Page 43 of Mafia King's Forbidden Obsession

The door creaks open, and all that anticipation sinks like a stone in my chest. It is just a guard, one of the regular men out of the six I’ve come to know, who brings me my meals. He sets the tray down on the bedside table.

“How’s Ezra?” I inquire, keeping my voice steady. When I get no response, I add, “Please let him know it’s been four days. His stitches…they need to be checked.”

He barely even looks at me while he collects the tray from dinner yesterday. “If the boss needs you, he’ll call.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Am I more concerned about his injury or just looking for an excuse to see him again?

“Right. Just… thought I’d check,” my voice is barely above a whisper.

The door clicks shut behind the guard, and I stifle a sigh. My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms. Why do I even care? Ezra Marino does not give a damn about me. He never has.

I should not be thinking about him, let alone worrying.

Crossing my arms, I stare at the door, willing it to open again. Maybe he will walk through and say something— anything. But it stays closed, just like him. Ezra is a fortress I can’t break through, but I need to get to him as soon as possible to escape.

The sweet aroma of pasta teases my nose. I glance over at the meal. It does look tasty, but my appetite is gone. Food is the least of my problems. Everything is falling apart.

Every escape plan I have come up with, every desperate effort, has gone to shit. I am still here, trapped. Is this really it? Stuck in this room, waiting for Ezra to decide what happens to me?

My thoughts are still going in circles when something cuts me off. The sounds of… footsteps —a different kind— tapping down the hallway, indicating that someone is heading this way.

I’ve become an expert at keeping an ear out for sounds to know when the guards are bringing in food. But this can’t be a guard, they dropped off my meal already.

These steps are quieter, as if someone does not want to be heard. It sounds fishy, and warning signals go off in my gut.

Before I can fully process what is happening, the door bursts open. It’s not a guard, and it isn’t Ezra either. A masked figure rushes in, only his eyes are visible through the mask, but I can’t see them. I’m too scared to. He’s tall and big, which gives him a hefty appearance…and he’s holding a knife.

Fuck!

The man lunges at me, the knife’s blade glinting a promising death as it slices through the air. I barely manage to grab a pillow, thrusting it in front of me like a flimsy shield. A scream rips from my throat, shrill and desperate.

“Help! Somebody, help!” The knife tears through the pillow, sending a spray of feathers into the air.

I grab another pillow and hurl it at him, but he punches it away like it’s nothing.

My legs shake as I scramble out of bed, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. I throw the comforter next, the fabric tangling around his arms for a split second—just enough time for me to race towards the bathroom.

I nearly make it, fingers brushing the handle, but then his arm clamps around my neck, dragging me back. My scream shakes the room, piercing and wild.

“In here! Someone, help!”

His grip only tightens, my throat closing under the pressure.

Rapidly, my eyes bounce off every inch of the room as I frantically search for something—anything—to defend myself with.

The meal tray, maybe haul it at him. But it's too far. My breath comes in shallow gasps.

There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide– I'm trapped. My teeth sink into his arm, but it only fuels his rage.

Smack!His palm connects with my face. The force makes me see stars for a second.

I hit the floor, head throbbing, cheeks pulsing with blinding pain. He glances at the bite mark on his arm, a sneer curling his lips.

“Please,” I gasp, the word barely escaping as he crouches.

He ignores me, bringing the sharp end of the blade to my throat.

I see the image of the patient I couldn’t save, the cold, lifeless body, flashing in my head. Except this time, it’s my own face staring back.

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