Mafia's Forced Bride

Katherine's Point Of View.

I woke to the faint warmth of sunlight grazing my face, an ironic comfort in the cold, unyielding confinement I had been forced to endure. My, in fact the floor below, always, rigid and hard, had been my unwelcome refuge during the last three days.

Three days. Or at least that's what I estimated. Time was impossible to measure accurately in this bleak little room. A single small window near the ceiling was my only connection to the outside world, offering just enough light to emphasize the grime on the walls and the hopelessness of my situation.

Even more, I forgot who I am. No name. No identity. I have no memory of how I came to be here, bound to the wall as a creature.

The first day was a fog of panic and panic. I had screamed until my throat was raw, banging my fists against the locked door until my knuckles bled. No one came. I realized quickly that either my captors couldn't hear me-or they simply didn't care. Eventually, the fatigue had settled me to a sleepless state on the cold floor.

Since then, a heavy silence had been my only companion. I spent hours staring at that pathetic excuse for a window, cycling through fear, anger, and a growing determination to escape. I had resolved to conserve my strength today and save my fight for tomorrow.

However, as my eyes once again closed, the sound of a key in the lock startled me upright.

The heavy metal door creaked open, revealing a man standing in the doorway. My heart raced as I studied him. He was tall-easily over six feet-with dark hair and eyes so black they seemed to absorb the dim light around him. He wore a black suit and a crisp white shirt, every detail of his appearance meticulously polished.

But his face, if it can be called that, was as emotionless as the surrounding immensity.

He stepped inside, his movements calculated and devoid of hesitation, like a machine performing a programmed task. My instincts screamed that this man was dangerous.

Without a spoken word, he crouched down and broke the chain that held me to the wall. It prickled with anxiety when he stood up and moved back, keeping a safe distance.

"Stand up," He whispered, his voice deceptively comforting and soothing, yet carrying the chill of a blade below its pleasing surface.

"W-who are you?" I stammered, my voice barely audible.

"You don't get to ask questions, miss," He replied, his tone dismissive. He went back and got toward the open door, without making sure I was left behind.

Shaking, I pulled myself upright on my feet and leaned against the wall for support. My legs wobbled as I followed him out of the room, into a dimly lit hallway.

There was a very noticeable difference between the dungeon-like basement and the domestic world above it. No-not a house. A mansion.

The corridors were wide and long with imposing walls which bore beautiful paintings. Every brushstroke of those artworks screamed wealth and power, but the space itself felt eerily sterile. No warmth, no personality-just an overwhelming sense of control.

I made an effort to concentrate, writing down each turn and every detail in my head. If I managed to escape, I'd need to remember the way out.

The guy brought me to a huge door made of timber at the end of the hallway. He pushed it open, stepping aside like a sentinel guarding a gate.

My breath hitched as I entered the room.

It was an office, but nothing like the kind you'd find in a regular workplace. The space exuded sophistication and dominance. Every piece of furniture was either ebony black or a deep, polished mahogany. The sharp contrast between the dark tones and the glow of the chandelier hanging above created an atmosphere that was both intimidating and breathtaking.

And then I saw him.

Behind the grand desk sat a man who made the rest of the room seem insignificant. His sharp, chiseled features were the kind that belonged on magazine covers. Light brown hair framed the visage of a set of piercing blue eyes which looked right through me.

He wasn't just handsome-he was magnetic. But there was an air of danger about him, a quiet, calculated power that made it impossible to look away.

He slid back in his chair, the top buttons of his white silk blouse undone, showing a flash of definition in the set muscle below. His eyes assessed me with unsettling calm, as though weighing my very existence.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice low and firm.

I just obeyed without questions, settled myself in the chair in front of him. My body moved on instinct, as though my will had been stripped away by the sheer authority in his tone.

"Why am I here?" I asked, forcing the words out before he could take control of the conversation.

He cocked his head, a barely visible smirk on his face. "I should be asking you that question."

His voice was steady, but there was a menacing undertone to his tone.

"Who are you?" He continued, his blue eyes locking onto mine. "What were you doing there? Why can't I find anything about you?"

"I-I have no idea what you're talking about," I stammered, confusion twisting my thoughts. "I woke up in that room downstairs. I don't even know how I got here."

His smirk deepened, but it wasn't kind. It was the grin of a predator playing with its meal.

"Okay, let me hear it, you just walked into that warehouse for nothing's sake, right?" He replied, leaning back in his chair.

Warehouse? The word reverberated in my head, generating more questions than answers. I bit my lip, struggling to make sense of his accusations.

"Yes," I said finally, my voice trembling but resolute. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't even know you or this place. The only thing I know is that I woke up in here, chained in a basement."

Still his face didn't change but the pressure of his stare increased. He brought his hands together in front of him, bending forward.

"Good actress," He said, his face reflecting that of an ironic literary character, "good act. "Perhaps I should start looking into aspiring talents in the film industry.

My frustration boiled over. "I'm not acting!" I snapped, my voice breaking. "I'm telling you the truth!"

"No more," he said, his tone piercing as a knife through the heat of my passions.

A heavy, oppressing silence fell between us for a second.

