The Mafia's Crazy Obsession

Abel

"Here," Father huffed, grabbing the contract papers from the attorney and sliding them across the Lucite glass table in our midst. I lifted my gaze to meet his harsh, unyielding eyes. "Quit looking at me and sign the damn papers already. We've got a lot of other things to get to."

I nodded nervously, skimming over the papers quickly, my pen poised over the signature line. It would be fatal to defy my father. Norman Stravkos was a no-nonsense man. The head of a powerful underground Mafia gang. A pesky drug lord that evaded the hands of the law like sudden lightning. His word was law, and his actions - unbred chaos.

Taking in a deep breath, I scribbled my signature down on the contract papers, pressing so hard that the track of my signature left a groove on the sheet of paper. Setting the pen down, I slid the papers across the table. Only this time, I wasn't passing it to my father but to her.

Solana.

Guilt spiked in my veins as I braved myself to look at her briefly before turning away. I felt, more than saw her through my peripheral vision as she lifted big, beautiful blue, frightened eyes at me. There were tear streaks at the corners and her face was beeping red. Since we got here, all she'd done was cry silently.

She wrenched her gaze from me, glancing down sadly at the collected, official documents that would bind her to me forever. Documents that would make her mine. I wasn't sure of what would be running through her mind as she stared hard at the papers. Perhaps she was trying to make sense of this. Of what had just happened. Of a cold, cruel fate that had been decided for the both of us - our consents be damned.

Then she looked up again, this time directly at her father. Amidst the burning rage, betrayal, and the billion-dollar question of why he was putting her through this misery, I detected a new emotion swirling in her reddened eyes. Grief, and a plea. A silent one. She stared at him as though he was a different man. A stranger, not her loving father.

But Williams kept his eyes lowered, his head bent forward in defeat. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. To watch her cry. I knew that this was guilt that would haunt him to the grave. Giving his beloved daughter away to ensure peace. A debt settlement.

I was mad at him, but more pissed at my father. For being this cruel. For going this far in his quest for revenge and dominance. Was it worth her life? Was it worth ruining her dreams? Was it worth ruining mine as well? Surely, I could never accomplish as much as I used to while single, now that I was saddled with a new responsibility. A new trophy.

A wife. One I didn't want. One that, I was sure, would hate me for life.

Solana sucked in a shaky breath, cleaning her eyes aggressively. How could everyone be so oblivious, so unfeeling towards her pain? Towards her sorrow, which was painfully heart-wrenching? I could see the way her chest heaved, the way she tried, unsuccessfully, to shake off this absurdity and keep a straight face. Her hand shook as she lifted up her pen, meeting my gaze once more. One last plea. One last begging for me to put an end to this, but I was as helpless as she felt. At last, she gave up, struggling against the tears that threatened to spill onto her already stained cheeks.

I was numb. Here I was, a first-hand witness to an innocent girl's pain, an innocent girl's plight and all I could do was stare. It felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience. That I wasn't really sitting here. That I wasn't involved in this mess.

"Sign, already."

My Father's steel-like voice, coupled with his command made her shiver, and she turned to him. I watched their gazes collide - one filled with sorrow and tears, and the other brimming with triumph and happiness.

"We won't spend all day on this."

Norman Stravkos was indeed a man of few words. To call him domineering and difficult was simply putting things mildly. His expressionless stare alone was enough to make grown men, higher than him in rank and riches tremble.

In case you guessed right, there was no one, no one at all in New York that could match his wealth and multi-national chains of enterprises, the latter of which was a fine cover for his drug dealing escapades.

But Solana wasn't one of those cowardly men. I watched her gaze harden, her chin jutting out in defiance.

Feisty.

Her father came to the rescue. "Sign the papers, Solana. Please."

She didn't spare anyone as much as a glance after that. Quietly, she pressed the pen to the paper and signed her name - Solana Chloe Williams - on the dotted line adjacent to mine. She handed it over to the attorney, and the septuagenarian applied a seal to the sheets, before standing and exiting the room.

I slouched back on my seat, a chalky taste in my mouth. It was official. Decided. Done with.

