Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

Arabella’s hand instinctively moved to her neck again, remembering how he had injected her twice with an unknown substance. She bolted out of bed and rushed to the door, her trembling hand gripping the cold metal doorknob, yanking it open forcefully.Text © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

“Shit!” She cursed, kicking the door with the black ballet flat she was wearing and tugging at her hair in frustration. She was in serious trouble. How had she ended up in a situation like this?

She let out an exasperated sigh while scanning the room for any means of escape. Her chest felt constricted as her heart raced, the familiar sensation of a panic attack beginning to wash over her. After regaining control over the overwhelming emotions, Arabella took a step closer to the door.

Twisting the knob, she was relieved to find that it turned easily. A tentative smile formed on her lips as she swung the door open, only for it to vanish as soon as she spotted the person standing on the other side.

She recoiled, a hand instinctively flying to her mouth to stifle an inaudible shriek. She staggered backward, her wide eyes locked onto the figure before her.

“Well, well, sleeping beauty is finally awake! I suppose we should have a feast to celebrate the occasion,” a devilish smirk played on his sinful lips.

Sandro’s sea-green eyes twinkled with amusement as he clapped his hands together and advanced into the room. “My assertion that you couldn’t run forever seems to have been accurate. Do you finally believe me?”

Arabella shivered the emotions within her like an open book for Sandro to read. A chuckle escaped his lips, his amusement evident at her fear.

He believed she needed to experience this fear, a necessary means of conveying the seriousness of his intentions-everything he had conveyed to her father before. Sandro leaned in, his hands coming to rest on either side of her head, effectively trapping her.

“What’s the matter, princess?” His voice, deep and baritone, caressed her senses. Arabella’s body reacted, her nipples tingling in response to his proximity. She bit her lower lip hard, a mixture of desire and discomfort coursing through her.

“Is a feast too modest a way to celebrate your arrival, or perhaps there’s something you’d like to share with me?” Sandro sneered, his eyes locked onto hers, searching for something he couldn’t quite define. Despite himself, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. Even in her disheveled state just after waking, she possessed a captivating beauty that seemed effortless-an infuriating fact that only heightened his annoyance.

Her platinum blonde hair was natural, unlike the many artificial ones he had encountered. Her bright blue eyes locked onto him, almost as if she was peering into his very soul. He was certain she had inherited her striking looks from her mother, not her accursed father. He observed those eyes brimming with tears, ones she was fighting hard to suppress.

His instinctive urge to caress her face battled with his restraint, and he inwardly cursed the internal struggle. His own body was betraying him, reacting to her presence-something he despised.

“Let go of me…” Arabella’s voice held a note of grim determination, though it came out weaker than she intended.

“You should damn well beg me!” he growled, his grip on her chin tightening. “You should grovel before me, you damn bitch!”

Arabella clenched her teeth, biting her lip hard. She managed to meet his gaze, finding him still fixated on her. Her heart raced, and her eyes briefly flickered in defiance.

“Do you want me to force you to beg?” The words shouldn’t have held a seductive undertone, but he managed to infuse them with one, igniting a dangerous spark.

Her legs wavered, and dampness pooled within her core.

“P-please, release me,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping momentarily.

“I didn’t hear that, bitch.” Sandro’s palms slammed against the rough wall behind her, causing her to flinch involuntarily.

“Perhaps a touch louder this time. I might consider sparing you,” he taunted.

“P-please…”

Sandro tilted his head back and burst into laughter. “Now we’re getting somewhere. I smell fear, and I must confess, I enjoy evoking such sentiments.”

Arabella’s body twitched, her eyes widening as he produced a gun from the leather jacket he wore.

“Are you planning to end my life?”

“Undoubtedly,” he muttered, the gun now pressed against her temple. “Did you imagine I’d show you mercy?”

Arabella shook her head, wincing as her heart contracted painfully. She clutched at her chest, her heartbeat accelerating, tears escaping down her cheeks. Her vulnerability was undeniable, and the bastard before her seemed to revel in it.

Death was not her desire. It was the furthest thought from her mind. But as she faced Sandro, the gun aimed at her, she couldn’t help but feel her luck had finally run dry.

“Please, don’t kill me!” Arabella’s plea echoed desperately through the dimly lit room.

