her—a token of my love. To show her my love without being able to say the words.

To silently tell her that she was my heart and how I wished I could have hugged her one last time.

Every day I missed her. But every day I was thankful that it was me, not her. Every day I sent a silent prayer and thanked God that Valentin chose me.

At least then my little sister could live a normal life. A happy life.

My gaze moved across the room, where the nightstand stood beside the bed. I smiled, knowing what was in the drawer.

A photo of her. Her beautiful smile. Her twinkling eyes. The sun shining on her face as she stared into the camera.

But then I lost that smile, when I remembered how I got the photo.

Another nightmare. Another day spent with the Devil.

Every year he would show me a picture of my family—for me to see that they were happy and healthy. To show my sacrifice was not for nothing.

And every year, I only had five minutes to stare at those pictures before they were ripped away from my hands, never to be seen again.

I only had five minutes to see my family. I only had five minutes to see their smiles.

But a few years ago, one look at my happy sister, I couldn’t let her go. Five minutes wasn’t enough.

So I begged. I begged so much. So hard. I cried, my cheeks pressed against his feet, begging. My heart cracked open as I hoped for his mercy.

But every gift meant that something was taken away from me. That night, I gave him my submission willingly so he could let me keep my sister. I submitted, gave him my body and soul.

He asked me to suck his cock; I did. He came into my mouth, his cum dripping down my body as he watched in depraved lust. He marked my body with his filth, branding me as his slave.

He asked me to open my legs wide so he could fuck me; I did. I spread them open and welcomed him into my body.

He asked me to parade around his friends with his cum dripping down between my legs; I did as I was commanded.

He asked me to be on my knees as he fucked my ass raw, and I went on my knees just like he wanted. While he fucked me again, causing me to cry out in pain, his friends shot their cum on my skin.

Their moans and groans could still be heard in my ears as if it was just minutes ago. Their laughter was haunting, just like my broken cries were melodious to them.

That night, I let my husband do every depraved thing he wanted to my body. I let him abuse me—I let him own me, willingly.

That night, I became what he wanted. A disgusting whore. A filthy slave. A pet who did as she was commanded.

But it was all worth it in the end. Because by early morning, when he had enough fun, he left the room.

Not before throwing my sister’s picture next to my ravaged, broken body.

I remembered holding it in my hand so gently as I caressed her face. It was mine to keep. I had fought for it, and I won.

The drawer kept my sister safe, and I smiled yet again.

I miss you.

I continued knitting while dreaming that one day, one day I would be united with her. With my family.

One day, I would be able to give her these shawls.

One day, I would no longer hold a picture, but I would hold her in my arms.