"Fine," he said finally, his tone colder than before. "If you're not ready to talk, I have other ways to get answers."

He pushed a button on his desk and the guy who had picked me up-Lex, he mentioned-came into the room.

"Take her away, the man behind the desk ordered," His gaze never left mine.

Lex pulled me to my feet by grabbing hold of my arm with a surprising strength.

"Wait!" I protested, struggling against his grip. "You can't just-"

However, the person seated at the desk just stared, his face unreadable as Lex pulled me out of the room.

I was caught in a game I didn't know the answer to, and facing a player who had already formulated the game and decided on the players already in the game and who already knew the answer.

Kai's Point Of View.

I let out a puff of smoke, staring at the dying embers of the cigarette as they cast a faint glow in the dim light of my study. Lex stood at the doorway, stiff as a board, his hands clasped behind his back.

"She's secured, boss," He said finally, breaking the silence.

I smiled, flicking out the cigarette between the crystal bowl on my desk. "Have a doctor examine her. If her amnesia is real, I need to know. If it's an act, we'll find out soon enough."

Lex dipped his head. "Understood."

I polished up my shirt cuffs and walked confidently into the majestic hallway and the thud of my footsteps reverberated. Outside, my car waited for me, sleek and polished, its presence as commanding as my reputation. Lex trailed behind, his ever-present shadow.

"The car is ready, Boss," he replied as I got into the driver's seat.

I said nothing. My mind was already far away. A gun lay on the passenger seat beside me, its weight a comforting presence. Tonight's work called for finesse-and control, though the latter was never exactly my strong suit.

The warehouse reeked of treachery.

Gunner knelt at my feet, hands tied behind his back and a blindfold over his eyes. He was shaking, his breathing catching in short gasps.

"P-please," He stammered and his voice broke as he bore the crushing weight of his terror. "I-I didn't mean to cross you. It was a mistake!"

I spun the gun in my hand leisurely, the motion a calm contrast to the storm brewing inside me.

"Gunner," I said, my tone almost conversational, "You've made it remarkably difficult for me not to blow your brains out. Do you even understand the mess you've created?"

"I can fix it," He pleaded, his head swiveling as though he could sense my movements. "I have information-valuable information. Let me go, and I'll tell you everything!"

My jaw tightened. "Is your life really worth the breath you're taking right now?" I asked coldly. "You betrayed me, Gunner. Loyalty is currency, and you're bankrupt."

He sobbed, his tears splashing into the eye running from the corner of his nose. "I have daughters-little girls. They need me, please."

His utterances made their mark on my ears, igniting a rage in my belly. He dared to use his children as leverage? Pathetic.

"Start talking," I said, my voice sharp. But, please cut it and forget, you're leaving this alive.

Fear did wonders for loosening tongues. Gunner spilled secrets he'd likely kept buried for years. Names, locations, deals-everything I'd spent months trying to uncover.

At every utterance, a flicker of victory could be seen in my heart. But it was short-lived.

The wail of police sirens shattered the moment.

"Boss," Lex barked, bursting into the room. "We've been tipped off. Cops are closing in."

Of course. Gunner's desperate comrades had sent the cavalry, with the expectation of rescuing their voluble companion.

I turned back to Gunner, incoherent with sobs.

"You should've begged harder," I said, raising my gun.

The shot cracked out across the warehouse. His body slumped forward, lifeless.

"Get out of here," I growled at Lex, going for the hidden door. We slipped down an abandoned alley, vanishing before the police could close the net.

Back in the car, Lex broke the silence.

"I suspect the Italians might have been involved," he said. "Their operations align too closely with tonight's tip-off."

"Let them think they're smart," I said, coldly. Before they can figure out they're wrong, their kingdom will be powder.

Lex hesitated. "Master Dion and Ares sent a message. They're waiting for you at the club. They threatened that they will storm your home unless you appear within one hour."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. My so-called friends thrived on testing my patience. A raid would be dramatic, but within their capability.

"Fine," I muttered, waving him off. "Handle the cleanup here. Divert the cops to the Italians. Make sure they're the ones left holding the bag."

"Yes, boss."

The nightclub throbbed with power, its heavy bass music resonating in its walls. I walked out of the car, vacated my bloodstained shirt, donned a new black shirt, and threw the bloody one into the backseat. The night wasn't over yet.

Inside the private room, Dion was wasted, surrounded by seducers who clustered around him like gnats to a flame.

"Kai!" He bellowed, pushing the women aside to greet me. "You're late, but you're here. That's all that matters."

He arm around my shoulder, grinned with a silly expression. "Folks, this is Kai, the highlight of the program! Drinks are on him tonight, so do whatever you want!"

For a moment, I took a deep breath, shutting my eyes and refusing to snap his. When I opened them, I fixed him with a glare that made him step back, his hands raised in mock surrender.

"Relax," he said, laughing. "You're too uptight. Have a drink, unwind."

I ignored him, sat down in the furthest corner of the room with a glass of champagne, and let my mind drift back to the girl.

The girl with no memories.

Lex had reported the tests had confirmed the authenticity of her amnesia. Temporary, but real. She was an empty canvas, a puzzle I could not crack yet.

