Living in this life, you've never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you're dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life o...
Arranged Series Add-On : Chris Confronts Your Father (Chris POV)
Pairing: Mafia!chris evans x female!reader
Warnings:18+ only! mention of guns, violence, and killing someone, language. (Y/F/N = your father's name, Y/M/N = your mother's name)
W/C: 580
This is a work of fiction. (POV is a cross between 2nd and 3rd person, Y/M/N = Your Mother's Name, Y/F/N = Your Father's Name)
Italian and Italian translation in italics. (The translations were run by someone who fluently speaks Italian, if there are any corrections to be made, please let me know!)
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His fist pounded against the front door, Seb on his left and Romano on the right. Apparently subtly doesn't work on this fucker. Chris's hands shook, heart thumping in his chest as he thought about that disgrace of a human being putting his hands on you. His Y/N. His wife. In love or not, Chris will protect what's his.
Does he not know who I fucking am? Chris thought, growing increasingly agitated with each passing second. He has killed for less and if it wasn't for you making him promise to keep your father alive, he'd be begging for death by the time Chris was done with him.
Chris hated that you tried so desperately to protect him. He didn't deserve your kindness or protection. But he was also angry at himself. He promised that you were safe with him and that no harm would come to you and he's already failed. But one thing is for certain: it won't happen again.
The door swung open, your father standing in front of him, his eyes wide as he met Chris's enraged gaze. Chris pushed through the door, his hand wrapping around your father's throat as he passed by him. He threw him against the wall, squeezing his hand as he gasped for breath, "Who the fuck do you think you are?!" Chris growled.
"Chris–" he gasped, "Let's just– talk about this," he choked out.
"Give me one fucking reason I shouldn't put a bullet in your fucking brain right now!"
He choked again, his hands grasping at the one Chris had wrapped around his neck. Cute. Does he actually think he has a chance against me? Chris had at least 60 pounds and half a foot on the frail fucker, he wasn't getting away from him that easily.
"Chris– if this is about Y/N, she was disrespectful, she raised her voice," his voice was pleading, eyes wide.
His hand squeezed around your father's throat a little tighter, "I. DON'T. GIVE. A. FUCK." He roared.
Chris could hear your mother whimper from the top of the stairs, Sebastian immediately heading up to escort her back to her room.
"This is your final fucking warning your piece of shit. If you EVER put your hands on Y/N or your wife ever again, I'll make you wish you were never fucking born. Capito?"
He nodded the best he could, desperate for Chris to let go.
"You fuck with my wife or yours, you answer to me, you pathetic piece of shit and I promise I will not hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes next time."
He gasped for air when Chris released his neck, nodding profusely.
Chris smirked, seeing how weak he truly was. He pulled the Glock from his waist band and your father's hands flew up, "Please, Chris. It– it won't happen again, I swear."
Swinging his arm hard, the butt of his gun connected with his face, leaving a nice cut on his lip, similar to yours. He cupped his face, backing away from him.
Chris spit at his feet, "Solo un uomo debole mette le mani sulle donne." (only a weak man puts his hands on women.) He turned, growling "Let's go," before making his way out of the door, Sebastian and Eddie following closely behind, "Seb. I want you here to check on Y/M/N. I need to know if he hits her again."
"I'll be here."
He nodded before climbing into the back of the town car and heading home to you.
