His Control: The Mafia's Prisoner

"You know how to drive a man crazy," Senna whispered hotly against her ears as he pushed Valeria against his desk.

"So why did you come here, huh?" His fingers slipped through the thin strap of her panties as he pulled them down her legs. She fell onto the desk, parting her legs wide enough for him to pull her panties off easily.

Their breaths mingled as she hastily took off her clothing. She didn't wait till he was done before she pushed her lips against his in a hot kiss.

She tossed her top, hot minding where it landed, and when she felt the heat of his hands on her skin, she closed her eyes, threw her head back, and let out a moan of pleasure. Senna had no idea why she had visited him, but if this was going to be the main menu, he wasn't complaining.

He took a step back and stared at her naked upper body. His groin tightened when she bit her lower lip and caressed her breasts. Her fingers tugged at her nipples as she gave him a come-hither look. He loved bold women. He loved women who knew what they wanted. Who went straight to the point, and Valeria was that woman.

"Why are you taking time, Senna?" She drawled in a tone that conveyed her lust. Her lips had slackened, and her eyes swam with heated desire.

She lifted her perfectly pedicured feet against his desk, revealing her wetness to him. Senna hissed. He couldn't turn her down. He knew why she was here and offering him sex, but he hadn't blown off steam in a week because he had been too busy with interstate logistics.

"Fuck it." He muttered and walked back to her.

His fingers wrapped around her neck as he pushed her deep into the desk. His lips captured hers, and he sank his upper teeth into her lower lip as he tugged at it softly. She whimpered under his hold, and he knew she liked it like he did.

She tried to push her hip against him, but he held her. He hated it when a woman tried to take control or tried to match his power. He loved to dominate, and he was going to do that. His other hand traveled down her collarbone as his lips left her mouth to pepper kisses down her chin.

He caught her earlobe in his teeth and nipped at it. He kissed the back of her ears, and she tilted her head to the side as his lips traced the delicate skin of her neck. She smelt like roses and something he couldn't decipher. But she smelled nice.

"You used my favorite perfume, huh?" He breathed against her neck as his fingers caught her left nipple. She whimpered.

"You know why you're here, don't you?"

"Y-yes," she said in a thin voice.

"Why?" He asked as his fingers pressed into her jugulars. She tried to grind her crotch against his, but he pushed her back roughly.

"Fucking speak, and don't try to be in control. You should know by now that I am in charge, always. You are to submit it to me. Now, why are you here, and what the fuck do you want little slut?"

"I miss you, Senna," She whispered against him as his fingers worked on her nipples. She felt his bulge against her left thigh as he pulled her in.

He would have pulled away at that instant. He hated being missed, especially by women. If it wasn't money, he didn't want it to be anything. But Valeria was so fucking desperate. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and her feelings didn't matter. It never did. She was aware of it.

"So you came here to see me, huh?" He asked as his teeth sank into her skin. Her fingers dug into his shirt as she bit back a squeal of pleasure when he hit the right spot.

"I came here so you could fuck me. I know I was rude to you the last time, and I would be grateful if you could teach me a lesson. I never want to be rude to you anymore." The corners of his lips lifted.

That was what he wanted to hear. Not her nagging about how he had every woman for his every need. He pulled away from her and smiled.

"Now, that's what I want to hear." She gave him a wary look.

"So, do you forgive me?"

"Your performance this evening will determine if I do." He said and began to unbutton his shirt.

"Now, spread those legs wide enough so I can see you." She did as she was told, and he pulled a seat before her, watching as she balanced her weight.

He moaned his approval as his eyes raked over her silky thighs and down to her clean-shaven core. It glistened with her desires. She squirmed against the table, searching for a way to pleasure herself, but didn't move her hand. She waited for his command.

"I want you to touch yourself for me, Valerie," He pronounced her name with his thick Tuscan accent.

His accent was one of the features women loved in him. He could talk a woman he had never met before into taking her dress off, and he prided in it. Her hands travelled down her belly, scraping her pubis.

She tapped her core a few times, and he heard the squishy sound of wetness against his skin and began to take off his belt. If care wasn't taken, there was a possibility of him bursting through his slacks.

She began to circle her fingers around her clitoris, and his eyes remained on her as it budded into full bloom, a sheer shade of pink that would have been a dusty blush on her skin. She threw her head back and leaned one elbow. She fondled her breasts as she did the same with her clitoris.

"Now, finger fuck that pussy for me, bitch," He groaned as his fingers finally wrapped around his cock. She did as he was told, slipping her fingers into herself with so much ease.

