The Mafia's Captive✔️

Chapter 2

I'm continually dragged down empty hallways by the very pissed off bleeding man, who grips me tightly. My wrist feels as if it's going to break, but I don't show him that I'm in pain. He, however, doesn't think like me, and touches his open wounds, hissing at the pain that he is causing himself and grips me even tighter as punishment. I try and fail numerous times to wriggle free, but a loud growl and my arm about to break causes me rethink the move, so instead walk obediently behind him to my possible death. He drags me for another 10 minutes, down numerous passageways and halls, until we get to 2 large doors. They're a dark red oak, almost black, and he knocks three times.

"You are hurting me" I hiss, no longer able to withstand the pain, but he just grins and holds me even tighter, which I didn't think was possible. We stand in silence for a moment longer, my heartbeat and heavy breathing filling the silence in my ears until a loud and deep voice with a slight accent calls out from inside the room.

"Enter"

My injured opponent opens the door, dragging me behind him, and I barely have a chance to look at my surroundings when he marches me to the centre of the room and throws me on the floor. I look up at the man I had a fight with, giving him the nastiest stare that I can muster. The adrenaline and possibility of my death makes me brazen so I stand, squaring up to him.

"Ow. That-"

Thwack.

I get a sharp blow to my head, adding to a pounding headache that I'm already dealing with.

"You-"

Thwack.

I get yet another blow to the head, making me growl angrily.

"Have some fucking respect, you bitch" he spits at me, and I growl again.

"Respect has to be earned" I reply coolly, giving him evils once again as his reaction shows that I've got to him.

Thwack.

"You hit like a fucking bitch" I hiss, rubbing my head with the repeated blows.

I see his hand raised and is about to hit me again, and I'm about to fight back and risk everything but a voice stops us both.

"Enough"

The voice is manly, deep, and smooth, with an Italian accent. Something pulls inside me, and I feel compelled to look up. When I do, I wish I haven't as stood before me, is an Italian God.
But even that does not do him enough justice. A shaped stubble covers his sharp jawline, plump lips set in a frown. A slightly crooked nose, and nice eyebrows. His black hair is thick and long at the top, but short at the sides, peppered with grey. My eyes finally meet his and the breath is truly knocked from my lungs. Green eyes stare into my own, and I feel as if they are staring into me. I'm in complete shock as I don't expect a mobster to look anything like he does, imagining instead a portly middle aged bald man like the one I had a fight. But the shockingly attractive mobster doesn't take his eyes away from staring into mine, and pulls out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up. Our eye contact still never breaks, even when he exhales a large puff of smoke. He takes a seat, and I watch his every move. I feel immediately like the prey, with him stalking around me, knowing that he is in for the kill but enjoying the panic that he is causing me. I try not to show it and regain my composure, steeling my face.

"Now, Brooklyn;" he says my name while flicking ash onto the floor, and the way that my name dances on his lips as it leaves his mouth pulls on my insides "it seems that you have been sticking your nose in my business. I don't like people who stick their noses in my business" he narrows his eyes at me when he starts a new sentence, and I want to roll my eyes at his scare tactics.