I sat in the private room for a while, and after an hour of meaningless small talk and forced conversation, I was out of the club, ready to head back to the estate.

Back at home, Lex was waiting at my door.

"The results are in, boss," he said. "The girl's memory loss is genuine. The doctor said it could take months before she recovers."

I smirked. "Good. Move her to a proper room. She's no longer a prisoner-she's an asset. Keep a close eye on her, though. I don't want her slipping through our fingers."

Lex hesitated. "Are you sure that's wise? She could still be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" I mocked. "She doesn't even know who she is. If you and the rest of my men can't handle one amnesiac woman, then you're more useless than I thought."

Lex nodded, but skepticism was written across his features.

As I stepped inside my room, closing off the world from myself, a long breath huffed out my lungs.

The girl was a riddle, and I feasted on trying to solve her.

But puzzles had that way of revealing truths that you were not ready for, and something told me that she was more than some random victim.

Much more.

Katherine's Point of View.

Every time I got up I was overcome by smelling the disinfectant smell. I had been hauled down into a dark, dank basement, chill and ominous. Around me, several men in white coats-and by the looks of them, physicians-waited in a hushed conversation.

They took my blood from my arm without a single word of explanation. That was the reality for my adversary who was displaced and I remained in the midst of the voiceless, empty space, cold and dirty, helpless and unwelcome.

But that was then.

Currently, I am in a seemingly otherworldly existence. The room they had moved me to was pristine and luxurious, its walls painted a soft white that contrasted sharply with the darkness of the basement.

A plush bed replaced the hard floor I'd grown accustomed to, and a closet filled with clothes in my exact size awaited me. Meals were brought regularly, though I still couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped.

Sleeping, eating, looking from the window and. and back to sleep. Today, however, I decided to break the cycle.

I began observing.

From my window, I noted the guards' routines-the times they switched shifts, the moments when their attention seemed to waver. I also saw the catering staff from whom I picked items, and I monitored them in order to study their behavior and habits. My vision was confined [but] so far as it was in my control I did my utmost to bring forth the best that I could from the scattered mass of evidence.

Two weeks passed, and I was ready. I had no idea where I would go once I escaped, but staying here wasn't an option. Something deep inside me screamed that this place was dangerous, that staying meant losing something more valuable than my freedom-my life.

I needed a weapon.

In cleaning one of the lyme disease containment units contaminated with snake venom (a broken glass vase with a maid), I absconded with one of the glass shards. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Night fell, blanketing the estate in silence. With the big heavy battle boots at their feet, the guards went stomping all through the corridors creating a horrible racket with their footfalls. I held my breath during suspense of hope, looking forward to an opportunity to act (i.e.

Pressing my ear to the door, I listened. The guard standing near my door was pacing, steps fading with his movement away from my door. Now or never.

In a silent swipe, I got hold of the piece of glass in my hand and nudged the door catch with the utmost care. The door moaned, but the gatekeeper wouldn't notice. I looked down and saw the back of the hall as he reached the far end of the hallway.

I, too, escaped, absorbing myself against the wall to remain in the dark. The noises of my bare feet on the cold marble floor did not make a noise. Every step was calculated, every breath shallow.

The hallway stretched and stretched and stretched, or at least that's what it did. My heart pounded, threatening to give me away. At last I arrived at the stairwell, hoping I would be able to escape the situation.

However, the second I reached the bottom of the first step, a noise shattered the silence.

"Where do you think you're going?"

My blood ran cold.

I turned to find a guard at the opposite end of the hall, and, as he approached, the guard's eye closed as he got up to reach for his radio.

"Stop!" he barked.

Panic took over. I flew down the stairs with my toes in contact with the slippery surface of the stairs. The sound of his boots thundered behind me, closing the distance.

Just rounding the corner I hoped to lose him, but instead, I struck something that felt like an impassable wall.

No, not a wall.

A man.

I step my foot on the pedal and my hand is held in a vise grip of iron. I looked up, and my heart sank.

It was him.

The man from the office. The one they called Kai.

"New toy is full of surprises," he coolly remarked, yet his words crackled with a lethal coldness and malice.

"Let me go!" I screamed, struggling against his hold. But it was futile. His strength was overwhelming, his grip unyielding.

His lips curled into a smirk. "Audacious, aren't you?" His tone was almost amused. "But you've made a critical error, sweetheart. No one escapes me."

His eyes stayed on the guards who had arrived. They backed a couple of feet away and put their heads down as if ashamed to look at him.

"Send her back there to her room," he said, his voice firm. "Double the security."

Muttering as the guards went to answer. He mumbled moved in closer, his body heat fell into my earlobe as a hot whisper.

"Do not mistake my tolerance for weakness," He whispered. "You got one chance to try. There won't be a second."

I landed head first against my wall and the door closed behind me. My breathing was ragged, with my chest rising and falling in the way between fear and anger. This wasn't over.

He thought he could break me, control me. But he was wrong. This time, I failed. Next time, I wouldn't. I wasn't staying here.

Not for him. Not for anyone.

I would escape, or die trying.