Trapped in a Mafia's obsession

Rafael Mercer's hands were slick with blood, his or theirs, he couldn't tell. The bullet holes in his car told a story of their own, a reminder that he had barely made it out alive.

What was supposed to be a private meeting had turned into a bloodbath. A setup. His allies were scattered, trapped in their own hells, and he was tearing through the streets at full throttle, heart pounding like a war drum.

His car roared down the asphalt, tires screeching as he pushed past dangerous speeds. He had escaped, for that moment.

A sudden beep on his dashboard.

Fuel low.

"Fuck! Not now," Rafael hissed under his breath. He knew he was being followed, but he couldn't risk breaking down in the open. He needed gas.

His sharp eyes scanned the road. Then he saw it.

An old, lonely gas station, flickering lights barely illuminating the night. A girl stood behind the counter, her figure outlined by the dim glow.

Celia Romano leaned against the counter, tapping her nails against the surface. It had been a boring shift, until then.

A tall, dangerously attractive man stepped out of his car. Blood ran down his temple, yet his presence was calm, composed and deadly.

He walked up, barely sparing her a glance, and tossed his card onto the counter.

"Fill it up."

Celia rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "We only accept cash here."

His cold, bloodied gaze flickered to hers. A man like him wasn't used to being told no or disagreed with.

"What kind of outdated gas station is this?" he muttered, his voice edged with irritation.

"It's outdated, but it's also clearly written on the sign outside," she shot back, unfazed.

Rafael exhaled sharply, shoving a hand into his leather jacket. He pulled out a bill, threw it onto the counter, along with something else. A single black glove.

Celia barely noticed, but Rafael did. Just as he reached to grab it, his phone buzzed.

Mason Dominic.

His second-in-command.

Rafael answered. "Talk."

"Boss, I think you're being followed," Mason's voice came through, tense.

"I figured," Rafael muttered, wiping the blood from his temple.

"When you start driving, they will lose your trail eventually, your speed is untouchable."

Rafael smirked at Mason's confidence.

"We will be waiting for you at the underground," Mason added before hanging up.

Rafael grabbed the cash, shoved it into his pocket, and walked back to his car, forgetting the glove he had left behind.

Forty minutes later, the black SUV tailing Rafael pulled over on the side of the road.

"You didn't drive fast enough!" the gang leader barked, slamming his fist onto the dashboard.

"We lost him," the driver admitted through clenched teeth.

"But..." one of the men spoke up. "He stopped at a gas station. The girl there must know something about him."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"He dropped a something, I think a glove or handkerchief With her."

Their leader smirked. "That's evidence. And a reason to pay her a visit."

--------

Celia's Phone buzzed. A message from Nico flashed across her screen.

"I'm going to my friend's place for a gaming night. Love you, sis. Take care."

She smiled, texting back.

"Love you too. Be careful. See you tomorrow."

She adored her younger brother, Nico. No matter how stubborn he was, he was the only family she had left. She would do anything for him.

Celia checked the time. 12:30 AM.

"My shift is almost over," she murmured, grinning excitedly.

The roar of an engine shattered the silence outside the gas station.

It was past midnight. The road was empty, the neon glow of the gas station sign flickering above her. She should have felt safe inside the booth, waiting for her shift to end.

But the moment the black SUV screeched to a stop in front of the pumps, she knew, it wasn't good.

The doors flung open, and four men stepped out.

They didn't glance at the gas prices. Didn't look around for the pumps.

They were there for something. Or someone.

Celia straightened behind the counter, her fingers tightening around the edge.

One of them marched straight toward her.

Her stomach twisted. Not normal.

Before she could take a step back, a rough hand clamped around her wrist.

"Where is he?"

Celia's breath caught. He?

Her mind raced, who were they talking about?

The man's fingers dug in tighter, and her skin burned under the force of his grip.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, forcing herself to sound confused, not terrified.

The leader's dark gaze flicked across her face, studying her, testing her reaction.

"Rafael Mercer," he said flatly. "He was here."

Celia's stomach dropped.

