The Mafia and His Obsession: Part 1 (Tainted Hearts 4)

Instead of doing just that, I took a step away. And another. I kept moving back until the door was against my back.

An act of rebellion meant more pain. Not just for me.

So I didn’t let my anger out. I reined it in, deep inside of me, locking it there, hiding it. With another glance, I walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom again.

My eyes moved around the bedroom, everything polished and perfect. Except the bed.

Taking a deep breath, I fixed it and made it perfect—just like everything.

The sun shone into the room, bathing it with warmth. I craved to feel it on my skin yet here I was, trapped inside with just a glimpse.

I shook the thought from my head before taking my wool and knitting materials in my hand. Sitting on the chair that faced the window, I started knitting.

A shawl for my sister.

The closet to my left was filled with them. Shawls with different colors. Different patterns. All for my sister. And every night I dreamed of giving them to her—a token of my love. To show her my love without being able to say the words.

To silently tell her that she was my heart and how I wished I could have hugged her one last time.

Every day I missed her. But every day I was thankful that it was me, not her. Every day I sent a silent prayer and thanked God that Valentin chose me.

At least then my little sister could live a normal life. A happy life.

My gaze moved across the room, where the nightstand stood beside the bed. I smiled, knowing what was in the drawer.

A photo of her. Her beautiful smile. Her twinkling eyes. The sun shining on her face as she stared into the camera.

But then I lost that smile, when I remembered how I got the photo.

Another nightmare. Another day spent with the Devil.

Every year he would show me a picture of my family—for me to see that they were happy and healthy. To show my sacrifice was not for nothing.

And every year, I only had five minutes to stare at those pictures before they were ripped away from my hands, never to be seen again.

I only had five minutes to see my family. I only had five minutes to see their smiles.

But a few years ago, one look at my happy sister, I couldn’t let her go. Five minutes wasn’t enough.

So I begged. I begged so much. So hard. I cried, my cheeks pressed against his feet, begging. My heart cracked open as I hoped for his mercy.

But every gift meant that something was taken away from me. That night, I gave him my submission willingly so he could let me keep my sister. I submitted, gave him my body and soul.

He asked me to suck his cock; I did. He came into my mouth, his cum dripping down my body as he watched in depraved lust. He marked my body with his filth, branding me as his slave.

He asked me to open my legs wide so he could fuck me; I did. I spread them open and welcomed him into my body.

He asked me to parade around his friends with his cum dripping down between my legs; I did as I was commanded.

He asked me to be on my knees as he fucked my ass raw, and I went on my knees just like he wanted. While he fucked me again, causing me to cry out in pain, his friends shot their cum on my skin.

Their moans and groans could still be heard in my ears as if it was just minutes ago. Their laughter was haunting, just like my broken cries were melodious to them.

That night, I let my husband do every depraved thing he wanted to my body. I let him abuse me—I let him own me, willingly.

That night, I became what he wanted. A disgusting whore. A filthy slave. A pet who did as she was commanded.

But it was all worth it in the end. Because by early morning, when he had enough fun, he left the room.

Not before throwing my sister’s picture next to my ravaged, broken body.

I remembered holding it in my hand so gently as I caressed her face. It was mine to keep. I had fought for it, and I won.

The drawer kept my sister safe, and I smiled yet again.

I miss you.

I continued knitting while dreaming that one day, one day I would be united with her. With my family.

One day, I would be able to give her these shawls.

One day, I would no longer hold a picture, but I would hold her in my arms.

Chapter 10

Viktor

Maila poked my cheek, her lips pursing out in concentration. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I replied, trying to hold back my laughter.

“Hi.”

I nodded when she poked my cheek again. “Hi.”