The Mafia's Angel Ordeal.

The dark weather and cold breeze that brushed Allison's skin couldn't ease the hurt buried in her chest. The sky hung heavy, casting a gray shadow over the cemetery.

With her hands quivering as they grabbed the sides of her black dress, sixteen-year-old Allison stood at the edge of the grave, her eyes red and swollen from grief. It was a small coffin, as if its size mirrored how little time her mother had spent with her-just sixteen short years.

Beside her stood her father, Mr. Blackwell, a man of rigid strength, yet even he could not mask the pain of losing his wife. He quickly wiped away a tear from his face. His other hand rested on Allison's shoulder, a gesture meant to offer comfort, but she barely felt it. He awkwardly patted her shoulder again. He didn't quite know how to ease her sorrow or comfort her.

"I'm consoled you've gone to rest from this toxic world, but I'll forever miss you, my love," Mr. Blade whispered emotionally, but his words fell into the heavy silence that surrounded them.

Nadeem, one of the dependable family guards for Mr. Blackwell, kneeled next to Allison and gently reassured Allison, reminding her that she wouldn't ever have to go through life alone.

"I'm sorry you had to experience this love. It's okay to feel sad, but keep in mind that I'll always be here for you; you're not alone."

Allison only nodded faintly to his reassuring words that barely penetrated her. She was still consumed by the harsh reality of her mother's permanent absence in her life.

"I'm dearly sorry for your loss, sir," Nadeem continued softly. Turning to Mr. Blade's, his head bowed slightly out of courtesy.

Trying to be strong for his daughter, Mr. Blade kissed her on the forehead and tenderly wiped the tears that fell down her cheeks. He muttered gently, "It's time to go home now, Allison. I promise I'll be with you every step of the way, protecting you as a father should."

Allison began breathing erratically as she murmured farewell to the one person who had ever understood her.

Together, they turned away from the grave, leaving a new mound of earth behind that represented Allison's final moment as a child. Though she didn't know it then. The world her father tried so hard to conceal would soon merge with hers.

*****

That night sleep was elusive for young Allison; all she could think of was her mother's death. Under the thick blankets, she tossed and turned; the silence that followed seemed to make the evenings last longer.

Unable to rest, Allison slid out of bed. She wandered down the staircase and peeked down towards her father's study. A low murmur of voices caught her attention, so she quietly crept closer to eavesdrop.

The door to the study was opened slightly. Through the small opening, she saw her father, standing rigidly in front of a man kneeling on the floor. The man was bruised, blood streaking down his face, begging for mercy. Her father was calm-too calm. His hand rested on the arm of the chair, his face an expression of cold indifference.

"Please, forgive me... I swear, it won't happen again," the man stammered, trembling.

"You made a mistake crossing me, yet you won't need to worry since you will pay with your life." Her father's voice resounded like a poisonous whisper.

This statement was followed by a gunshot that sounded like thunder.It wasn't her father that pulled the trigger, so Allison quivered and turned to face the direction from which the sound came from. Immediately, the man collapsed to the floor.

With his gun still burning, Nadeem, her father's most trusted security, stood over the inactive body. The room felt frozen in time as blood began to pool beneath the lifeless figure.

"Take care of it." Her dad ordered and turned away, dismissing the dead man like he was nothing more than a broken vase shattered beyond repair. Allison gasped, instinctively covering her mouth, but her father's eyes snapped toward the stairs. Their gazes locked for a brief second. She felt fear clutch her throat, and she tried to run but she couldn't move. What she saw had paralyzed her.

Mr. Blade's eyes widened in panic. "Nadeem, my daughter... Allison,she saw everything." He stammered nervously, his voice low but strained.

Nadeem glanced over his shoulder toward Allison and quickly holstered his weapon. He walked toward her father, his face calm, calculating.

"We'll handle it, sir. We'll say he was a thief-a home invasion gone wrong. It's believable enough. She's too young to understand."

Allison wanted to scream, but she couldn't get the words out. Her words were stuck in her throat.

"She wasn't supposed to see this," her father muttered, running his hands through his hair. "What would I tell my baby girl?"

Nadeem placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Mr. Blade. I'll make sure she forgets this. She's just a child. We'll make sure it never happens again."

