𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐞 || A Mafia Love Story

xxxvi

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Marlee's heart hammered in her chest, the sound of her pulse thrumming in her ears as she stood in front of the man. Something about him tugged at the recesses of her memory, a shadow of familiarity that made her stomach churn. His face wasn't entirely foreign, but the dark glint in his eyes and the malevolent energy that radiated from him felt so wrong.

She swallowed thickly, her throat dry, but as the anxious tremor spread through her body, a sudden, inexplicable wave of defiance surged in its place. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "Who are you?" Her voice wavered, betraying her fear, but she tried to keep her tone firm, forcing herself to stand her ground. She didn't expect him to answer, not really. But when he did, his reply chilled her to the bone.

"I'm your uncle." The words dripped from his lips, curling into a cruel smile that twisted his features. He pushed himself away from the desk he stood behind, moving with an unhurried, predatory grace as he circled around it and came to a stop directly in front of her. "You can call me Zio Marco." His voice was sickeningly sweet, as if he were speaking to a child, mocking her. The sound sent a shiver down her spine.

Her stomach twisted painfully as she took a step back, barely able to breathe. Uncle? The revelation should have been a lie, some ploy to mess with her head. But as Marlee studied him, her denial cracked. His tanned skin, his dark hair, the shape of his lips and nose—it was all painfully familiar. He looked like her father. Almost exactly like him. The resemblance was uncanny, and it rattled her to her core. She felt the weight of this truth creeping in on her, suffocating her fragile confidence.

"Why—why am I here?" she stammered, her voice small and uncertain. The defiance she had mustered was quickly unraveling as the reality of the situation crashed over her like icy water. She didn't know how to process it, didn't know how to feel anything but fear and confusion.

Marco's smile deepened, darkened, as if he found some twisted amusement in her faltering. He turned his back to her and pulled out a sleek leather chair, gesturing to it with a grand flourish. "Sit down, Marlee," he purred, but his eyes gleamed with something sinister.

Her legs wobbled beneath her, but she refused to sit. Refused to give him the satisfaction of obeying his commands like some puppet. She stood still, glaring up at him defiantly, but her body betrayed her, trembling ever so slightly. Marco's expression shifted, his face hardening into a mask of cold authority. The kind face she thought she saw for a fleeting moment vanished, replaced by a merciless figure.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. It was low, dark, and left no room for disobedience.

Marlee's hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she glowered at him. Slowly, begrudgingly, she lowered herself into the chair, her glare never wavering. She poured every ounce of her anger and fear into that look, trying desperately to hold on to whatever small bit of power she had left in this horrific situation. But she felt trapped, like an animal caught in a snare.

Marco's lips twitched in approval. "Good," he muttered, almost to himself, as he returned to his seat on the other side of the desk. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together on his lap, and regarded her with an unsettling calmness. "You're going to be very useful, mia cara nipote. You see, I'm using you as leverage."

The term of endearment fell from his mouth like venom, each syllable laced with condescension. Marlee's heart lurched, disgust bubbling up inside her. She was sure he knew the effect those words had on her, twisting the image of family into something tainted and cruel. Her pulse raced, anger flaring hotter now, pushing away some of the fear that had paralyzed her.