Spellbound by the Mafia King

I held the razor sharp knife tightly. I took no notice of the way the blade cut deep into the flesh of my palm. I took no notice of my crimson blood which spilled out and stained the carpet below. It relieved me. To feel my body in physical pain was a great distraction from the emotional pain that troubled me. I wasn't one to harm myself but I didn't know how to react and my knife, it was just there.

Father wanted me to get married to a stranger. No, he forced me to. He left me with no choice. Granted, I could run. I could hide. But I won't. My whole life, I've been nothing but a disappointment to him, and this affirmed it. I was nothing more than a mere commodity, an object to trade at his will. He never fucking liked me, and I did nothing to earn his approval because I would never get it.

I am Rita Locke, the Don of the Italian Mafia. Father only passed it down to me because he is dying and he has no male heirs, which is quite unfortunate for the bastard. He didn't even have any illegitimate sons despite the fact that he fucked day in and day out. He hated watching me take over his mafia, making it mine, making the power mine. But I never asked for this life.

Sadly, I grew up as an only child being raised by maids and nannies. Father was far too busy, and he was disgusted by me anyway. The phrase 'Hai ucciso tua madre' (you killed your mother) was something I've heard every single day of my life. Mother, my beautiful mother died during childbirth. I didn't mean to kill her; I didn't ask to be born. So there he was my cruel, wicked father, who forced Mother into marrying him. I know he forced her, she can't have been in love with him.

The maids often told me what a beautiful mother was. How wildly spirited she was. And how her father broke her piece by piece. In a way I'm glad she's not here; she broke free, and I'm still here.

So here I sit, thinking of a way out. It was impossible. If I were to run away, my whole life would be false. I was born to be a Don. The power ran in my veins. Besides father would hunt me down and no doubt have someone slit my throat while I slept. Perhaps I could kill the bastard. But if someone found out, fuck, I'm screwed.

I'm only twenty-three, and he had offered my hand without even asking me. He never would have asked. The thought of marriage never crossed my mind. Perhaps a couple of times when I was a young girl. But I always imagined marrying a prince. Not the boss of the American fucking mafia.

The American mafia was well known for its reputation of being manipulative and brutal. They were deadly; even I was impressed. The mafia boss; I didn't know much about, but only his name. I was to be married to Chase Rodriguez. The roles of women in mafias are very traditional. To obey and serve. To be complacent doormats. Fucks sake. If Father thinks that uniting our mafia through marriage would mean me giving up my mafia to fucking Chase, he's got another thing coming.

And if Chase fucking Rodriguez expects me to obey and serve, I will gladly cut out his fucking heart and shove it down his throat. I am no one's doormat.

Father, as he put it, gave me away to form an alliance with the American mafia. To ensure peace between our mafia and theirs. No one wanted a war. So what do you think I should do? It was a strategic move, nothing more.

"KC!" I yelled. Not a moment later, a pretty blonde entered my bedroom. KC is my best friend and one of my many guards. She is highly intelligent and a skilled killer. I wanted a woman to be my personal guard, mainly to overthrow the patriarchal system in the mafia.

"KC I need you to call a maid to pack my things ready for tomorrow," I spoke as I stared down at my hand. Dried blood coated my fingertips as the cut in my palm still bled. The pain didn't bother me. I've suffered worse and survived.

KC nodded and walked over to me. She sighed, kneeling beside me. She gently held my hand in hers as she procured the knife from my grip. "Let's get you cleaned up." She smiled warmly. She didn't ask what happened; she knew.

I watched her bandage my hand gently and very neatly. I felt numb, cold, and alone. I sipped Bourbon from a crystal glass in hopes that it would make me feel warm inside, but it never did. My hand throbbed almost as much as the headache I've now acquired.

"Your father still wants you to marry?" KC asked as she took a seat on the edge of my bed, crossing her legs. She knows I've practically begged him to stop this marriage; she knows how he just laughed at me, telling me to fuck off.

"Yes." I walked over to my balcony windows and looked up into the night sky. Stars glimmered and shone, with a shooting star falling. I wished for happiness. I have argued with my father to no avail. It's a done deal. I ran a finger down my cheek, where my father slapped me last. I may not be bruised, but I will always remember. I closed my eyes as I wished for his death over and over again. If only I could do it and free myself, but that's another predicament. If I killed him, my mafia would turn on me. I would be shunned and disowned. After all, there is no crime greater than killing your blood.

I turned back to face KC. Her brown eyes held so much pity for me. I didn't like that one bit. But I appreciated her so much. "I just want to be alone right now," I spoke, my voice laced with sadness. Her eyes lowered to the ground. She walked over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder, in a way to reassure me. There was nothing more she could say or do. I felt her fingers lightly squeeze my shoulder before she left my room, closing the door behind her.