She cried out and bucked her hips as she heightened her rhythm. They both fell into the same rhythm. She thrust in and out of herself, crying out as she neared release. But Senna was a wickedly desirous man.

"Don't you fucking come!" He growled as he pushed himself to his feet. Pressure was building around his groin. His fingers sank into her hip, and he pulled her roughly against him before ramming into her.

She screamed, not minding if she was in his office. Senna was getting lightheaded. He felt like he was going crazy. He thrust in and out of her in a crazed, animalistic manner, letting his prime instinct control him.

Valeria screamed at the top of her voice as he thrust into her. He pulled out of her when she was close again and turned her over with so much ease.

He arched her hip and smacked her ass with his palm, loving the imprint his fingers left on her pale skin. She moaned as he slipped into her from behind and continued to ram into her. She grabbed either side of the desk as he increased his tempo. His fingers wrapped around her hair, and he pulled her upper body back to him and pressed his mouth against hers.

They kissed roughly, skin moving against the skin as sweat eased the friction of their bodies. He wrapped his fingers around her neck and kept thrusting into her. Her breasts swung from side to side from the intense movement. He moved one hand and grabbed it as he kneaded roughly. She began to shiver against him.

"Senna..." She muttered as she choked.

"Senna! I'm going to come! Please!"

"You only do that when I ask you to, get that?!" He commanded.

"Y-yes!" He bit her back, loving the taste of skincare products laced with sweat against his tongue.

"Hmm... That's my good girl." Her legs began to vibrate, but he didn't stop. He was close to releasing, and his breathing became more intense as he pushed into her. He lifted her from the table and walked across the room, still thrusting into her. He was as powerful as a stallion, his strength refusing to deplete.

He pushed her against the wall and fucked two orgasms out of her. She was unable to hold back. He had done that for a reason. As he came into her, shooting warm liquid up her, she thrashed against him, sinking her fingers into his skin and scratching as she bit into his skin.

Finally, she calmed down, and so did she. They were both sweaty with heavy breaths. She slid to the floor, and he left her immediately and went to wash up before returning to put on his slacks. He didn't spare her a glance as he spoke.

"Go wash up, and As soon as you're done, you can leave."

"What? Senna-" He gave her a stern look.

"I have to be somewhere. I don't do cuddles. Great sex, by the way."

Bounded to a chair, hands tied firmly behind her back, almost cutting off blood circulation, eyes blindfolded with a thick black tie plunging her vision into nothingness, and mouth firmly gagged with a piece of cloth; the blonde-haired lady with a stern face remained utterly calm for someone in such a position.

Beads of sweat broke all over her sweet, stern face, and she flinched, only slightly, at the sound of the metal clanking that could be heard within the room she was being held in as a captive. She wondered if Senna wanted her tortured first before cancelling Christmas on her.

Senna's eyes spitted fury as he gazed at the filthy bitch that had almost run down his entire mobster organization. Left to him, he would have loved to pluck her eyes out and feed them to his dogs, but he had more pressing issues to attend to in his nightclub.

"You almost had me, but now I own your life, bitch," Senna growled into her ears. He freed her blindfold and took away the cloth on her mouth.

Amanda's eyes twitched to adjust to the electrical lights that lit up the room because of her prolonged period of being accustomed to the darkness by the blindfold. She counted four men in a blur, including Senna, and finally, her vision steadied.

Senna wanted to kill the lady, partly because he had let himself be pulled into her trap, but currently, she was worth more to him, alive than dead. He'd learned that her name wasn't Candy Rivera but Amanda Peres, a trained spy for the Puppeteer.

The Puppeteer was notoriously famous for taking out the highest-ranking criminal organizations. Nobody knew his motivation, how, and why he chose his targets, but Senna was now his target.

"Just go ahead and kill me already," Amanda said flatly. "Because I'd rather die than give up on any information about the Puppeteer."

"Have no delusions. I will kill you, but before then, you'll tell me everything I need to know," Senna said. He looked at one of his Capo, which told the man all he needed to do–– torture, but don't kill her.

"You are the delusional one if you think I'm scared of you or of being tortured."

Senna snorted. "Do you know why the Italians call me Ghost? It's because, just like a ghost, I inspire people to be afraid. I am the embodiment of fear."

"In Afghanistan, I was buried alive in a a cemetery full of ghosts. So, I love to disappoint you." Senna smiled at her words and replied, "Well then, I guess you're just a sucker for pain. I sincerely hope that you enjoy being tortured. I'll be back." "I know you will."

As soon as Senna began exiting the room, he could hear the capo he'd earlier communicated with silently slap Amanda hard. He turned to see him punch her on her lower abdomen, but Amanda could take a beating, it seemed.

