Mafia's African Rose

Taken

The gunshots ceased suddenly, leaving a heavy, unnatural silence in their place. It wasn't peace—it was the kind of quiet that came with a warning. My pulse thudded in my ears as I tried to swallow the panic clawing its way up my chest. I need to learn how to shoot, I thought bitterly, hating how every second of this made me feel like dead weight.

I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer, pleading that no one would get hurt. Pacing the room to steady my nerves, my eyes caught something in the corner of my vision. Shadows. Faint but unmistakable, shifting across the balcony.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. For a moment, I considered ignoring it, but instinct pushed me forward. I crept toward the door, my fingers trembling as they reached for the handle. Before I could open it, the door swung inward with a sudden force.

Alexio stood there, his face carved in cold fury, his golden-brown eyes now a stormy shade, darker than I'd ever seen them.

"I... I saw someone," I stammered, pointing weakly toward the balcony.

He didn't respond, his body taut like a coiled spring. With deliberate precision, he moved toward the balcony, his gun raised and ready. I held my breath as I watched him scan every inch of the space, his movements sharp and predatory. But when he stepped back inside, he wasn't holding an intruder—just a plain white envelope.

"Those bastards," he growled under his breath, tearing it open with rough hands.

Photographs spilled onto the floor, and the second Alexio's gaze landed on them, his entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched, and a terrifying energy seemed to radiate off him.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer. His expression remained frozen, his eyes glued to the images as if they carried a weight too heavy to bear. My hands trembled as I stepped closer and gently pried one of the photos from his grip.

The moment my eyes focused, my stomach dropped.

They were pictures of me. Naked. In my bedroom. In the bathroom. Even in the garden earlier with Alexa. My breath hitched as realization dawned—someone had been watching me, following me, violating my privacy in ways I couldn't even comprehend.

"A creep has my nudes," I whispered, nausea twisting my stomach into knots. But when I looked at Alexio, my own panic evaporated, overtaken by the sheer fury in his eyes.

I had never seen him like this. His expression was darker than the devil's, his golden eyes ablaze with raw, unrelenting rage. It was a look that promised destruction.

"A-Alexio," I murmured, stepping forward and placing my hands on his face to make him look at me. His gaze snapped to mine, but the storm raging behind his eyes didn't lessen.

He didn't say a word. Instead, he pulled out his phone and barked sharp orders in Italian, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Trembling, I turned the photos over in my hands. On the back of one, messy handwriting stood out, crude and taunting:

Oh big brother, your Angel is so damn hot, I might never recover. But don't worry—I'll make sure she's mine before she goes six feet under.

My knees buckled as the words sank in. The memories I had fought so hard to suppress came rushing back, dragging me into a suffocating wave of fear and helplessness.

"Angel," Alexio's voice was sharp and commanding, pulling me out of my spiral. His hands gripped my face firmly but not harshly. "Look at me. Breathe, baby. Breathe."

I clung to him, forcing air into my lungs as he whispered soothing words, his presence grounding me. Once I steadied, he wiped the tears from my cheeks with a tenderness that felt almost foreign in the storm of emotions swirling around us.