Rafael. The man with the deep voice, the sharp eyes, the fresh wound on his forehead.

The man who had handed her a credit card, The man who left in a hurry.

"I don't know who that is," she said.

His grip didn't loosen.

"Don't play dumb."

"I swear, I don't know him! I just work here."

The gang leader's jaw twitched. He didn't believe her.

Celia swallowed hard, keeping her face blank. Staying calm and not showing fear.

Then his eyes shifted to the counter.

The glove, Rafael's glove. She had not even noticed it was there. A slow smirk curled the man's lips as he plucked it from the counter, holding it between two fingers.

"Just work here, huh?" he mused.

Celia's pulse roared in her ears.

"It's not mine," she blurted. "He just forgot it and I di...."

The slap came fast.

Her head snapped to the side, pain exploding across her cheek.

Celia gasped, bringing a hand to her face. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"I see," the leader murmured, voice eerily calm. "You want to play dumb. Let's see how long you last."

A thick arm wrapped around her waist.

Celia thrashed, kicking out. "No! Let go of me!"

A cloth covered her mouth.Not enough to knock her out, just enough to shut her up.

They shoved her out the glass doors, the bell jingling like this was just another late-night sale.

Her nails dug into her captor's arm, but his grip only tightened.

The cold air hit her skin as they dragged her toward the SUV. Her stomach churned with terror. This can't be happening. They yanked open the car door.

Celia kicked out violently, but one of them grabbed her legs, hauling her inside.

The last thing she saw before the doors slammed shut was the empty gas station,

"Drive," the gang leader ordered, tossing the glove onto the seat beside him. "Let's see how ready Rafael Mercer is willing to risk for her life."

Celia's heart pounded as the SUV sped into the night. No one knew she was gone and no one was coming to save her. Then the SUV sped into the night, taking her with it.

Rafael stepped into his mansion, the weight of the night pressing down on him. He shrugged off his bloodstained jacket, the fabric sticking to his skin from the dried blood not all of it his own. His muscles ached, but he ignored it.

He needed to go underground. His men were waiting. The ambush had left them scattered, and he had to regroup. But as he reached for the hidden door to his private bunker, something gnawed at him. His glove. His hand froze midair.

"Shit." he Cursed. He had forgotten it.

A sharp exhale left him as he pulled out his phone and quickly typed a message.

"Will be there soon. Got something to handle first."

He sent it to Mason. No need for explanations. Mason knew better than to question him.

Without wasting another second, Rafael turned on his heels and strode back outside. One of his cars, a sleek, black Maserati, waited in the driveway like a predator ready to pounce. He slid behind the wheel, fingers gripping the leather, and started the engine.

He tore through the empty streets like a storm brewing on asphalt. The city whipped past him in a blur of neon and shadows, but Rafael didn't see any of it. His focus was razor-sharp, locked onto one thing, the gas station. Every second counted.

When Rafael pulled up, his gut clenched. The place was unrecognizable. The once-quiet gas station now looked like a war zone.

Shattered glass glittered like a field of broken stars beneath the harsh overhead lights, crunching under Rafael's boots as he stepped forward, The air was heavy with the acrid scent of gasoline, mixed with the sharp tang of blood, fresh, unmistakable.

The front counter, the very one where that stubborn girl had stood, rolling her eyes at him with that infuriating defiance, was smeared with crimson. A streak of it trailed downward as if someone had been dragged.

The shelves were overturned, their contents scattered across the floor, abandoned like the aftermath of a struggle. A single chair lay on its side, one of its legs snapped clean off.

The girl was gone.

And whoever took her had made damn sure he knew it.

Rafael stepped out, his boots crunching over the wreckage. His cold gaze swept over the destruction, his mind working fast.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, his control razor-thin.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and activated the tracker embedded in his glove.

A small, blinking signal appeared on his screen. A few kilometers away.

His eyes darkened, "They had taken it. No, they had taken her."

His jaw clenched, his blood simmering beneath his skin. He had been in this business long enough to know what happened to people who got caught in the crossfire. She wouldn't last the night.