I wasn't alone for long; a maid came by as I requested to pack my things. I drank some more Bourbon neat while I watched her scramble to pack my clothes. "Non mettere in valigia la mia lingerie. Sei pazza? Pensi che andrò a letto con lui (Don't fucking pack my lingerie. Are you insane? Do you think I'm just going to fuck him?)" I growled. The maid flinched when I spoke. I was being too harsh; I was fucking angry. Fuck. What if he's old or a disgusting womanizer? What if he beats women? I'd never let him touch me. I shook my head at these thoughts when I received an incoming call.

"Yes..I see..ten minutes and I'll be there." I spoke on the phone to one of my guards, who was taking care of a little problem. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. I sighed and pulled a black hoodie over my crop top and jeans. I changed out of my heeled boots and into sneakers. Things were about to get messy. I left the maid in my room and headed outside.

I slipped into my favourite red Locke as I looked at the setting sun through the tinted windows-hues of red, amber, and yellow blended into each other-a pretty picture. KC promptly took a seat beside me and strapped herself in. I knew I had to leave tonight to make it in time to reach America tomorrow to see that man. But that's the luxury of owning your plane; I could leave whenever I wanted to.

I turned on the ignition to the car and felt the thrilling purr of the engine. I pushed my foot down and floored the car to its destination. Perhaps this is as free as I will ever feel. I winded down small streets and along long, empty roads. I was breaking every law yet I evaded justice.

I was the law in Italy.

Upon arriving at a desolate warehouse, I exited my car. My dark mid-back-length hair fluttered across my face as I failed to tie it into a ponytail. As I walked towards the building, I was immediately let inside, and some guards even bowed their heads. Respect was earned, never given. And I had earned everything I worked for.

The room I was led to was small and damp. The place reeked of a metallic odour. A blend of blood and bleach, almost enough to make you gag. I smirked when I saw a man tied up on a metal chair. A fucking rat.

"I despise snitches because we all know they are nothing but bitches." I spoke as the man dared not look into my eyes. "And you know what they say-snitches end up in ditches. But that's not how I run things. You see, stealing punishable by death, killing punishable by death, snitching punishable by, you guessed it, death." I grinned evilly.

I chuckled darkly as I turned my back to the man. "Even if you simply annoy the fuck out of me, I'd kill you."

I faced the man who remained mute. He was bloodied and beaten as I had requested. And yet he gave nothing away. I wanted to know who snitched about my business affairs. The worst thing any mafia could have were reckless immature snitches, running off to the police, or singing to the highest bidders.

The police are in my pockets, but that doesn't mean they won't bring me down. I know for a fact that they are building a case against me. I let them, as it amuses me a great deal. How do they think they can touch me? How do they think they can bring me down? No one can bring me down.

"So you won't talk? I have no use for you." I stated as I pulled out my knife from my pocket. The ugly middle-aged man seemed to have awoken from his muted trance and tried to pull at his bonds. "Vuo cagna! (You bitch!)" He yelled.

I gasped as I held a hand to my heart. "You hear that, KC, he called me a bitch. Me a bitch, never." I smirked as I approached the man. In an instant, I had pushed the knife deeply across his throat in a single straight line.

Blood spluttered out as it sprayed onto me. I watched as it took exactly five seconds for the man to choke on his blood and surrender to death. A nasty way to go, but it's necessary. I can't be lenient because once I do, everyone will know me as a soft touch. And they'll walk all over me, like a doormat. I've already had it tough, being a woman.

I pulled out my phone from my pocket and checked the time. I suppose I'd better go. Father will be waiting for me, and God forbid if I run late. A guard handed me a towel, and I wiped my hands and some of the blood that stained my face.

The mess here would be cleaned up and sorted in the blink of an eye. The body would vanish; blood washed away. The snitch would be wiped from existence.

After driving to my plane, I shrugged off my hoodie and tossed it to the ground. I walked up the few steps onto the plane. My body stiffened at the sight of my father, who was already seated inside. The fuck. Fuck fuck.

Father noticed me and scowled. A look I've grown accustomed to too. "My my, Rita, you look like merda (shit). I don't know how I got you married off." He rasped, chuckling at his joke.

I clenched my teeth and sat on the furthest seat on the spacious plane away from him. I was wanting to take this time to sleep, but my father had other plans. His stare never left me as he continued talking. "You'll have to dress better than that once we go to meet the Americans." He prattled, pulling a loose thread from his grey suit.

I placed my head in my hand as I so wanted to take the edge off my father's incessant whining. "Whatever you do, do not disrespect the Americans. If your husband, what's his name, Chase? What a stupid name. If he wants to have his way with you, you let him. Do you understand me?" He grunted, awaiting an answer from me. I hated talking back to him. I hated being in the same space as him.

