C3 Owned by the Mafia Don

Proserpina

An arm of steel held me to a white shirt, the top buttons opened carelessly almost to mid-waist to reveal a perfectly muscled chest covered with curling, bristling grey hair.

I was still shaking in fear, with a reaction of horror from the situation I had barely avoided as the man spoke, in an arrogant growl, addressing someone beside him,

“Who the f*ck is this little tramp? Who allowed a juvenile wh*re into my Fight Club?”

Gasping in outrage, I looked up, straight into a pair of hard, pale eyes.

His cold eyes held contempt although he was propping me up, the hands on me like a vice. He had a shock of thick greying hair, silver at the temples and he carried an air of authority, about him. An aura of menace.

No one would call the harsh features, the square chin with the scars, the visage of a handsome man. But the aura of authority he exuded made me stop short.

The dark dinner jacket he wore was expensive and soft and the white shirt which he held me to, was crisp and fine. A shadow of a beard on his strong jaw added to the pirate-like swagger he had as he surveyed me cooly, and turned to a man beside him.

I straightened, hackles rising.

After the rough mauling I had just received and the cruel jeering, this was too much.

How dare he make fun of me, I thought furiously, near tears but refusing to give in to them.

I tried to push myself away but he held me, his stance easy but his grip painful.

Enraged, I hissed at him, before I could stop myself.

“Can you let me go, you old pervert?” I demanded imperiously, trying to stand straight and tall but I only reached up to his shoulder. One of my heels was lost too and I knew I looked a mess, barefoot and rumpled. My hair tumbled about me, the carefully pressed curls, a riot of mahogany, reaching up to my waist. My lipstick was probably smudged and God knows what my mascara was like!

His eyes raked over me, cool and amused in a disdainful way, moving over my breasts which were visible through the lacy top of the short dress. I blushed in fury and chagrin. But I knew I had annoyed him for some reason. It was there in the darkening of his pale eyes which turned a stormy gray.

Shaking me slightly, as one would do with a little puppy, I was made aware of the effortless strength of the man as he spoke to his companions in a deep growl. His eyes were on me, moving over my body, pausing on my mouth but he did not speak directly to me.

Again, he addressed the man beside him, making it seem like I was too low to be spoken to directly or just plain invisible and I saw that he had an entire entourage with him, black-suited bouncers with grim visages.

“Amusing little c*nt, isn’t she?”

And he shook me again as I gasped, gripping my shoulder strap for dear life.

Without loosening his grip on my arm, although I was struggling in earnest now, he said in a low rumble, his voice hoarse and not unpleasant, what Marianne would call a bedroom voice, rumbled,

“Little girl, it’s bedtime for you.”

A ripple of chuckles went around and I felt my face flame. And then he pushed me away, swatting my rounded behind sharply, his cold pale grey eyes narrowing dismissively as he growled,

I stumbled and almost fell onto one of the men around us as he went on, in a bored way.

“Run along back to your Daddy, little girl and su*k him off before bedtime like a nice little sl*t.”

My face burned as the men standing around guffawed, their leery eyes devouring me. The spaghetti strap on my right shoulder had broken off sometime during Mustafa’s manhandling and I was clutching my dress to my bosom desperately.

His mocking comment was the last straw and I hurled myself at the man who was already turning away dismissively. Without stopping to think, I raised my hand and slapped him as hard as I could.

*

My aunt had always sighed and said I should rein in my passions or I would end up a tramp like my mother. But I was too wrung out to control my fury now.

The man’s large hand snaked out even before I had finished and gripped my wrist in a painful hold, making me cry out as he twisted my arm behind my back. The livid red mark on his hard cheek with the light stubble, made him look dangerous although a look of astonishment and then ferocity flashed over his otherwise unemotional, granite-like features as he growled, his eyes blazing,

“Ah, little girl. You should not have done that.”

And before I knew what was happening, he turned to his men and spoke in a clipped tone.

“Tell Grant I shall see him later.”

With that, he jerked me to his body, half hauling, half dragging me out, surrounded by a tight circle of men who effectively hid me from view. The crowds automatically parted as we moved and with a sinking feeling, I comprehended belatedly, that he was someone important.

Folks were scared of him, I thought, my heart sinking to my toes. It was in the way they glanced away and then, lowered their eyes deferentially before stepping back.

I tried to speak, swallowing hard as I was pulled along by the resolute man beside me.

“I…I am sorry…” I panted and he flicked me a look, a hot burning look that made me bite my lip hard.

“You don’t know sorry, little girl,” he murmured silkily and I felt a deep fear in my belly at his words.

What had I got myself into?

*