Allison sprinted to her room, stumbling as she climbed the stairs, but never backed down till she got to her room. She sat on her bed, trembling after what she had witnessed downstairs-the man begging, the gunshot, the blood. Her thoughts swirled in confusion and fear.

She jumped when the door to her room creaked open, revealing Nadeem. She shrieked backward from fear as he calculatively walked toward her and knelt beside her, his tone gentle but serious.

"Allison I want you to understand this," Nadeem began, choosing his words wisely.

"Whatever impression you might have from what you saw downstairs is most likely wrong. That man was a thief. He broke in to harm and steal from your father."

Blinking, Allison tried to take in what he had said.

"But he was begging," she whispered, her voice small and confused.

"Why didn't you call the police?" She asked softly.

Nadeem sighed. "If we did, and he escaped, he would tell others about your father. They would return to exact revenge on your father for ratting out their partner. You just lost your mother; are you prepared to lose your father as well??"

"No... I don't." Allison interjected; her eyes widened in fear. The thought of losing her father hurt her.

Nadeem nodded solemnly.

"Exactly, your father is a good man. He would never harm somebody unless it was to keep this family safe or to defend you. That man would have killed him if I hadn't acted first."

Allison swallowed hard, wiping her eyes and declaring to Nadeem. "My dad wouldn't hurt anyone. He's a good man."

"That's right," Nadeem agreed.

"Now promise me you'll never speak of this to anyone. To keep you, our family, and our friendship safe," Nadeem inquired, whispering.

"No, I won't; I love my daddy," Allison responded carefully.

"I know you do, and that's good of you, love; now, try to get some sleep." Nadeem proclaimed patting Allison's hand.

With that, Allison curled under her blankets, desperately clinging to the belief that her father was a hero, pushing away the horror she had just witnessed. But deep down, Allison knew she would never forget.

---------------.

"Do you, Allison Blackwell, take Dontrell Blade as your husband, in sickness and health, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

"Yes, I do." The words came out mechanically, a part of me still numb from everything that had happened. I had been kidnapped, tortured, and brought to this moment-standing before an altar, surrounded by people I barely knew, married to a man I hardly understood.

As the priest spoke, I turned my head slightly, scanning the crowd. I searched for him. 'Clayton'. But he wasn't there. Where was he? Was he angry? Did he wish it were him standing beside me, taking my hand in marriage instead of his brother?

A part of me wished he had been the one. But another part was relieved. Because Clayton, with his dark, unyielding eyes and the violent edge to his soul, was the one who had taken so much from me. 'Dontrell'-his softer, quieter brother-had given me an escape, a way out of a life I feared would drown me. I had no choice in this marriage, but at least he wasn't a monster like his brother.

And then, as though reading my thoughts, Dontrell smiled at me-soft, sincere-and said, "I do."

The words brought me back from the river of memories and confusion. My gaze snapped back to him, and in that moment, everything else faded. It was just us standing before the priest. The moment stretched, and I felt his presence, solid, anchoring me to the ground.

The priest stepped back with a smile. "You may kiss your bride."

As Dontrell leaned in to kiss me, the world felt like it paused. His lips met mine-warm and soft, but with an intensity that shook me to my core. The kiss felt like a slow burn-tender but with an edge of something sweet. The crowd cheered, their voices a distant echo. But it was the touch of his lips that consumed me.

I pulled away, blinking rapidly to refocus as I forced the butterflies in my tummy to die. I shifted my gaze from my groom's face to just over his shoulder, my pulse quickening as my eyes landed on Andrew, standing behind Dontrell. The same man who had been in bed with me, his dick in my mouth and my cunt in his face, just the night before the wedding. His smile looked a little too forced, yet there was still a glimmer of sincerity behind it. Had he been happy for me, or was it something else? I didn't know.

I tried to hold my composure, but my body betrayed me, tingling at the thought of him, our bodies entangled in a moment neither of us had ever planned for.

Dontrell, sensing my absentmindedness, swirled me off my feet and into his arms, lifting me with ease as if I weighed nothing. The crowd clapped, and the lights of the hall danced around us. I forced myself to smile back at them from his arms, but the weight of my father's deal and this forced marriage pressed down on me.