Solana was mine.

My father stood, giving me a glaring once over that suggested that he wasn't pleased with my conduct, and strode out of the room. His two right-hand men followed him closely.

"Do you need a few minutes to bid your family goodbye?" I asked, hoping that she would see that I wasn't as uptight as my father.

"No. I don't," she barely looked at her father who still sat like a statue with his hands in my hands. Pushing her chair back, she stood, her plush pink gown that was now wrinkled, due to sitting for too long, falling over her thighs. She kept her hands by her sides, curling them into fierce little fists.

"All's been done, and I'm ready to leave now."

"Alright." I nodded, gesturing to the waiting men. She didn't wait for him to lead the way, but hurried ahead of him, as though he was escorting her to her execution. I took one last fleeting glance at her father, then at the clear glass table, the wrinkles on the leather chair where we'd all sat, taking a girl against her own will. It was all so shameful.

But I knew it could've been much worse for her. If it had gone the way my father had wanted, then there was no saving her. She would do much more than just cry. She would tear at her hair and wish she had never been born.

Norman Stravkos' cruelty was that stifling.

I'd done more than save her. I didn't intend to treat her harshly, either, now she was my wife. So why did I feel so sore? Which did I feel like a monster? A spineless idiot?

I sauntered out of the room, riding down to the lobby, all the while wiping my eyes. My throat felt tight, and there were heavy knots in my stomach. I needed fresh air. I needed a distraction. Anything at all to clear my head.

Walking out the entrance door onto the cozy Manhattan sidewalk, I clambered onto my waiting SUV wordlessly. The driver knew just where to take me, and a few minutes later, he pulled up in front of Evie's house. My mistress never expected any of my visits, but she was ever ready to satisfy me. I knocked on the door, twice, and she opened it - donning my favorite black miniskirt and a spaghetti strap top.

"Well, hello darling," she drawled, her fake Southern accent making my ears throb as she pulled me in for a hug. I wrapped my arms loosely around her waist, capturing her lips. She tasted like strawberry, and a little something more. "How did the meeting go? Was it successful?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I said stiffly, walking into the living room of her small apartment. Plopping down on a sofa, I shut my eyes and tried not to remember the fright in Solana's eyes as she lay, bound and spread out on the floor before me, with the Irish doctor probing her, and confirming that she was intact.

I'd sat there watching, and at one time I raised my voice at the doctor when her muffled screams became unbearable, urging him to go easy on her. Did that make me a little less guilty? A little more humane?

But I was aroused, my cock threatening to burst out of my straps.

She cried a lot. Each teardrop that slipped down the corner of her eyes made my collar tighten around my neck, made my head burn, and my eyes water. I'd forced myself not to hear the sounds, not to react to my father's harsh, insensitive words, her shallow breathing as she sought to remain quiet.

I'd sat there through it all.

I deserved whatever nefarious opinion she was of me right now. I was a devil. A cold-blooded monster. A puppet. Because when I finally willed myself to look at her, to meet those sea-blue eyes that were disarming, I saw the plea in them. A cry for help.

In her darkest hour, she'd sought my help, but I turned my back on her.

Her father began crying when he realized the full cost he'd agreed to; the payment of the debt he couldn't wiggle out of alone.

Her life for his. Hers for theirs.

Norman Stravkos was that evil, but it didn't absolve her father from blame. He was a coward. A selfish man and a deadbeat father. He should have done anything, everything within his power to protect her. He should have given up his life for hers. He was her protector for fuck's sake.

I sucked in a breath, blindly reaching out for the glass of wine Evie held out for me. I downed it in one go.

"More," I growled.

She did as I asked, pouring me a second glass. And one more after that. And one more till I couldn't feel my feet anymore. Yet, the alcohol did nothing to wipe that scenario from my mind. Her big sea-blue eyes were frightened. Terrified.

"I know what would make you feel better," Evie chirped, sinking to her knees before me. I widened my legs to accommodate her, sighing as she whipped out my cock from my pants gradually. She mouthed a few words - words I couldn't catch, thanks to the pounding in my head and took my already hard cock into her mouth.

