Bred In Violence (A Mafia Romance Book One) #𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝟏

Chapter 51

The mafia is like a social network. Every don in the world will know within minutes if I'm in a war with any head of a particular family, making you a pawn in their narrative. Some will save you so I can owe them a favor, and my enemies will want you for a different reason. 

"How do they even know about me?"

Oh, they do. All of them know everything about you, from the size of your shoes. 

"The number that you gave me is he a friend of yours?"

No! Never trust anyone from my world except Romano, Bruno, and father José. Nobody else!

"Then why do you want him to help me?"

Because he owes me his life, after that, we are even. Saving you will be the equalizer. 

"How can you be sure he will honor it?"

Because he is honor-bound to repay me, it's a debt he is required to repay whether he wants to or not. We do not trust motives, but debts are always settled. 

"Will I be safe with him?" 

Yes. Completely safe, otherwise if anything happens to you while you're under his protection, it will undermine his power. And that is one thing a mafia don across the world is afraid of; to be perceived as weak. 

It was rather unnerving to know my image had been distributed, passed over to, and by people I knew nothing about.  Faceless men, most of them dangerous like those who'd kidnapped me gawking or planning to use me against Raphael exactly as Alberto had done.  

I wasn't going to let him win; Raphael said I was strong. I needed to believe that to get myself through the next hours or days. 

It was terrifying; my heart beat with fear and wariness but my need to survive beat the loudest. Suddenly, I heard a twitch, like someone behind me had stepped on dried leaves; I broke out in a run without looking back, I have no idea where I got the strength, but I run. 

Run, cara run.  

I imagined I heard Raphael cheering me on; I run until my boobs started feeling the agony of too much bouncing, run to a point I couldn't anymore. Breathing heavily, I turned around, looking behind me as my right hand clung to my chest—like I was preventing my heart from popping out, but as luck or God could have it, I heard a gentle honing of a car from a distance, all I needed to do was find my way to that. 

I wasn't sure if there was a person or persons behind me or just an animal, but I didn't want to risk it. I learned being terrified was a catalyst to walking miles and running through unfamiliar territories, looking for an exit that would finally take me to meet up with someone who can at least help me make the one phone call that could get me out of this horror all while still scared.

I felt like I was living in a nightmare, wishing that I could wake up soon. But this wasn't a nightmare; this was my real life. I was on the run for my life.

The sun was starting to set slowly, ushering more friendly shots of ray; the back of my top felt cooler, but I could still feel a huge wet part of it clinging to my skin. I reeked of sweat and dirt, and my mouth felt bitter and unpleasant.

The edges of my hair danced to the motion of the wind, caressing my cheeks tempting me into forgetting, albeit for a few minutes, that I was in danger.

I had walked for a while now, still hearing the screeching and honing of cars from a distance. 

But then I heard it again, the squashing of dried leaves; this time, it was definitely a large foot; I couldn't have mistaken it for an animal. This was a man, a big man. For a few minutes, I remained cool, but I could feel my heart thudding; the mere act of breathing in and out became an ordeal, my lungs felt starved for air, the speed in which my heart raced surpassed a race car.

Unfortunately, a scared human being acquired numerous powers, none of which was flying, just surviving on adrenaline alone. The next time I heard the sound again was the same time I came by the highway. It was also the moment I realized he was right behind me; he probably had been for a long time. He just wanted to know how long it would take for me to collapse, and I almost did.

I jumped over a ditch squealing in pain as I felt the joints in my whole body protesting. If I made out of this alive, there was a high chance I wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow.

"Give up, Sophie; it's over now."

I heard a voice coming from behind me. I almost did give up, the exhaustion, the hunger, and the uncertainty almost caused me to give up, but that meant there was a higher possibility he would rape me countless times and then pass me over to the others of his ilk once he tired of me before placing me in the black market to be bind over like ivory or illegal war weapons.

That wouldn't be my fate; I couldn't allow that to be my fate. I jumped again, this time in the center of moving traffic. They honed at me, but I didn't care. One driver pulled over and asked whether I wanted a lift, but one of Raphael's rules was never to use private transport. But all the cars seemed to be private; there was no bus stop or train insight; I contemplated breaking that rule. However, the guy had an unsettling look in his eyes, so I continued walking through the small space that separated the traffic lanes and respectfully declined.

I knew I needed to get into a car soon. I needed to create a huge distance between me and the guy on my trail who was waiting patiently to pounce on me at the first opening, just like a predator lying in wait for its prey. I knew he was buying himself time, but I would rather have one of the moving cars hit me instead of letting him have me.

 Walking through the narrow path separating traffic lanes in plain view of motorists even though they still honed felt safe, grateful there was no cop in sight.

Avoid drawing any attention to yourself that may cause a cop or any government department to get involved. But, if you cannot get help any other way, get to the nearest precinct and say you're lost, request them to give you a phone to call for help. This should be your last recourse when you're left with no other choice. The mafia and the law are two parallel organizations, and we like it that way.

Luckily, one woman offered me a lift, it was still private transport, but she carried two sleeping babies strapped in the back seat.

What could go wrong? I thought.

Sliding in on the passenger's door, murmuring gratitude incoherently in a dog-tired voice, I looked at her and smiled.

"Are you lost?" She asked softly, in English. Her voice was soft and welcoming. I felt myself relax as the traffic started to move faster, resting my head on the seat, my eyes drooping, though how I could even entertain the thoughts of sleep while my life hangs in the balance was beyond me.

We drove in silence after I requested her to drop me in the next town. I had no idea whether there was a town or village, but I needed to get a phone quickly.

Maybe I should borrow hers.

Before I could, I felt a cold, hard, metallic thing on my elbow, and I knew it was a gun. The first time and the first rule I had disregarded was about to get me killed.

The mafia had women? Raphael failed to mention this!

"Stay put, or the next bullet is going through your skull. And trust me, no one would hear it. This-"She paused, her eyes darting at the gun, "Is a silencer."

"What do you want from me?" My voice shook, my eyes fixed on hers. I was proud of myself—to be able to stare at her while my whole body trembled in fear.

"You know, it was a shock on all over us when we heard Boselli was living with a woman. I mean, this is a man who has a whore in every city in the world."

She was enjoying the fear she was inflicting on me; the discomfort and the hurt my eyes must have reflected at the mention of the other women in his life, especially since finding out I wasn't the only one triggered the anger and the hurt that drove me to this nightmare.

The wound was still fresh, and this woman enjoyed adding salt to it, inflaming the anger I felt at Raphael.

If I died today, I would die still viciously mad at him and heartbroken.

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