But what they didn't realize was that what they had just done was make this personal. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Rafael slid back into his Maserati, slamming the door shut. His pulse was steady, controlled, but his anger was anything but.

He punched the gas, tires screeching against the pavement. The car roared as it surged forward, hunting the signal, hunting them.

----

Celia's head throbbed from where she had been thrown onto the cold concrete floor. The ropes around her wrists burned, biting into her skin with every small movement. Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs, but she refused to let them see her fear.

The room was dimly lit, reeking of gasoline, sweat, and blood. Rusted chains hung from the ceiling, and a metal table stood in the corner, stained with something dark.

This wasn't just some abandoned warehouse. This was a place where people disappeared.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to breathe evenly. She wouldn't panic. Panicking would only make things worse.

The men standing around her weren't in a rush. They weren't afraid. Because they had done this before.

"Boss said to keep her alive for now," one of them muttered, pacing. "But I don't see the point."

Another grunted. "She's bait. Mercer will come for her."

Celia's stomach twisted. It didn't make sense. She didn't know him. He was just a customer. A terrifying, bleeding customer, sure,but still a complete stranger.

"What if she really doesn't mean anything to him?" someone else asked. "We would be wasting our time."

"Doesn't matter."

A new voice. One she hadn't heard before.

He was the one who sent the gang to trail Rafeal, a mafia lord.

His boots echoed as he approached. The men around him straightened instinctively. Even in the low light, Celia could tell he was different. More dangerous. More ruthless.

He crouched in front of her, gripping her chin.She flinched, but he held her still, forcing her to meet his gaze. Cold. Amused. Calculating.

She refused to look away.

"Mercer left something behind," he murmured, tilting his head. "And yet, he didn't come back for it." His thumb brushed against her jaw. "That tells me... you are important."

Celia swallowed hard.

He let go of her abruptly, standing to his full height.

"I don't know him."

His expression didn't change. He exhaled slowly, almost disappointed.

Then, without warning... a blow

Pain exploded across Celia's face as his fist connected with her cheekbone, sending her sprawling onto her side. The world blurred for a second, her ears ringing.

She gasped, tasting blood.

The man stood over her, shaking out his hand like he had simply swatted away an inconvenience.

"Wrong answer," he muttered.

Celia coughed, breathing through the pain as she forced herself upright. Her cheek throbbed, but she glared up at him anyway.

The man sighed as if this was all so exhausting. He pulled a gun from his waistband and cocked it.

"She's the only lead we have right now," he said to his men. "If Mercer doesn't care... we will make him care."

The gun slid from his holster. Slow. Deliberate.

Celia's breath hitched.

"Or," he continued, voice dangerously calm, "we will see how much he values a stranger's life."

The gun cocked.

The barrel pressed against her temple.

Celia's entire body went rigid.

Celia trembled violently, every nerve in her body screaming with fear. But what clawed at her chest more than the terror was the sheer unfairness of it all.

She was going to die for something she didn't even understand. She felt frustrated.

She had spent her whole life struggling, scraping by, working her fingers to the bone just to survive. She had never been reckless. Never invited trouble.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of the cold metal pressed against her temple. But it didn't help. The rough grip of the chair beneath her, the tight ropes biting into her wrists, the acrid stench of sweat and gunpowder, everything was a reminder that this wasn't a nightmare. It was real. And soon, she wouldn't be. Her thoughts drifted to Nico.

Would he even notice she was gone? No, not

that night. He wasn't home.

He had gone to his friend's place for a gaming night, probably laughing, shouting at the screen, and stuffing his face with junk food. Completely unaware that his sister was tied up in some filthy warehouse, seconds away from death.

By the time he came home and realized she was missing, it would be too late.

She clenched her jaw, trying to push back the burning in her chest. She couldn't think about that now.

"You ready to die, sweetheart?" the man holding the gun sneered.

His grip on the weapon tightened, his finger resting against the trigger.

Celia swallowed hard. Her voice was hoarse when she rasped out, "Just do it."

