The Mafia King’s Doll

Samantha

My breaths explode over my lips as I rush to the nearest subway, and on my way home, sweat beads on my forehead as I struggle not to have a panic attack.

My fingers grip my handbag tightly, and my shoulders are hunched as I do my best to avoid the other pedestrians on the sidewalk.

When I finally reach the safety of my apartment, I make sure all five locks are in place before sinking down on one of the couches.

I cover my face with trembling hands and try to focus on taking deeper breaths.

Feeling physically ill, my entire body is coated in a fine layer of sweat. It’s been a while since I had a panic attack, and it opens the floodgates,

making the memories escape from where I keep them locked up in the darkest part of my soul.

Unable to move a muscle or make a sound, I can’t even open my eyes. I think I’m lying on my bed.

I hear movement, then Todd’s voice as he croons, “I’m never letting you go. We’re meant to be together.”

Why is he here? I was clear when I broke things off with him.

When he tried to control every aspect of my life and demanded that I have no contact with my family, I knew things would only get worse.

Why can’t I move? Why can’t I speak?

I feel the bed dip as he climbs on, and when he crawls over me, a wave of repulsion floods me.

No! I broke up with him. He has no right to be here.

His hands move over my body, and when he reaches my left side, a sharp pain slices through my skin.

Stop! Oh God. Stop!

The pain increases as he cuts into me, and a tear escapes my closed eyes.

“If you weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t be forced to brand you,” he whispers. “Don’t worry. I’m going to carve your name over my ribs, as well.”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

I shake my head hard, and darting up off the couch, I rush to the kitchen, where I pour myself a glass of water. Swallowing the tepid liquid down, it takes all my strength to force the memories back to the deepest part of my soul, where I keep them locked up.

I’m in control of my body. I can move.

I can scream for help. I’m safe.

Slowly, the panic lessens until it’s bearable, but then I’m struck with the thought that I must’ve looked a little crazy to Mr. Vitale.

Shit.

What do I say if he asks me about my odd behavior?

Dammit. I’ll just admit I was admiring his home and didn’t mean to invade his privacy. I’d rather have him berate me for snooping around than admit to him I panicked because I was surrounded by men.

Thank God I didn’t have a full-blown panic attack in front of my boss.

Checking the time on my wristwatch, I let out a groan. It’s already past six o’clock, and I barely have enough time to get ready for my appointment at Paradiso.

I should cancel. I’m not in the right frame of mind to be alone with a man in a bedroom.

No! I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am. I’m not giving up. Come hell or high water, I’m going to see this through. I’m going to regain the control that was stolen from me so I can freaking date again. There’s no way I’m becoming a spinster with twenty cats.

Adamant to go through with my plans for tonight, I walk to my bathroom and take a quick shower.

When I’ve dried my body and lathered my skin with my favorite vanilla-scented lotions, I put on my light blue pants that I always feel pretty in and complete my outfit with a silver halter top and matching high heels.

Not bothering with too much makeup, I just swipe mascara onto my lashes and add a tint of pink to my lips.

Running out of time, I grab my handbag and rush out of my apartment.

During the subway ride to the heart of Manhattan, I remain determined to go through with my plans for tonight.

You’ll be safe. There are security cameras everywhere in the club.

The thought makes me wonder how people have sex knowing there’s an entire security team watching them.

Hey, maybe it’s a turn-on for them.

The moment I leave the subway and walk toward Paradiso, my anxiety spikes.

I’m just going to spend an hour alone with a man in a bedroom. Nothing else will happen, and if the man tries something, the security guards will help me.

Nothing will go wrong.

Approaching the bouncer, I give him a nervous smile.

“Welcome, Miss Blakely,” he says as he unhooks the red rope so I can enter the club. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, and as I walk down the hallway, my stomach tightens into a painful knot.

I can do this.

I’m met by one of the staff members, and once again, the ski mask with the skull printed over the face sends a chill down my spine.

Why can’t they wear something less scary?

“Evening, Miss Blakely. Would you like to have a drink before I escort you to your room?” the same woman who welcomed me the other night asks.

“Definitely a drink first,” I say before chuckling nervously. “This way.”

I follow her to the seating area, and when I sit down on a stool at one of the round tables, I force a smile to my face.

“A server will bring you a martini,” she says before walking away. Feeling more anxious by the minute, I glance at the other members.

They’re all relaxed and seem to be enjoying themselves.

It’s just an hour with a man who won’t touch me.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

I’m a strong and confident woman.

The server brings my drink, and I quickly take hold of the glass and down half of it. As the alcohol hits my stomach, I feel queasy and leave the rest of the martini.

Getting up from the stool, I walk to the nearest staff member, whose petite frame indicates she’s a woman, and say, “I’m ready to go to the room.”

“Right this way, Miss Blakely,” the woman says.

As I follow her toward a hallway, my muscles are tense, and my stomach spins with nerves.

There’s no backing out. I can do this.

She opens a golden door, and I’m taken into a room that’s decorated in the same black and gold as the rest of the club.

My eyes land on the bed, and avoiding it, I walk toward the armchair that’s in the corner of the room.

Before I can even take a seat, a man comes in and the staff member says, “The only rule is no touching. Enjoy your time together.”

Before I can catch my bearings, she leaves us alone, and the door shuts behind her.

Oh shit.

My eyes are locked on a man who can’t be much older than me. He’s not bad-looking, which only makes me feel more nervous.

He’s taller and stronger than me.

Shit.

A smile spreads over his face as his eyes sweep over my body. “My name is Kevin. What’s yours?”

“Ah.” My tongue darts out to nervously wet my lips. “Samantha.” As my eyes dart to the door, he asks, “What do you want to do?” My gaze snaps back to him. “We can sit.”

I glance over my shoulder before I take a seat on the armchair.

Kevin plops down on the edge of the bed, and bracing his arms behind him, he stares at me as if I’m his next meal.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he says.

I glance at my wristwatch and see only five minutes have passed. Fifty- five to go.

“I’m new,” I murmur while I position my handbag on my lap.

His eyes drop to where my hands are gripping my handbag, and he lets out a chuckle. “You look tense.”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

I wrap my arms around my waist and glance at the door again.

“Are you always this quiet?” he asks as he scoots up the bed so he can lean back against the pillows.

“Yes.” Not wanting to be an absolute bitch, I force my gaze back to him and ask, “So…uhm…what do you like to do in your spare time?”

He shrugs as he crosses his ankles. “When I’m not at work, I’m here.”

Okaaaay.

Silence falls between us, and after a couple of minutes, Kevin says, “Come lie down next to me. I promise I won’t bite.” Chuckling, he adds, “Unless you ask me to.”

Yeah, that will never happen.

My arms tighten around my waist, and I shake my head. “No. I’m good here.”

He lets out a sigh, then says, “Let’s spice things up.”

I’m just about to tell him that’s not what I agreed to when he reaches for the zipper of his pants and pulls it down.

Unbearable fear and panic hit me instantly, and before he can even pull his dick out of his pants, my breaths speed up until they’re sawing over my

lips.