Just as Dontrell took a few steps forward to exit the venue, Elias, one of his groomsmen and bodyguards, tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He lowered me gently to the floor, and our moment was broken. The air shifted. Embarrassment rose in my chest, but the crowd didn't seem to notice.

The hall suddenly stretched out in front of us, and I began taking note of the sea of guests in tuxedos and gowns. My father sat in the front row with Nadeem, wiping away a tear. Seeing him emotional made my skin crawl. What was the point of pretending now? You sold me off, and now you're crying? Do better.

At that moment, Doris, my one and only bridesmaid and the only person who had supported me since the night I met her at Clayton's club, swooped in from where she stood beside the altar, her hand grabbing mine in a gesture of solidarity as if she sensed my embarrassment. She began to sway with me, pulling me into a dance.

"Thank you for stepping in," I whispered to her, grateful for her quick thinking.

She smiled, squeezing my hand. "What are bridesmaids for if not to save the bride from awkward moments?"

"Why does it feel like he cares more about his business than me?" I asked sadly.

"Don't sweat it; everyone knows the Blades men don't joke with money," Doris replied, rubbing my hand gently.

I knew that already; after all, Dontrell's father had me kidnapped and married me off to him in his sick game of revenge and control over their dark world that my father had foolishly messed with. And now, here I am, a pawn in their twisted game of payback, trapped in a marriage I never wanted, with no way out.

I shot one look at Dontrell again, and he was still talking to his men, his back rigid as they stood around themselves, speaking in hushed tones. They quickly realized they looked out of place. To blend in, they began to sway their bodies in rhythm, making it seem like a coordinated dance between the groom, his men, and the bride with her bridesmaid. Elias and Andrew, despite tapping their feet gently, remained focused on their conversation with Dontrell, their lips still moving softly.

"He's lost it if he ever thinks I'll love him like he wants," I muttered to Doris, facing her back.

"You have to; you're his woman," she responded.

"And he's the son of my kidnapper." I choked out.

"Shh, keep it down. Some men here are from rival gangs. If they catch wind of this, your husband could lose everything-and you could end up dead." She muttered, and I went quiet.

Their discussion went on for a few more minutes before Dontrell turned back to me. As if knowing how to play the crowd, he gently pulled me away from Doris, leaving the men behind, his arms coming around my waist possessively. Doris gracefully stepped aside as Dontrell kissed me deeply, a show meant for the watching eyes. Then, with that same smoothness, he led me toward the door, guiding me to the compound where his luxury convoy awaited-sleek, expensive cars gleaming in the soft light, ready to take us into a new chapter of my life.

The world became a blur as we made our way to the waiting cars. My mind spun with the weight of the new life. And as the car doors slammed shut behind us, I was already lost in the uncertainty of the journey ahead.

We drove for what felt like hours, the landscape flashing past, until finally, we arrived at our destination-a private airstrip, where a jet waited. The steps felt endless as we ascended into the sleek interior. The flight attendants greeted us with polite smiles, but my mind was elsewhere; all this while, Dontrell never let go of my hand. He was smiling sheepishly; he had just won a trophy by marrying me. If the circumstances surrounding our marriage weren't that of a prey and a predator, I would have been ecstatic at the thought of having a husband who was happy to be with me. The hostess handed me a slim-fitted blue dress to change into, and I went into the Jets restroom to change.

When I got back, I sat back on the plush leather seats, trying to settle my racing thoughts, but fear kept gnawing at me. I was now Dontrell's lawfully wedded wife, and that meant he could take me wherever he wanted, even if it was here on this jet. It wasn't my first time having sex-I'd done it a few times before my wedding. But my first experience had been a nightmare: a rape. And it wasn't just anyone-it was Clayton, my husband's brother. The first day he laid eyes on me, he violated me. I wasn't sure if Dontrell knew, but back then, I wasn't his wife yet, and I had come to learn that in the Blade family, it was common for the brothers to sleep with any woman their father abducts home. Yet I couldn't help but wonder, if Dontrell ever found out the truth, would he fight for me? Or would he stay silent? And just as the weight of everything threatened to crush me, Dontrell's voice broke through.