I exhaled, grabbing a handful of her mousy brown hair for support, and closed my eyes, letting her do her work, taking me deep into her throat. But she was too gentle tonight, handling me like a delicate glass you that could break. I didn't want gentle.

I needed more.

Standing, I tightened my grip around her hair, squeezed my eyes shut against the image of Solana sprawled helplessly on that table, and fucked her face until she choked on my dick, tears streaming down her cheeks. I came harder than ever, groaning as I emptied down her throat. But surprisingly, my release didn't make me feel any less guilty. I still felt bad, still felt dirty, and frankly, perhaps I deserved my prickly conscience. I'd allowed it to happen. I'd sat by and done nothing when I had the power to help.

Even though it could've cost me my life, still I should've helped some more.

Now she was mine.

And she wouldn't stop loathing me till the day she breathed her last.

Six years later.

Tuscany, Italy.

Solana

The last time I'd been in the church was when I was a baby. My parents were not religious, but Mother had wanted me to have a baptism. It was held in this same cathedral, and Mother told me how proud she felt holding me close to her bosom as she followed the priest to the altar. How afraid, yet confident, that Father walked beside her. How a massive crowd of friends and business associates had turned out, just for me.

I would always be her favorite child. Always.

Shortly after my baptism, my father tended his resignation letter to Steele Corp - the app developing company he'd worked in for thirty solid years, and struck out on his own, with the help of Norman Stravkos; who became his new master. He stopped going to church, started sleeping around town with girls, and treated my mother like shit. All for the money. All for the fame. All for the glory. All for everything that would ruin him and his generations to come.

Today, as I followed his casket to the front of the church, I tried to conjure up remorse. A little guilt for the gruesome way he died. I wasn't sure if the details of how his body had been squashed in the upturned, burning vehicle would ever leave my head, but I didn't mind. A little part of me felt relief. With him gone, Mother could start her life anew. With him gone, there'd be no more chaos. No more senseless deals with rivals that'd cost him the lives of his daughters and cousins in the future. No more greedy alliances.

Black lace hid my face, so I could survey the crowd that had gathered to pay their last respects without them seeing me. The pews stood empty until we reached the front rows, where fifteen were occupied. Twenty-five mourners on the right - my whole family - and double that amount on the left. Did soldiers and tall, rude men in black suits and goofy goggles count as mourners too? Because that was what the Stravkos had brought with them. Their whole shady entourage.

I ignored them, my attention instead arrested by the twenty-five sourly-looking faces on my right. As a nefarious drug dealer, my father had gathered more enemies than friends in the last couple of years, so it wasn't surprising for me to note that out of the twenty-five persons, there were only two new faces I'd not seen before. The rest were family - my mother, uncles, aunts, and cousins. My uncles and male cousins didn't sit with them presently though. They were carrying my father's coffin.

As the procession edged closer to the altar, I exhaled, preparing myself to see his face. The face of the spineless man, who five years ago, had sat beside me in a cold, sterile room and signed a contract, declaring his ownership of me. Ownership he didn't want, but was too much of a chicken to go against his father. The contract had filled in the position of a vow. A marriage vow. The only difference was that instead of the promise to love, protect and cherish me for the rest of our lives, there'd been a strong assertion to protect and keep me in line. Words that made me feel like a property, then a bride. Words that haunted my dreams. Words that fuelled my hate.

It was a contract of perpetual slavery. My life to spare my family. To keep our bloodline alive, and free from the wrath of the Stravkos that was waxing eternal. I was the sacrificial lamb. The trophy of victory over the Williams. The Stravkos got a good kick out of letting everyone in Tuscany know that at last, they owned the Williams princess. That there were conquerers in an age-long petty feud.

I loathed the Stravkos family. They were heartless monsters. They deserved nothing but anguish, misery, and suffering.

The procession came to a halt. My mother stood up to join us, followed closely by my elder sister Helen. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat when Mother took my hand in hers, her sorrow washing over me, making my eyes water. But I wasn't crying because I understood her pain. I was crying because finally, she was free. From a selfish, cheating husband. From a man who had done nothing but shows just how much he didn't deserve her.