The man smirked. "Gladly."

Just then...

The door exploded open with a shower of splinters. The impact was so violent that it sent a metallic echo reverberating through the walls.

The air shifted. A presence filled the room, dark and suffocating, like a storm rolling in.

Rafael.

He walked in slow, deliberate strides, the dim overhead lights casting sharp shadows over his face. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were pure death.

For a split second, no one moved.

Then....

"Kill him!" their leader shouted.

Gunfire erupted. Rafael didn't flinch.

He moved like a shadow, dodging the first bullet with a slight shift of his body. His hands were a blur as he pulled out both guns.

BANG. BANG.

Two men dropped instantly.

A third man fired at him, but Rafael ducked, rolling across the ground before twisting up,

BANG.

A shot straight to the chest.

The man hit the floor with a gurgled gasp.

Celia's breath hitched. She had never seen anything like that before.

Rafael wasn't just fighting.

He was hunting. Every move was calculated. Every shot was lethal.

Two more men lunged at him from opposite directions.

Celia barely saw Rafael move..

BANG. BANG.

Both collapsed mid-charge, blood pooling beneath them.

She could hardly process it. Less than twenty seconds, That's all it took for him to take them all down.

The room was silent again.

The only ones left were Rafael, Celia, and the leader still holding her hostage.

The man's grip on her tightened, his entire body rigid. His breathing had turned shaky.

Celia realized something then.

He was scared of Rafael.

The mafia leader's lips curled into a snarl. "You love to rebel," he spat. "But you should know by now, you're no match for me."

Rafael exhaled, slow and measured, like he was bored. He lifted his gun and pressed a slow, mocking kiss to the barrel, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

The mafia leader took a step forward, voice tight with frustration. "You know why this happened."

Rafael cocked his head. "Do I?"

"You betrayed me!" The man snapped. "You were my second-in-command! Then you disappeared, and suddenly, you outrank me. Your business is bigger than mine. Your men poach my clients...

Rafael let out a low, mocking chuckle. "Maybe if you weren't such a pathetic excuse for a leader, I would have stayed."

The man's jaw ticked, his fingers tightening around his gun. "You are still under me," he growled. "That's why I will kill her first. Then I will finish you, cherish your last moments."

Rafael arched a brow, his smirk unfaltering. " Are you really making this about business?" He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "See, that's your problem, you're too damn small-minded. Always chasing scraps instead of owning the table."

The leader's nostrils flared. "You think you are untouchable?"

"I don't think," Rafael said smoothly. "I know."

The man took a step closer, eyes dark with fury. "You built your empire off my back. You think I

will just let that slide?"

Rafael sighed. "You are boring me."

The leader's hand twitched on his gun. "You should be worried."

Rafael scoffed, tilting his head. "Worried? About you?" He gestured lazily at the bodies of the men he had just taken down. "You are alone,"

"You should be worried that I really want to kill her."

Celia's stomach dropped. This was it.

Rafael's smirk didn't waver.

"Go ahead," he murmured. "Kill her."

Celia's breath hitched. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else.

For a moment, she thought she misheard him.

Her lungs seized. Her already trembling fingers turned ice cold.

She knew she wasn't important to Rafael, hell, she wasn't even supposed to be part of his world. But to so casually throw her life away like that? To invite her death as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience?

A sharp, sinking feeling twisted in her gut. Was that really how it ended?

She stared at Rafael, searching for something, anything, in his expression like a hint of remorse, a flicker of hesitation.

But there was nothing, only almness and indifference.

The leader hesitated, his grip on her tightening, his fingers digging painfully into her arms. The moment stretched, suffocating.

"You are bluffing," he sneered.

Rafael tilted his head, his smirk stretching just a little wider.

"Am I?"

Celia couldn't breathe.

Her chest ached with the force of her own racing heartbeat.

Then, his hand moved.

Not toward her captor.

Not to take the shot that could save her.

Instead, he lifted his gun.

And pointed it right at her.

Her throat went dry.

And then he pulled the trigger.