"Rest, for now, my love. We'll be home soon, then I can show you all the peace and affection I promised you."

And so I let my eyes flutter shut, the gentle hum of the plane lulling me into a restless sleep. It wasn't the wedding night I had ever dreamed of, but I was glad he wasn't forcing me to have sex just yet.

When I woke, it was the loud announcement of our arrival by the pilot that pulled me from my dreams. I blinked, disoriented, and tired. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Dontrell was seated on the couch opposite me, packing away his laptop. The hostess moved in to assist with our bags as we prepared for landing.

"You shouldn't wear that bangle again. You're mine now," Dontrell said as his gaze locked on the beaded bracelet around my wrist, the one with 'Allison Blackwell' woven in black beads.

"I've had it all my life," I muttered angrily, barely finding my voice.

"When you have a new life, the old one doesn't matter," he replied coldly, slipping on his dark shades with a slow, deliberate motion. His fingers brushed over the cold steel of his gun holstered at his side, a silent reminder of his authority before he flicked an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve.

"I'm not taking it off."

"We'll see about that," he growled, changing his previous frown to a grin, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of psychotic man I had been given to.

The plane landed with a smooth bump, and as I stepped up to the boarding door, the cool San Diego midnight breeze ruffled my hair. Dontrell's large hand was warm as he took mine, lifting it to place a peck on it.

"Let me guide you, my lady," he murmured, his voice low, close to my ear. "I don't want you tripping."

Without any more words, Dontrell led me down the plane's stairs, his hand still holding mine. His steps were sure and confident, and his presence was strong as I carefully followed behind. The bright glow of runway lights pierced the night and cast long shadows across the ground.

At the end of the step, I was met with the warm grins of a gathering of youthful ladies and men dressed in savvy, blue outfits that made it clear they were part of Dontrell's domestic staff.

I adjusted my Chanel bag, holding it tightly against my side. One of the young women stepped forward, attempting to take the bag from me. Her smile was polite, but her fingers twitched with the eagerness to assist. I gently pulled the strap back, my voice soft but firm.

"No, thank you; I can carry it myself."

Her smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes, but when Dontrell turned to look at her, she quickly retracted the expression and replaced it with the same practiced grin.

We continued toward the waiting car, but something caught my eye. Off to the side, near the plane's hangar, a small, simple golf cart was parked. Its inviting presence made me briefly consider leaving the luxury vehicles behind. It felt more personal, more intimate. But I didn't say anything and simply kept walking, the urge fading as quickly as it came.

Dontrell must have noticed my pause because he stopped, gently turning me to face him before placing a soft kiss on my cheek, his lips lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, his tone even, but I could hear the faint edge of curiosity in his voice.

I glanced back at the golf cart, but only half of it was visible from the side of his body. He was too tall, and without the heels I had worn in the wedding hall, I couldn't see past his shoulder. My mind hungered for the simplicity of the cart. Yet I wondered if it would upset him if I insisted on taking something that small.

He turned his gaze, following mine. "You want to ride in that instead?" he asked, voice deep but teasing.

I nodded eagerly, not caring how ridiculous it sounded.

He wasted no time, barking orders to his men. They quickly brought the cart over, cutting the engine and stepping down with respectful gestures. Dontrell took a moment to remove his suit jacket, handing it to one of the staff before rolling up his sleeves. My eyes lingered for a moment on his bare arms-well-toned, veins visible beneath the skin, a tattoo on his upper arm that extended onto his shoulder. His body was strong, sculpted in a way that made it clear he was a man accustomed to both power and control.

He slid into the driver's seat of the cart, his body shifting effortlessly, and I joined him in the passenger seat. He turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. The convoy of luxury cars trailed from behind; their bright front lights illuminated everything as we made our way to the front of the enormous compound.

When I saw the house, my breath caught in my throat. The penthouse towered ahead, gleaming in the nightlight. It wasn't just a house-it was a fortress. Everything about it screamed wealth, but as we got closer, the sheer size and opulence of the place became more apparent. The building loomed ahead-a towering structure made of glass and steel.