I nodded my head falsely. Does Father not care about me? He would allow his only daughter to be sold off, uncaring for whose hands I would be in. I scoffed to myself. If he hated me so much, he should have just killed me. Because I will kill him one day. And that day is coming soon.

Father leaped up from his seat and took a few menacing steps towards me. Fuck. My stare did not waver from him. I knew what he was about to do. But I still flinched when he grabbed my wrist roughly. "Do you understand?" He growled as I tried to avoid inhaling his putrid breath.

"Yes, father," I said through clenched teeth. I could poison him. But someone would know; they'd always know. "Good." He said as he let go of my wrist and walked back to his seat. I breathed out slowly as I looked away from him.

After a long agonizing flight, we finally reached our destination. I couldn't sleep because he was there, so I was tired as fuck. We got booked into a hotel, and I collapsed onto the bed, feeling more love from the soft sheets than I ever would from my father.

I wasn't surprised when my parents arranged a marriage for me. It's highly common. My parents were arranged to marry, and they've been together ever since. In a loveless marriage, till death do them part. What a shitty way to live.

I was fucking angry about having to marry some girl. A fucking Italian girl to top it off. There's nothing wrong with Italian girls but she's in the mafia. What would she even be like? Would our marriage be entirely loveless like my parents? Not that I cared; I would just tolerate her and have my way with women behind her back. I'm sure she would do the same.

I wasn't even told of her name, what she looked like, or what she was like. But she was a woman. The boss of the Italian mafia. How could that be? Women are weak and too emotional. She would be the destruction of the mafia. I chuckled at how the most fierce and depraved mafia in the world would fall at her hands. Everyone knows only a man can run a mafia.

Perhaps she was put in charge because her father had no sons. But that was quite irresponsible on his part. Still, I would have thought he would have passed it down to a man. Regardless if he was bloody or not.

I am Chase Rodriguez, the boss of the American mafia. At seventeen, I was handed the mafia to control and to make it the most dominant in the world. Now, at twenty-five, I live a lifestyle that involves drinking, drugs, and women. My mafia duties were not neglected. I was known to be ruthless and unforgiving. Step in my way, and that's the last thing you'd ever do.

That doesn't mean I can't have fun. I glanced over at the brunette who lay asleep in my bed. I didn't even know her name. I didn't even care. If I'm getting married, I may as well have some enjoyment before I have to settle down in a miserable fucking life. Fucking hell.

"You do know you are getting married, right?" My younger brother walked into my bedroom unannounced. He eyed me with a bored look. Fuck, why would I care? It's not like I chose this woman; it's not like I wanted this, and as a mafia boss, I had a certain reputation to uphold-a bad reputation.

I scowled as I rubbed my eyes. "Get out, Kendrick," I growled at him; his presence irritated me. More so because he was free to choose whomever he wanted to marry and I wasn't. The fuck would my parents even agree to this. All for some fucking alliance. Fucking hell, I could just take the Italian mafia if I wanted to.

The woman beside me on my bed stirred and blinked her brown eyes wide open. For a second, she looked petrified upon seeing Kendrick standing by the door. She looked towards me in hopes of some sort of comfort, but I had none to offer.

"Leave," Kendrick ordered as he held the door open with a hand. The woman quickly gathered her clothing and left the room in just her underwear. I groaned as I lay tangled in my bedsheets. The deep yellow glow of the sun threatened to spill into the room and did so when Kendrick kindly pulled open the curtains.

"Fuck." I groaned as the light hit my pupils, waking me up entirely. Kendrick smirked, running a hand through his dark hair, and rolled his shoulders. He was a fucking idiot half of the time, but he was a decent man. He was repulsed with the way women threw themselves at me, and I let them. How I used them for my benefit and pleasure. That's all I knew since Father did the same to Mother and Mother; she pretended to be the virgin Mary when she could give the devil a run for his money. My dearest brother followed in my footsteps, but he was more reserved.

"The Italian woman is coming tomorrow, so clean up your act," Kendrick remarked as he eyed my messy bed, the corners of his lips twitching into a grimace. "Who even let you in?" I asked as I sat up frustrated with my lax security.

He grinned, showing his white teeth, while he leaned against the wall, both hands in the pockets of his trousers. "I'm a likeable person. Anyone would let me in." He smiled softly. That was indeed true; his personality exuded friendliness. A trait I did not have. After all, a mafia is no place for weakness. And I have none.

Kendrick left the room a short while later, after my ears bled listening to him drone on and on about being a good husband. I took a quick shower and got dressed in casual sweats and a T-shirt.