Well, that was only the beginning, Senna thought to himself. He wondered what her threshold for pain would be after one hour. As he exited the room, the other two Capos followed him.

The sound of music, strobing party lights, strippers dancing with cash being sprayed on them, people drinking or smoking, and the indistinct conversations were all the telltale signs of Senna's nightclub in action.

He looked down at the people just looking to have a good time and then looked out for those who knew the actual business that the nightclub was migrating. He saw Batista, the pressing issue he needed to attend to, and walked down the stairs to meet him.

Batista was older than Senna. He was a bulky man around his fifties, but he was still serving his purpose in the Mafia game. He had a fat cigar caught in between his thick black lips. Senna, on the other hand, was younger and had a far more prominent role as a Don, but he had some modicum of respect for Batista.

"Hey man, what's the word?" Senna said, offering a handshake.

"Hey man, I've got some serious weights coming in tomorrow night," Batista said, puffing on his cigar and shaking hands with Senna. "The Puppeteer took down my first connect, so I hoped to move these weights to a more secure location."

"Say less, I've got you amigo," Senna said. "But in exchange for storing your weight, I'll need your favor."

"What could I possibly do for the devil?"

"Diablo Metrakis, I need to clip a man in his organization, and I don't want to take the responsibility."

"A'ight bet, consider it a done deal. The mother fucker you want to be clipped won't even know what hit him when he gets his due."

"Just be careful," Senna said.

"So, who in Diablo's cartel do you want to take out of the picture?"

"Marchetti, his consigliere, and Diablo will not rest until he avenges the deed."

"Diablo's consigliere?" Batista wasn't expecting such a high-ranking member to be Senna's target.

"Yes, any problem?"

"None," Batista replied after a moment's hesitation. "You scratch my back, and I scratch yours."

"The arrival of the Puppeteer in our city is a real problem for us mobsters," Senna said.

"Indeed, have any of his puppets paid you a visit yet?"

Senna thought about Amanda briefly as he responded, "No, I haven't been infiltrated."

"Alright, that's good. But be less worried about infiltration."

"What do you mean?"

"The Puppeteer doesn't only infiltrate. He knows how to compromise people, too. So watch everyone closely that's working with you."

"Sick. Maybe we should set a trap for him and see if he baits."

"What do you mean?"

"Which are you more concerned about, the safety of your weight or catching this bastard?"

"If you suggest using my drugs as bait, I can't take the risk. Those drugs not only have the potential of street values, but they are irreplaceable."

"Do you trust me?"

"Almost with my life," Batista replied.

"Then, believe me, I won't risk your merchandise if I didn't think I could win against the Puppeteer."

Batista took a deep breath. "I'll have to hear more about your plan."

"Likewise, I want to hear how you'll handle the Marchetti situation."

After conducting business with Batista, Senna went to the VIP room to attend to a more personal interaction.

"Bring in the girls one at a time," he ordered.

After two minutes, a girl was brought in before Senna.

"Say Sorry!" he ordered. His voice was cold and electrifying from the dark shadows of the room.

She responded to the given order immediately, despite not knowing what she'd done to apologize.

Senna growled in anger. "Not her. Get her out of my sight!"

"Yes, sir," responded the capo.

A few more minutes and another girl was brought to him from the selection. He was dazzled by her beautiful features.

"Say Sorry," Senna repeated in fury.

"And why should I do that?" The meek yet stubborn voice replied.

"When the devil tells you to do something, You do it," he sneered. "It's her, take her away."

The door creaked open. Amanda's ears perked up instinctively, and she turned around to see which of Senna's men had come to torment her now or if it was Senna himself. No, it wasn't Senna, it was Placido.

"Hey, soldier, we've been through this before," Amanda said with a curly, nasty little smile. "I ain't telling you shit. And no offense, soldier, but your torturing skills are a little redundant. Can't you be a little more creative?"

"Silence bitch!" Placido thundered. "Why are you doing this? Why are you working for the Puppeteer?"

"Hmm, tell me something, soldier. Is that the question you were ordered to ask me?"

"Shut up. I'll ask the questions around here!"

"October thirty-first two thousand two, I went to present the evening news. I was to be back home in less than two hours, I assured my husband and my daughter, who was five years old. I kept to my promise. I got home and tried unlocking the door with my key, but it was already open. When I got home, it was eerily quiet even though the TV was blaring in the background. I went into the living room to see my husband sprawled on the floor, bleeding still even though he'd been dead for quite some time. My husband was a DEA agent, and his name was Wesley Peres. Your boss had my husband murdered and my daughter kidnapped."