We reached the entrance-an imposing brick building. A servant greeted us as we stepped into the foyer, but I barely acknowledged her, just following closely beside Dontrell as he headed straight for the elevator. He swiped a gold card to unlock the elevator, and we stepped in, rising to the twenty-first floor.

The door opened to a sprawling, open-plan living area that stretched out before me. Glass windows framed breathtaking views of the city below, while the interior was a blend of sleek, modern design and raw, industrial elements. A home bar stood in one corner, chairs were scattered around, and a staircase led to the next floor above us, or was it the roof? I didn't know.

Come with me," Dontrell said, his tone shifting. It was commanding now, almost harsh.

I followed him to a door at the far end of the room, where he pressed his fingerprint to a sensor.

"Do I have to wait for you to be around before I can go into the room?" I asked, curious as to why he needed fingerprint access to such a personal space when the entire building was already locked down with tight security.

"No," he replied smoothly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Your fingerprint is already locked in."

I wanted to ask when he'd done that, but the thought faded. Getting my fingerprint wouldn't be an issue for a man like him.

The door slid open, revealing a bedroom. We went into it, and its opulence was unmistakable-from the polished marble floors to the sleek furniture. It was breathtaking, yet cold, like a museum display, not a home. Dontrell walked further into the room and dropped his wallet and keys on a nearby shelf, indifferent to the grandeur surrounding us. I paused at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do.

"Make yourself at home," he coaxed, taking off his belt, but I simply hissed in response.

"I'm trying hard to understand you, Allison, but you aren't making it easy for me. I'm not the type to want a woman around, so if I'm trying to keep you with me, the least you can do is comply," he snarled, staring straight into my eye.

"Try harder or file for a divorce," I shot back, turning away as I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like a visitor in my new home.

"Whatever foolish mind games you're playing to end this marriage, it won't work, and you can't make me mad at you, at least not this way," he said, unbuttoning his shirt as he continued talking.

"In what way then?" I queried, but I could feel the fear knotted in my stomach. A series of questions raced through my mind: What if he hits me or beats me into submission, just like his brother did? But after a brief silence, he responds.

"The way you'll beg, cry, and plead, but I won't listen. You'll want me to stop, but I won't care. I'll keep going until you can't stand it anymore." He scoffed, taking off his trousers, and I looked away.

A wave of dread washed over me, not sure what to expect next. Fear rose in my chest as I curled my fingers into the bedspread.

By the time I looked back up, he was fully undressed, but he had his back facing me. I felt a drool escape my lip as my eyes traveled over his body-broad shoulders, his muscular back adorned with a large crest tattoo, identical to his brother's, except he was larger, taking up the entire top left side of his back. The tattoo depicted a shield with two swords crossed above it. Two lions stood on their hind legs, pulling the shield from both sides. Below the shield, a banner displays the name "Dontrell." The design is bold and powerful, evoking a medieval, regal feel.

He turned to face me stark naked, and I couldn't help but notice the sheer size of him. The V-shaped muscles of his torso tapered down, leading my eyes to his manhood and the enormity of it. He stood with an intimidating, almost unnatural presence. His dickey was enormous, leaving me breathless.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, as he moved closer to me. "Does this scare you?" he asked, a taunting edge in his voice. I experienced the dread of sleeping with him just like I did on the plane, but I didn't yield to it.

He closed the distance between us, positioning my legs between his. His fingers slid into my mouth, curling around my tongue; they tasted salty from dirt. My body reacted to him, and my pussy got wet, but as my eyes fluttered shut to take in the moment, a memory hit me-Andrew. His cock in my mouth. The sight of him jerking his dick hard in my face and how he shot his cum on my tongue. My body shook involuntarily, the memory choking me and forcing my eyes open.

Dontrell's eyes darkened as he felt me tremble like I was disgusted by him. His erection was still there, hard and close, but then, without warning, he pulled his fingers out of my mouth and stepped away.

"I'm so sorry." I choked out, feeling ashamed at how I just recoiled at my husband's touch, but he didn't respond to me, leaving me confused if he didn't also want me.

I watched him leave for the shower, my mind racing. My life and my father's survival depended on this twisted marriage. But how could I make this work? I curled up on the bed, still dressed, lost in thought until sleep claimed me.