Sandro snorted derisively. “Do you really believe I’d spare you just because of a few tears? For all I know, those could be fake.”

His demeanor shifted abruptly. The playful facade he had worn seconds ago dissolved into a grimace that twisted his handsome face. With a sneer, he roughly seized a fistful of her waist-length white hair.

Sandro’s nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of her hair, which was wrapped around his hand-notes of vanilla and strawberry. This innocent yet provocative aroma brought memories rushing back.

“But that’s not going to happen, Cara Mia,” he muttered, his tone dripping with bitter irony.

Arabella gasped as Sandro pressed his body against hers. She instinctively tried to push him away, but he swiftly caught her hands and pinned them above her head, a gun now held against her temple.

Her eyes squeezed shut as the gun clicked, her breath catching as a silent prayer filled her thoughts. Though the words eluded her, she hoped desperately that he would spare her, that he wouldn’t follow through with the evil intent in his mind.

“You know, I did contemplate killing you,” Sandro admitted, his voice tinged with a dark amusement that sent shivers down her spine. He used the gun’s butt to wipe away the tears streaking down her cheeks, his touch oddly intimate in its brutality.

“Curious to know what I have in store for you, Bella?” His words bore a thick Italian accent as he enunciated her name with a dangerous sensuality.

With a fingertip, he tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Look at me, Tesoro,” he urged, his tone coaxing yet commanding.

Arabella shook her head, defiance warring with fear, causing her eyes to remain tightly shut against the scene before her.

“I demand that you look at me!” he growled, his grip on her chin bordering on painful.

“Open your eyes unless you want to regret it this very moment!”

Startled, Arabella flinched, her fluttering eyelashes brushing against her cheeks as she complied, revealing her wide, cerulean gaze.

Her blue orbs collided with his sea-green ones, a clash of intensity and vulnerability.

“I possess numerous ways to make you suffer,” Sandro’s voice lowered to a dangerous murmur as his gaze roved possessively over her form.

“Consider yourself fortunate that I’m showing you even an ounce of leniency. But make no mistake; I can make you crave death, deny you that release for eternity. Do you understand why?”

Arabella shook her head, a mixture of defiance and fear in her eyes. The man before her, this Alessandro De Luca, was someone she despised, someone she couldn’t fathom.

She yearned to flee from him, to escape even the bounds of the earth’s surface if possible. Yet, she held certainty that no matter how great the distance she crossed, he would inevitably hunt her down.

“Dearest Bella,” Sandro murmured, his touch a caress on her pointed chin, “it’s because I am death incarnate.”

The chill in his voice sent tremors through Arabella. Death might indeed be a preferable escape, she thought, her mind briefly considering the notion. Anything seemed better than submitting herself to him in such a repulsive manner.

The prospect of becoming a sex slave to her enemy was an agony surpassing even the threat of a bullet to her head. Her fingers clutched the gun, and she pressed it to her temple, desperation, and defiance in her eyes.

“End me!” she implored. “I’d sooner meet death than lie with a man like you!”

“Lower your voice!” Sandro’s retort was sharp, his hand tightening around her neck.

Arabella’s gasp was choked out, and she instinctively struck his shoulder. “S-Stop,” she managed to utter.

His grip on her neck released, but his glare remained unrelenting. “Be thankful I’m willing to spare your life and offer you a chance as my-”

“Sex slave,” Arabella cut in, her voice edged with bitterness.

“There are countless women who’d beg to take your place.”

Tremors wracked Arabella’s frame. As much as she longed to slap his smug face, she understood the risk that came with such defiance.

“What do you want from me? I’ve wronged you in no way!”

Sandro’s reply was delivered with a chilling calmness. “Darling, you’re settling your father’s debt.”

Tears welled up, blurring her vision, and Arabella fought to suppress them. Crying in front of him was a vulnerability she loathed, one he seemed to relish.

“Prepare yourself for your new surroundings. This marks the start of your punishment. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be caught off guard.” With those words, he exited the room, leaving her in stunned silence.

Arabella released a heavy sigh, collapsing onto the bed. She closed her eyes, contemplating her limited options. Death wasn’t her wish, and becoming Sandro’s sex slave was a nauseating prospect she couldn’t bear.

Her mind spun, searching for a conceivable escape from this torment. Was there a way out of this wretched dilemma?