Placido had never heard of his boss killing any DEA agent, nor did he know of any kidnapping on October 31, 2002.

"Hey, you are full of shit!" Placido bellowed. "I've given you enough chances to speak the truth."

"Don't you mean you've tortured me enough times and failed to get me to tell you anything even remotely close to the truth?"

"Earlier, you said I wasn't creative in torturing, but you see, that's where you are wrong. There's a reason I was chosen to torture you. Have you heard about pharmacological torture? You see, I can inject you with morphine until you develop an addiction. Once you're addicted enough, I'll stop giving you the drugs, and interrogation begins at the onset of withdrawal symptoms. You'll only get a fix once you've told me the truth. On the other hand, I can administer some neuromuscular blocking agents that, when abused, paralyze you, causing you total panic because you'll be unable to breathe. You will not be offered oxygen until the point of suffocation or when you've told me what I need to know about the Puppeteer."

Amanda watched Placido as he took out a syringe, injected it into a bottle of morphine, and pulled back the syringe's plunger till its volume marker was filled up to more than half.

As Placido made his way to her to stick the needle inside her, she knew it was her moment to hit him with the element of surprise as she had successfully slipped out of the ropes to bind her hands.

Placido inched closer with the injection, but then he felt Amanda grab his hand surprisingly and redirect the trajectory of the needle until he felt the sharp point stuck inside his neck.

In a burst of similarly swift movements, Amanda equally reached for his knife tucked away into his boot, and she used it to cut the ropes that bound her legs loose and tried to stab him, but his feet quickly responded to the threat. Amanda then turned and fled from the room.

Placido was thankful he'd not been injected with the total dose of morphine. He felt a little dizzy, but he fought the effect and concentrated on going after Amanda. He shouted for backup as he tore after the blond who was running like she was an Olympic racist champion. They chased Amanda into the forest area until they arrived at a cliff.

Placido pulled out his gun and said, "Give it up, Amanda. There's nowhere else to run to!"

"That's where you are wrong," Amanda replied as she did the unthinkable.

What caused Amanda Peres to throw herself off a waterfall cliff was a fear greater than falling off a cliff. Senna's men were on her heels, and she'd rather die than let these men take her back to her captor. The four men stopped abruptly once they reached the edge of the cliff.

Placido tried catching Amanda by the hem of her dress, but it immediately ripped off, leaving him with only a piece of the clothing. He watched in utter bewilderment as his boss prisoner freely fell down the waterfall. Placido strapped his gun into his back pocket and kissed his teeth.

"Damn," Placido said. "We are in trouble."

Amanda fell over thirty feet, screaming and scrambling up some rocks as she did. At first, Luca Montero, who was idly sitting on a rock, heard her call, and before he could turn to check what was happening, he heard a thud, and he felt a mixture of water and blood sprout on him.

Amanda, on the other hand, before the light gave way, saw on Luca's face the horrified look of someone who had just witnessed a person falling to their death. At least death would be more merciful than Senna, otherwise known by his mafia name, Ghost.

Amanda Peres couldn't believe it when she woke up at the bottom of the cliff to men helping her onto a car and passed out again. It was funny seeing how she'd wanted to die, but these men, filled with much empathy, moved swiftly to rescue her from dying.

Placido and his men arrived shortly at the bottom of the cliff and, just in time, saw Amanda being lifted into the backseat of a black Citroen C4. He ordered his men to stay put while he moved up to the scene.

"Oh my god, that's my wife. Is she breathing? Is she alright?" Placido said, splitting into the middle of both men who had helped Amanda into the car.

"She's going to be alright, okay," Luca said. "Uh, you said she's your wife?"

"Yes," Placido replied confidently. "It all happened fast. She slipped off the cliff, and I tried to catch her, but I ended up with this."

"Well then, hop on in; let's get her to the hospital," Luca said.

The closest hospital was St. Louis, and Placido had already texted his men to meet him there. Amanda didn't regain consciousness throughout the ride to St. Louis, and Placido checked her pulse to see if she still had any.

It was faint, but there was a pulse, and it filled him with relief because he knew by the end of the day, although Amanda would have suffered from concussion, cuts, and bruises, she would be reunited with her captor.

After they'd handed Amanda to the nurses, Placido turned to Luca and said, "Thank you very much, um-"

"I'm Luca."

"Right, Luca, thank you very much. I wouldn't want us to trouble you any further. She's in capable hands now. You can leave us. I'll call my driver to Bring me my car. I'm sincerely grateful for your help."