𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐞 || A Mafia Love Story

xxxviii

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As the door creaked open, a figure stepped inside. The dim light barely illuminated his face, but the panic in his expression was unmistakable. His brows were furrowed, casting deep shadows over his dark, stormy eyes. Inky black tattoos snaked up his neck like creeping vines, their tendrils disappearing beneath his collar. His disheveled blonde hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat as though he had been running, each breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. A thin sheen of moisture glistened on his skin, catching the light, adding to the ominous energy that radiated from him.

Marlee instinctively backed away, placing herself between the man and her grandmother's frail, motionless figure lying in the bed. Fear prickled at the base of her spine, urging her to flee, but there was nowhere to go. The man's heavy boots echoed through the room with each step, the sound like thunder as it reverberated off the walls. She could barely think over the loud thudding of her own heart, her breaths shallow and rapid.

"What's going on?" Marlee's voice wavered, fear coiling around her words like a snake tightening its grip. The man didn't respond—his silence more terrifying than any answer he could have given. His eyes were locked onto her, cold and unfeeling. With one swift motion, his hand lashed out, snatching her wrist in a brutal grip. His fingers dug into her skin like iron, and Marlee tugged against him, desperately trying to pull away, but his hold was unyielding.

"No! Please, she needs her med—"

Before she could finish, his open palm cracked across her face. The impact was sharp and sudden, sending a ringing through her ears. Her head snapped to the side, and for a moment, the room tilted. A cold trickle of blood dripped from her nose, the metallic taste of it spreading across her lips. He'd slapped her.

But Marlee's focus wasn't on herself; her Nonna was still sitting freezing on hard concrete, helpless. Her thoughts raced, desperation taking hold. She couldn't leave her, not like this.

"Please! I'll go, but she needs—" Marlee's plea was cut short as the man's arms locked around her thighs. With alarming ease, he hoisted her up and slung her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. Silence fell over him once again, his cold indifference suffocating.

"No!" Marlee screamed, her voice a raw cry of terror. She kicked and thrashed, her body trembling from both the freezing air and the terror gnawing at her insides. But he didn't care. With a grunt, the man hurled her to the floor. The unforgiving concrete met her back with a bone-rattling thud, the force of it sending her skidding across the ground. Pain flared through her body, but she barely had time to register it before his boots thundered toward her again.

Scrambling, Marlee pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaking beneath her. She staggered backward, her breath coming in ragged gasps as his menacing figure loomed closer. His hand shot out, grabbing the collar of her shirt, and with a violent jerk, he slammed her against the wall. Her skull collided with the brick, a sickening crack filling the air. Stars danced in her vision, and she struggled to focus as his hand coiled around her throat.

The pressure was immediate, turning her breath into choking sobs. His grip tightened, each second stealing more of the air she so desperately needed.

"Ya ub'yu tebya," he snarled, the words dripping with venom. His voice, a terrifying growl, resonated deep within his chest, sending a shiver down her spine. Marlee didn't know the language, but she didn't need to. The cold, murderous gleam in his eyes spoke louder than words.

Her lip trembled, tears welling in her eyes as she shook her head in a silent plea. The crushing force around her neck loosened slightly, but his gaze never softened. He released her, and Marlee slumped against the wall, her legs barely holding her weight. Every ounce of courage she had evaporated, leaving her a shaking, terrified girl. Her body betrayed her, weak and trembling, as she stared up at the man who towered over her like a predator watching his prey.

He seized her arm, his grip bruising, and dragged her forward with no care for the pain it caused. This time, Marlee didn't resist. She couldn't. Even if she wanted to, her body wouldn't obey. The man yanked her through the dimly lit house, each step growing colder as they neared the door. A gust of icy wind whipped against her face as he flung the door open, and the bitter cold bit into her skin. Snow swirled around them, and the night air stung her eyes, but it was the sight before her that made her heart drop.

Men in dark coats stood like silent sentinels, their faces obscured by the shadowy night. Their gazes flickered over her without interest, as if her suffering was just another part of their routine. A sleek black car sat waiting, its engine rumbling softly, a harbinger of the unknown.

Without a word, the man shoved her forward, and Marlee stumbled into the backseat of the car. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound final, like the closing of a cell. In the front seat, the tattooed man settled into the passenger side, his face still cold, still silent.

Beside her, Mr. Russo sat with a calm, almost pleasant smile curling on his lips. But there was nothing warm about it—each slow movement exuded a quiet, controlled malice that chilled her to the bone. His demeanor, polished and unnervingly composed, was far more terrifying than the brute force she had just endured. The glint in his eyes held something far darker than mere violence. He wasn't impulsive—he was methodical, deliberate. Every second spent in his presence felt like a thread being tightened around her neck.

"So close," Mr. Russo murmured, his voice a sickeningly smooth drawl, each word dripping with cold amusement. The casual cruelty in his tone made Marlee's stomach churn. "But he'll have to do better than that."

The way he spoke was more unsettling than a direct threat—it was a promise, as if he already knew how the game would end. The calm in his voice, the ease with which he dismissed her escape, sent icy dread crawling through her veins. Marlee's breath hitched, her pulse racing, thoughts of Viktor flaring in her mind. Was he talking about him?

Her mind spun, but the terror of Mr. Russo's gaze held her captive. He didn't need to raise his voice or make overt threats—his stillness, the predatory way he watched her, made her feel like prey already caught in a trap. The silence between them thickened, suffocating, as he leaned in ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Let him come," he whispered, his lips curling into a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "It'll only make things worse for him. And for you."

Marlee's body trembled, every ounce of her fear now suffused with helplessness. She tried to calm herself, tried to think, but Mr. Russo's presence was suffocating. She knew now—this was far worse than any brute force she had faced. This was calculated, cold, and unstoppable.

Thank you for reading!