She was free at last.

Helen squeezed my shoulder softly from behind, but I didn't dare look back. I should've expected to see her today of all days. Of course, she wouldn't miss Father's funeral for the world. She was his favorite, after all, even though their relationship had gone sour later on. I looked down at the handsome little boy clutching my dress - her son, Frank. He giggled, exposing two, shimmering white incisors. He couldn't be more than three years old and was completely adorable.

My heart twisted with the painful reminder that I wouldn't get to have a cute child like him. At least, not with a Stravkos.

Over my dead body.

Nine pallbearers lowered my father's coffin onto the wide, spacious table. Mother had insisted that it should be a closed-casket funeral - no viewing- due to father's burnt skin.

My cousins turned to me. They'd turned out to be full-fledged men in so little time. I didn't blame them. Growing up in an emotionally troubled household did that to you. Wayne, Uncle Jethro's - my father's immediate elder brother - oldest son looked past me, his gaze settling on my sister. His eyes, a soft, grass green I remembered from childhood had taken a deeper shade. I watched, wishing I could swivel around and take a good look at my sister. Observe just how much she'd grown as well, see what her eyes silently communicated to Wayne. But I didn't, and Wayne's eyes shifted to me at last.

Through the lace shielding my face, our eyes locked. I couldn't tell if he could see the anger, betrayal, and pain swirling in my eyes. He subtly raised a hand and gave a small wave, and I wondered, fleetingly, if anyone saw him. He could be shot on the spot for it. The Stravkos family had no time for dialogue. They were that cruel.

And I was sure as hell that they did see Wayne.

A figure moved into my periphery and cleared his throat. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up at once, fear slicing through my veins, but I managed to put up an air of indifference. I already knew who it was. Heart pounding, I turned to face him casually.

Abel Montes Stravkos.

My gaze raked over his sharp appearance, memories flooding in. I remembered him. We'd only met once, but he'd stayed, tucked away in memory. Only now he appeared bigger, the posh Armani suit he had on stretching over muscle, his chest broader, his arms thicker. I leveled my eyes on his neck, willing myself to look up at his face.

He'd sat there that day, saying nothing as his father and doctor humiliated me. I'd laid on that cold floor begging, urging him with my eyes to save me. To do something. To man up. But he didn't. He'd sat there, watched me struggle, watched me cry my eyes out as they took away every ounce of my dignity.

It was unforgivable.

Even though he didn't want to get bound to me, he'd done nothing to stop it. He was twice as guilty, even though he didn't have any control over the situation. He'd become the head one day, just like his father. He'd rule with an iron fist as well. He'd be a much bigger monster. A much more disgusting predator.

A devil.

One I'd vowed to destroy six years ago.

Solana

I straightened, masking my grief briefly behind a wall of indifference before letting my gaze travel up his face. Mother had taught me how to hide my feelings well over the years. She was always at the door whenever Father came back late from work with stuffy excuses of being stuck in traffic or intentionally staying back to finish up some files that had to be turned in the next day. She'd smile, and pat his shoulder as though in understanding. But when he took his clothes off in the bedroom, I watched her sniff them for the faintest smell of a cologne different from his. Her eyes would water, but she'd blink them off the minute she saw me looking. She'd toss the clothes aside and crouch with a million-dollar smile that never seemed to reach her eyes if you knew her well enough.

She was the strongest woman I'd ever seen. The strongest.

My heart clanged hard against my chest, as I inhaled in shallow, breathy intakes. Time seemed to slow down, the world tilting, a splash of black and white - a little of gray. Something dropped in my stomach as piercing dark eyes met mine.

Not harsh or steely like I expected, but soft and concerned.

For a brief moment, I felt he understood my pain. For a brief moment, I felt he was truly concerned.

But that was exactly what I'd thought six years ago, while I was pinned down to the floor, right? I'd felt hopeful that day that he'd spring up from where he sat and tear the annoying doctor away, and stand up to his Father. That he would put an end to the madness. But what did he do? Nothing. He simply sat back, watching. Too much of a loser to brave Norman Stravkos' wrath.

