Mafia Boss’s Arranged Bride by Bella King

Preview of Babies for the Mafia Boss

Wilde

Blurred dots of light dance through the pores of the burlap covering my head, but it’s not enough to see the man they just killed.

It could’ve been Igor by the earthy thud of the heavy body falling, but it’s more likely that it was one of the others. They’ll kill anyone who doesn’t carry the mark of the Bandakov Family. They need us alive if they are to hold us for ransom.

Once they get the money, however, all bets are off. Torture, castration, and a slow death await anyone who falls prey to these men. They’re inspired by the cartel, but they’re always looking to outdo them.

Some are afraid of them, but I’m not. I only fear God, but today I have him on my side.

Well… God and the blade I have hidden under my tongue.

The doors to the van close and the little dots of light disappear. I prefer the darkness. For regular people, it levels the playing field, but for me, it gives me the advantage.

I no longer feel pain in my mouth as I maneuver the blade out from under my tongue and clench it between my front teeth. Most of my mouth is numb from when I got hit with the back of a rifle, jammed the blade into my gums and the underside of my tongue.

Pain has never meant much to me anyway. Death is the only thing that can stop me, and while I’ve served it up cold to many men, I’ve yet to experience it personally.

And I won’t today.

Dust and rocks are kicked back by the tires, filling the van with so much noise that I can barely hear myself think, but I’ve done this kind of shit enough times to not have to use my brain. It’s all instinct.

The Romano Family’s hired muscle should’ve tied my hands with something more substantial than ropes, but they didn’t anticipate my next moves. In fact, they don’t even know who I am, and that I will be their death sentence.

Unlike my captors, I’m not keen on taking prisoners.

I slip the razor out from my mouth and hold it tightly between my teeth, repeatedly moving my head from left to right to cut a slit in the bag covering my face. I move only my head, keeping the rest of my body rigid as not to jostle myself around and alert the other prisoners.

I recognize some of them by the sound of their breath and the sweat-infused cologne. They were caught off guard and captured, giving them no time to hide who they were. Funny enough, that’s the only thing keeping them alive.

Bandakovs are valuable, making them prime ransom, but they’re also dangerous, which makes them not worth capturing for most criminal organizations. The Romano Family has gotten big head as of late, and they’ve overstepped their power. I’m about to show them why you don’t mess with a Bandakov.

I let the blade drop through the hole I made in my face covering, feeling the thin metal dance across my lap. It almost falls to the floor, but I raise my knee up just in time to keep it from getting lost.

I’m sure someone else here has a plan to escape, but I’m going to beat them to the punch. I always had to be first at everything. There’s no room for second in the Mafia.

My hands can’t reach all the way to my lap from behind me, but I can twist them to the side of my thigh and drop the blade over the edge. The maneuver is quick, and I catch the blade between the knuckles of my first and middle fingers as I pretend to scratch my legs and adjust my posture.

The blade is sharp enough to cut the ropes, but it will take a few minutes of subtle sawing to get all the way through. I popped it out of a dollar-store razor this morning before heading off to one of the worst parts of Southern Italy to get myself caught.

It was a pleasant surprise that I was thrown in the same van as others in the Bandakov Family. I was expecting a beating and a few days of imprisonment before I was carted off to an undisclosed location to be processed with the others they captured three days ago, but I seem to have caught them at the right time.

I smile to myself, dried blood cracking at the sides of my mouth as the pressure on my wrists is released.

I’m free.

The blade has done its first duty, but I like to get my money’s worth. Razor blades were made for shaving, and that’s what this one is about to do.

“I need to take a fucking piss,” I announce suddenly, barking the words in the direction of the driver while trying to make my voice sound as unfamiliar as possible to the others in the van. I need to keep my cover until the very last second.

I get no answer from the front, but I figured I wouldn’t. The road is loud enough to cover most of the noise, and the driver isn’t here to serve me. He’d rather see me soil myself than take a quick leak outside.

“Hey, bitch motherfucker,” I yell, this time much louder.

I get a nudge from the guy beside me. “Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.

I chuckle. “Whatever the fuck I want,” I reply. “Just chill. This has nothing to do with you.”

In fact, it does. The man beside me is Anatoli, a key member of the Bandakov Family. He, along with Igor and Vlad, are coming with me once I stop this van. The others can go free, but I doubt they’ll last long out here. There’s nowhere to run.

I slam my foot into the bed of the van, causing a thundering metallic boom. I do it twice more before shouting obscenities in Italian at the driver. It’s only then that the van swerves to the side and decelerates so fast that it sends me toppling over against Anatoli.

“You fucking idiot,” Anatoli groans. “You’re going to get us all killed.”

“Just watch and learn,” I reply, sitting up as the door to the back of the van flies open.

I reach my hands up to my mask, slicing the mouth hole larger and tearing my head through it so that I can see.

At this point, the driver already knows there’s a problem, but I don’t let him react. I spring up off the bench in the back, diving out of the van at him with the blade clenched between my thumb and first finger.

A shank needs to be at least two inches to be lethal in a stabbing, but it’s amazing what you can do with a shorter piece of metal if you’re creative enough. My first choice is to go for the eyes since most people aren’t able to fight blind.

I leap onto the driver of the van like a spider monkey, slashing at his eyes as he stumbles backward. There will be another coming around the van now that he realizes there’s trouble, but I’ve already done enough damage to the first one to take care of further threats.

The hot summer air drenches me with so much sweat that the blade starts to slip out of my grip as I’m tearing up the driver’s eyes.

I grab his mouth, squeezing his jaw so hard that I hear a pop as it dislocates. His lips part as he lets out a cry of agony, and I take the opportunity to shove the razor down into his throat.

I hop off, snatching his rifle in the same movement.

While he’s clawing at his throat and coughing up blood, I turn my attention to the next threat. I aim my newly acquired rifle at him, but not in time to prevent him from pulling the trigger to his pistol from around the rear bumper.

I feel the punch of a .45 against my shoulder, and pain shoots up my neck.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

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