Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

The door creaked open, and Arabella leaped out of bed. She hurried to the corner of the room and crouched down.

From inside, she could hear the sounds of commotion, which Francis had warned her about before he left again. Like Blaze and Sandro, he had cautioned her not to venture out of the room. His genuine concern for her well-being was apparent, just like Blaze’s.

However, she couldn’t help but wonder if the attackers intended to do her harm, similar to what they had done to Blaze and the others. She doubted whether Sandro and his men possessed the strength to fend them off. Francis had described these assailants as a powerful enemy.

With her face covered, she trembled as the footsteps drew nearer. “Please,” she whispered, clearing her throat as her voice barely reached her ears. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“So, you’re the Delicate Rose from the Rosette dynasty?”

Arabella’s head snapped up, her blue eyes meeting Sandro’s sea-green gaze. He narrowed his eyes at her, snarling. She caught a glimpse of two canines that resembled fangs before they vanished again.

“Well, darling, you’ve stepped into the devil’s lair, and I’m here to drain your bloody blood to create an army!” Sandro let out a wicked chuckle, which soon escalated into a full-blown laugh.

“W-what?” Arabella stammered, confusion etched across her face as she stared at him. He returned her gaze, and she detected something inexplicable in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite fathom.Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

It was the same dark glare he had given her the first time he mentioned making her his “sex slave.”

“What do you mean?”

“Quit fooling around, Delicate Rose!” Sandro bellowed. He slapped his hand against the wall and kicked at the table in the center of the room.

Arabella flinched, shrinking further into the corner and swallowing down the lump forming in her throat. She clutched her throat and wheezed, her gaze returning to him as he advanced toward her. “Please…”

Sandro grabbed her hand, pulling her up abruptly. He pressed her against the wall, raising both of her hands above her head. “How does it feel to manipulate me? I hope you relished it while you could.”

His mouth inched dangerously close to her ear, his warm, minty breath brushing her face.

“I-I don’t understand you!” Arabella’s voice quivered. She licked her lower lip and met his gaze. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not surprised. Your family has always excelled at hiding their intentions. Deception runs in your blood. No wonder you’re skilled at misleading me and others.”

Despite the vulnerable position he forced her into, she still shot him a defiant glare, anticipating the outcome.

“You can’t barge in here and accuse me of things I don’t know. Does it give you pleasure to torment me at every chance you get? Does that make you happy?”

Sandro released her hand, his grip now around her neck. Arabella gasped her attempts to claw at his face growing feeble as her breathing became strained. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. After a moment, she reopened them, a glimmer of something in her gaze.

Sandro groaned, his hold loosening as pain surged through him. “What did you do, you bitch?”

Arabella gasped, her breath raspy as she bent over, her hand on her racing heart. She shot a fleeting look at him.

“I asked, what’s happening to me?” Sandro yelled, attempting to yank her up, only to be thrown backward. He collided forcefully with the door, nearly breaking it.

“Are you some sort of witch?” He squinted at her, his eyes narrowing.

Arabella shook her head as she heard him wince.

“You’re not being truthful with me.” Sandro’s voice was strained.

“I’m being honest. I don’t know what’s going on.” Arabella’s voice trembled. She wiped tears streaming down her cheeks.

She examined her hand, revealing several cuts, and she couldn’t help but wonder about the state of her neck, which had suffered the most. Sandro remained on the floor in an awkward position for a moment before finally standing. He glanced at Arabella, shaking his head, and after a while, he left the room, leaving her to watch him go.

Frowning, Arabella surveyed her surroundings and then returned her gaze to the door.

“What just happened?” she asked herself, receiving no answer. The confusion only deepened, but she found some relief in the fact that he had released her. She had seen the dangerous look in his eyes and shuddered to think what might have occurred if he hadn’t been thrown back.

Additionally, he had referred to her as the “Delicate Rose.” The term sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she had heard it before.

Sitting on the bed, she took a deep breath, her neck still throbbing, and her breath remained shallow. Yet, she was alive, and that was what mattered.

.

.

A few minutes later, Sandro entered Blaze’s room. He paused as he noticed Thalia there, his gaze flicking between her and Blaze, a mixture of surprise and annoyance in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Thalia shrugged. “Nowhere else to go. Who knows, the intruders might be setting a trap for me. I’d rather not fall into it.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” Sandro growled. “My room is spacious enough for you to stay in. I don’t want you around-”

“Me,” Blaze interjected. “I’m well aware. You’re always worried your women might find me more appealing than you. Can’t blame them, though. After all, I’m the gentleman they’d usually pick over the bad boy.”

Sandro scowled. “No woman I have my eyes on would choose you over me.”

Blaze shrugged. “Maybe, but in Thalia’s case, I’m not interested in her. She irritates me.”

He hadn’t forgotten what she had done to Arabella. While she was his sister, he couldn’t overlook how she had deceived Arabella. He wished there was no familial tie between them, making it easier to confront her.

Thalia shot a glare at Blaze. “Believe me, I find you equally repulsive. Just being in the same room as you makes me want to throw up.”

She twisted her mouth and mimicked gagging for emphasis, her gaze shifting from Blaze to Sandro, who nodded in agreement.

“I’m not here for your bickering,” Sandro interjected, a perplexed expression on his face. “I keep having this odd feeling that something’s going on between you two, some sort of relationship. But maybe I’m mistaken.”

“You’re definitely mistaken,” Thalia asserted, approaching him.

“What’s your purpose here if not for her?” Blaze inquired.

“We were tricked,” Sandro explained. “She-”

“Is it wise to discuss this in front of her?” Blaze interrupted. “Shouldn’t only the pack members be privy to information about the pack’s well-being? Who’s to say she’s not a spy?”

“Idiot!” Thalia hissed through clenched teeth. She withdrew her hand from Sandro’s grip and headed toward the door.

“I don’t even understand what you’re talking about, and I have no interest in gathering information that I’m sure won’t matter,” Thalia retorted, clearly agitated.

Sandro pulled her back gently. “Wait.”

He wrapped his arms around her protectively. “She’s with me and should have been part of this pack a long time ago. She prefers roaming around to settling in one community. And she wouldn’t dare betray me. If she did, I’d eliminate her.”

Blaze held back the words, “I’d never let that happen,” stopping himself from saying what was on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t allow Sandro to harm his sister, the only person he had left.

.

.

In the dining room, Blaze sat close to Thalia. The three of them were the only ones present in the room.

“Is she the one?” Blaze inquired.

Sandro shook his head. “No, she’s not. There’s nothing special about her.”

“Are you sure about that? Maybe she just needs time to open up and share her story. You should try being a bit more understanding towards her.”

“How can I be understanding with someone who constantly defies me?”

“Did I tell you something strange happened with her today? She’s a witch, and I need to eliminate her before she does anything.”

“Arabella, a witch?”

Sandro nodded, extending his hands toward Blaze. “She did this.”

Blaze’s mouth fell open, and his eyes widened as he stared at the ugly markings on Sandro’s hand.

“I’m going to kill her. I don’t know what else she’s capable of.”

“I think we should give her some time,” Blaze suggested. “Maybe she’s not ready to reveal her true nature to us willingly.”

Sandro scoffed, scowling at Blaze, who simply shrugged. “Fine, then. I’ll give her less than a week. If I don’t uncover anything about her by then, I won’t hesitate to end her.”

Blaze nodded. “You have the freedom to decide.”

However, Blaze’s true thoughts diverged from his spoken words. If Arabella wasn’t the Delicate Rose, was she really a witch?