Heading to my gym, I took some time to run on the treadmill to feel my body burn some energy. My house was big with five floors and had everything I could possibly want and need. The luxury of being a powerful mafia boss. I worked hard to get what I had, and no marriage was ever going to destroy that. No woman would ever destroy what I've built.

"How are you feeling about meeting the girl tomorrow?" Rodney asked, his deep voice laced with a very subtle Italian accent. I stopped running and looked towards my best friend and loyal guard. "I don't give a fuck." I said without hesitation. Why is she the hot topic on everyone's lips?

Rodney looked almost disappointed, running a hand through his curly brown hair, his matching eyes glistening. "Would you at least try? You might find that you like her." He sighed. Perhaps he knew something I didn't. I shook my head as I drank from a water bottle, the water cooling me down. "Come on, you've known me all your life; that's twenty-four fucking years. When do I ever like women? They're nothing but a good fuck."

When I said those words, Rodney nodded subtly and rubbed the back of his neck. Perhaps I could settle down. But it would take one hell of a woman to convince me otherwise. I'm not sure what to think. I like the life I have already.

I walked over to a punchbag that was strung up and began to beat it mercilessly. My punches were controlled and accurate, as I imagined breaking someone's jaw and cutting their air supply with a single sharp blow to their neck.

"Your parents are here." Rodney rushed the words out as he watched my muscles stiffen. Fuck me. "Who let them in?" I scowled as I flexed my hands. "Your brother." He stated as he took a few steps back, already knowing how pissed I was.

"That little shit," I growled as I grabbed a white towel and wiped the sweat that covered my neck and forehead. I made my way towards the living room, not caring for the state I was in. My parents can be insufferable at times; my mother especially knows how to wind people up.

I saw my parents in the brightly lit living room. Mother wore a cream-coloured dress as she sat on the white sofa, her legs crossed and her back straight as a pole. Father smoked a cigar as he stood by the window. He was a tall, dark man. A good man and a decent father.

"Chase darling." Mother smiled upon meeting my gaze. Her soft brown eyes met my dark-as-coal ones. She stood up and sat back down as she decided against embracing me. I doubt she would want to ruin her dress with her son's sweat despite not seeing me for several weeks now. "Son," Father greeted as he continued smoking.

"What are you doing here?" I asked as I crossed my muscled arms. Fuck, I was irritated. I couldn't spend the day alone; no, the whole family had to come and laugh at my situation.

Father chuckled lowly, a husky, deep sound. Mother's smile disappeared; she hated anyone talking back to her. "We just wanted to see how you were feeling. You know about the whole marriage thing." Mother smiled, her blush pink lips pulled tight. "You know how I feel?" I scoffed, feeling very amused. "I'm against it. I do not want to get married." I stated clearly. Father walked towards me and stopped just a few feet away.

"I do not care. You will marry the girl. Our reputation depends upon it. This alliance is the best thing to ever happen." Father growled deeply, his fingers gripping his cigar tighter. "So you will shut the fuck up and do as you're told. I didn't raise an insolent son... or I will hand the mafia to your brother." He added. He was threatening me, and his threats were never empty.

Kendrick spluttered out his drink as he stood silently watching in the room. "But I do not want it, father." He gulped and wiped his lips of alcohol with the back of his hand. I could tell he was shitting himself. He never wanted the mafia.

Father's nostrils flared out in a rage, and if steam was visible, I have no doubt it would be coming out of his ears right now. "If you do not marry the girl, you will take over Kendrick. Or so God help me, I will personally murder you both and give it to someone worthy. Perhaps even this Italian girl." He scoffed to himself.

I narrowed my eyes at my father. Surely he wouldn't. Kendrick nodded and took another sip of his drink. He held back his tongue because he knew it was pointless. I have no choice but to marry. This is my mafia. Not fucking Kendrick's and not father's.

Father stared at me, awaiting an answer. I'm not stupid. "Very well," I answered, agreeing to it. Father cracked a smirk as he patted my shoulder. "That's my son."

Soon after, my parents both left to return to their homes. I took a seat on the edge of the coffee table and gestured to Rodney with my hand. He handed me a cigarette, which I lit up using his lighter. I inhaled the bitter smoke as I attempted to calm my rage. Everything will be fine.

"I'm sorry," Kendrick said as he looked down at me, still from across the room. It's not his fault; my life was written the day I was born. A life of having everything and nothing.

I reassured Kendrick that I would do the right thing. If not for his sake, for my mafia's sake. I had a hunger for power, and that woman had power. I wonder if maybe one day I could slit her throat and take over her mafia. It would be rightfully mine after all. She would be mine.

That night I tossed and turned in my empty bed. Sleep did not want to find me. I was beyond agitated. Fuck, I did not want this. Fuck fuck. But it wasn't the worst thing I could think of. Maybe it would be all right.