So I was done believing that perhaps, he had a tiny part of a beating heart left behind that buffed-up chest. Any perceived softness was intended to deceive. Like a predator.

The Stravkos family were predators.

And predators had no mercy on their prey whatsoever. I had to understand that, to steel myself from being fooled. They wanted total control of everything within their reach. What they didn't know was that I, Solana Williams was a free woman, incapable of being kept in line. I'd make them gnash their teeth and curse the day they made me theirs. Even if it was the last thing I do.

Abel nodded curtly in acknowledgment and stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter the pew. His father and junior brothers stood watching us, a sly smirk tugging at the ends of his father's lips. I needed no soothsayer to tell me he felt victorious. He had successfully gotten rid of his strongest rival in all of Italy. At last, the competition that had existed between both families for decades had been eliminated, with the Stravkos emerging as the winners.

A tight lump formed in my throat, but I suppressed it quickly. It would be a shame to cry in front of an enemy. I needed to get a grip on my emotions as my patience was slowly bursting through the seams.

Norman gave me a crooked grin, holding out his hand to the space beside him. Quietly, I moved, my legs wobbling as I took my place beside my father-in-law.

Someday, I would turn my fear to hate. Burning scorching hate. I would need to hold onto it, to keep it burning, in order to survive the stormy days ahead. I had only been a naive, sixteen-year-old teenager when I was forced to sign that contract, but I very well knew the implications of those psychotic words binding me to Abel. They meant slavery. A testament that I would never have it easy when Abel finally came to claim me, and I would move into the Stravkos mansion and bear their dirty surname.

I set some distance between Norman and me, careful not to touch or look at him. I had the feeling he was doing the same - his face straight, his brows creased, as though in disgust. I didn't turn to look at Helen either as she escorted Mother back to their pew across the aisle. I blurred out the Stravkos soldiers standing imposingly in a straight line on the perimeter of the church, spilling out the door. Instead, I watched the priest presiding over the funeral. How youthful he looked. How careful. How sorrowful.

He blessed my father and prayed for the Angels to receive his soul into heaven. After all this time, after everything went downhill pretty fast, I simply didn't care anymore. But that kindness. Those soft words of his offered me a string of comfort. One I desperately clung to.

Everyone was dried-eyed, even Mother. It baffled me, even though I somewhat knew my father deserved it. Still, it was a funeral, and without the tears and raw display of grief, it felt off.

I sat through the priest's terse monotone droning as he recited some bible passages and extolled my father for the good deeds he had done during his short time on Earth. One hour later, the service came to an end. My uncles and cousins circled the casket once more, lifting it up. Once they moved past us, Abel stood up, gesturing for me to go ahead. I obeyed, my body going rigid when I felt his arm curl loosely around my waist. He must've felt me stiffen because he didn't hold me for long. He let me go as we neared the entrance, clearing his throat.

We stepped down the stairs, onto the square. The bright Italian sun was blinding making my face burn hot behind the thin veil. My Father's body would be laid to rest here in Tuscany. It was what he always wanted. To be laid to rest in a town he had labored in for so many years. The press was up the minute we appeared out of the church, racing madly towards us with different colors of microphones and jotter pads. Thankfully, the soldiers were on hand, pushing them back. I lost count of the number of camera clicks that were directed at us, capturing everyone from a distance.

Standing aside, I watched, my arms folded across my chest, as they lowered the casket in the waiting hearse. The Stravkos men flanked me protectively on all sides, Abel standing too close, his protective arm back around his waist. Some commotion ensured, and I smiled as three-year-old Frank escaped from my cousin, Adele's grip, and ran towards his mother, my sister Helen, wrapping his little arms around her legs tightly. The Stravkos men were distracted as well, Abel's protective hold falling off, and I used the moment to break away from them and moved over to my family.

"It's good to see you again, Solana."

Helen greeted me with a faint smile, her eyes puffy and red, but her cheeks were strangely dry. She looked like a totally different person. Hardship had made her age faster than her twenty-six years.

