C4 Owned by the Mafia Don

Proserpina

We entered a small cage-like elevator hidden by heavy red drapes that whisked us upstairs. All the while the man kept me imprisoned, his large hand trapping my arm painfully behind my back and I breathed shakily. I glanced fearfully at the man and his companions, with their blank faces, who were behaving as though it was normal for their boss to whisk a girl into an elevator and drag her to some unknown destination.

Suddenly, we were upstairs and I blinked, completely disoriented by the change of scene. The entire corridor we had emerged into, was carpeted richly, in dull browns and maroon, the wood-panelled walls giving it a classy finish. Doors led off from the corridor but every wooden door was shut. The silence was also a sophisticated one, I thought hysterically as he dragged me along.

It was entirely different from the raw, almost violent atmosphere of the large fighting club we had just left. The sights, the smells of that virile, primitive place were preferable to this cold, sterile atmosphere where anything could happen. And no one would hear me if I screamed.

I barely caught a glimpse of my surroundings before the man who was holding me dragged me to a large door at the end of the corridor. And then, he had shut the door in the face of his companions as he flung me into the room.

Landing on the rich beige carpet which was so thick, I almost sank in it, I glared at him, furious but he ignored me and stalked over across the room. Undignified though I felt, I was too angry to stop to think. In all my eighteen years, I had never had such a horrible day and believe me, I have seen plenty.

“Wh…where …have you brought me?” I cried shrilly, my voice shaking with fear.

The man strode over to a bar that ran the length of one wall and casually poured himself a generous drink. The room was large and dominated by a huge walnut desk that stood before windows that probably had a spectacular view of the city. I gulped as I realised that we were on one of the top floors of a building and the Fight Club I had been in was way below.

“No need to get our knickers in a twist, little sl*t,” he growled, without looking my way,

“This is my office above the Fight Club, where I sometimes enjoy a good f*ck,” he went on indifferently, glancing at me in a cool, dismissive way, after taking another swallow from a tumbler. His look suggested that I was something disgusting which the cat had brought in and he had no intention of doing THAT with as insignificant a being as me.

Furiously, I scrambled to my feet as he turned away indifferently and poured another draught from the crystal decanter.

Breathing heavily, I cursed my foolishness.

Could it get any worse?

*

I was in the inner rooms of one of the scariest Fight Clubs in the city of Charlesville and I had entered it in the most humiliating way ever.

The salt and pepper head of the man who had whisked me here gleamed in the muted overhead lights.

Tentatively, I looked about me, rubbing my arm where he had gripped me so tightly. The entire den was done up sparsely, in dark shades of brown to match the heavy wooden furniture; the table that seemed to dominate the room, the comfortable looking leather chair where the man apparently sat, the beige carpet, soft under my bare feet and the heavy beige and brown curtains that shut out the world. The bottles of expensive whiskey lining the wall on one side twinkled dangerously at me.

Suddenly, the door was flung open and a striking blonde woman rushed in, her hair in a tight bob around her beautifully shaped head, her blue eyes wide with apprehension and something else. She was quite a few years older than me but looked vaguely familiar though how it would be possible was a mystery in itself.

“Darling, Luc baby,” she shrieked and flung herself at the man who looked irritated.

She was in a fishnet sort of costume and I stared in surprise for her dress revealed almost her entire body. Skinny, with an almost flat chest, she was tall and willowy.

As she sobbed and tried to press her long, lithe body to his, I saw the look of cool disinterest on his face and then, I looked away, colouring in embarrassment as he turned the full force of those cold grey eyes on me.

“I heard…you had been attacked …by some crazy wh*re…,” she was babbling and I felt my cheeks flame and my small fists clenched in anger.

He put her from him and continued to watch me, his eyes enjoying my discomfiture.

I shifted uneasily from foot to foot as his eyes travelled the length of my skimpy red dress with the torn strap which I was holding up with some difficulty.

Becoming aware that he was not looking at her, she looked around, her bitter, crazed look lighting up on me.

Immediately, the woman rounded on me.

“You little tramp! How dare you steal my…!” she screamed like a harridan as she lunged at me. I sidestepped quickly as I saw she was inebriated but she swerved wildly as she shrieked,

“BI*CH!”

But the big man moved quickly and grabbed her shoulders, shielding me effectively with his large body.

“Patricia,” he spoke in a voice that could cut ice,” You are drunk. Now get the f*ck out.”

He said in such a flat manner, I almost felt sorry for the woman. She turned to him, bleary-eyed, and then, swaying, she tore off the front of her flimsy gown,

“Lucas, let me…”

I winced. She was half naked, literally on her knees now, her long thin hands fumbling at his waist, trying to take out his…?

My mouth dropped open in shock. How despicable. She was humiliating herself.