She touched my shoulders, inspecting my appearance, her mouth hanging open in surprise at how much I had changed as well. I was no longer the sixteen-year-old girl with weak, brown curls, a slender body, and a flat chest. Now, I was a full-grown woman. My hips had filled out, my curls had hardened, and my breasts were full. And it took just six years to make all the difference.

I least expected it when she pulled me in for a hug, holding on to me as if his life depended on it. "Look how big you've grown. I've missed your sour face so much."

My eyes watered, and I relaxed, allowing my body to give into her embrace. We'd been best friends, more than we'd been sisters, but she'd vanished one cold morning. I would've forgiven her if she'd asked me to come with her, but she didn't. She turned her back on me and left me to face the big, bad wolves alone. I knew why she did it. I understood her reasons. But still, it hurt twice as much.

It should've been her. She should've been the one to bear the brunt of our family's humiliation, but I'd taken her place. Against my will. She and Abel were once best friends, too. But they'd been forced to drift away due to the simmering conflict between both families. Helen had found love with someone else, and Abel had absorbed himself into his father's business, and they just couldn't stand each other anymore.

None of what happened was her fault. I should stop blaming her, but I just couldn't bring myself to.

"Mama," came Frank's high-pitched voice.

Helen released me at last, squeezing my hands in comfort. She was the only one, apart from Mother, who could see through the false facade of strength I was putting on.

"Mama, look at me," Frank said impatiently, tugging harder at her skirt. Helen sighed, bending to ruffle his hair before she picked him up.

"I thought you'd be lounging in Rhode Island by now. Why did you come back?" I asked, my voice cautious, stilled, cold. "Why now? And how long do you intend on staying."

Surprise flashed through her eyes. Her little boy watched me curiously, while I tried not to swoon over him. It was impossible. I had a weakness for babies with cobalt-blue eyes, and Frank had the right amount of cuteness to make me feel warm. His beer red curls shone in the sunlight, and I wondered fleetingly for a second if his father was Asian or Mexican. I wanted to ask her, but we simply didn't have that same closeness as before, and I doubted she'd tell the truth anyway.

"This is Frank," Helen said, ignoring my questions. "Frank, this is your aunt, Solana. Say hello."

"Hello, Aunt Solana," Frank gave a small wave.

"Hi, Frank. How are you?" I asked, poking his chubby cheeks. He giggled, flailing his legs in the air.

"Pyne."

"Why did you come back? You hated him more than anything while I was still here. Did that later change? Is that why you came back?" I asked, my voice thickening with rage. I'd expected more from her, yet she abandoned me. What kind of a sister pushes her sibling in front of a moving train instead of saving her?

"I know you're angry at me Solana, but please hear me out. I never should have left. I'm sorry, and I do hope you forgive me someday," she glanced at the hearse, her eyes softening. "I never forgave him for setting us up to take his fall, but he's still our father. Life is much too short to hold grudges."

I wondered if our situation would be different if we had a brother. As girls, we'd been easier to give away. To do away with.

"Frank and I will come over to see you next week. We'll be leaving for Rhode Island a day after."

I snorted. "Why bother?"

She exhaled, taking my hand. Hers trembled. "Solana, I'm trying to be a better sister. To look out for you like in the old days. Like I should've six years ago. Please let me."

"No." I snapped, swallowing hard. The tears were close. I could feel them. "You lost the right to look out for me when you left without a word."

"I know...but please be strong. We'll all heal."

"You didn't lose anything, Helen. You didn't lose your freedom."

"But I lost a father."

"A father we both didn't love. Do you know how hard it is for me not to hate you outrightly for leaving me in the lurch? You could've taken me along with you! You knew the Stravkos men would lose their shit and Father would have no choice but to hand me over to them as a replacement."

"I didn't, goddammit! I didn't know, believe me."

We were drawing attention to us now, I was sure. I didn't want Abel to come here and lose his shit at her for snapping at me. Taking a deep breath, I said. "Well, you know now. I have no to go."

I took a step back. Helen's eyes filled with tears as she held out a hand, urging me to take it. To hold her one last time.

But I blinked my own tears back and turned away.

Shed no tears. Show no weakness.