Capture My Fiancé (A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance)

05

VALENTINO

The moment I saw that stranger's filthy hand gripping her waist, something primal snapped inside me. The audacity of him touching what was mine... he had no idea how close he was to suffering a fate worse than death.

Gio, my most trusted man—stationed at the basement and my office—had already informed me that Emilia had followed me. As if I hadn't noticed her shadowing me from the engagement party. He mentioned that she was held back by some idiot blocking her path, but I stayed out of sight, observing her mounting frustration as she shoved his hand away.

A faint smile tugged at my lips. She didn't shove me off earlier. Good girl.

Her eyes darted around, searching for me, oblivious that I was watching her from the shadows—like I always did. But that wasn't something she needed to know just yet.

I glanced down at my watch. It was already 11 in the evening; our engagement should have been announced by now. I leaned against the wall, hidden, still watching her. The urge to stride across the room and pull her away from the crowd gnawed at me, but I forced my eyes closed, controlling the impulse.

Earlier, when I held her close, my hand gripping her waist, I couldn't ignore how small and delicate she felt under my touch. The dress clung to every curve, showing off everything that was mine. I had to restrain myself from tightening my grip—careful not to leave bruises on her porcelain skin. Not yet. Bruises would come, eventually, but not from this.

Her scent... vanilla, sweet, and intoxicating. Exactly as I imagined Emilia would smell. It lingered in my senses long after I'd let her go.

I opened my eyes, forcing myself to focus. There were more pressing matters. Specifically, dealing with the bastard who dared to touch her, let alone think he could.

After shoving Emilia out the door, I made my way to the back entrance. Gio had informed me that the stranger had gone there. It didn't take long to find him, cornering him outside the bar, dragging him into a dark alley where no one could hear his screams. The night was suffocatingly quiet, the stench of rotting garbage filling the air—a fitting backdrop for what I had in mind.

I wasn't in the mood to waste time. I had a point to make, and it had to be unforgettable.

The alleyway was only the first step. I dragged him through the back door, down into the basement—a place where the walls had witnessed countless horrors, and soon, they'd bear witness to another. This stranger had no idea what he was in for.

As soon as we entered the dimly lit room, I tied him to a chair, his eyes wide with panic as they darted around, searching for an escape that didn't exist. His wrists were bound tightly, the cable ties biting into his flesh, drawing blood.

I stepped closer, each slow, deliberate footstep echoing through the silence. My gaze never left him, watching as his fear festered, growing more potent with each passing second. I wanted him to drown in it.

This piece of shit had dared to approach her. He touched her—my  Emilia. The very thought made my blood boil, rage bubbling beneath the surface, demanding release.

I leaned in close, letting him see the cold fury in my eyes. "You made a mistake tonight," I whispered, my voice low and threatening. "And now, you're going to pay for it."

His breathing quickened, his lips trembling as he stammered something incoherent. I didn't care for his words. He had already sealed his fate the moment he laid a hand on her.

"You thought you could touch her?" I asked, my voice cold as I set the knife on the table slowly. The blade caught the dim light, reflecting his terror back at him. "You thought you could talk to her, smile at her, like she was just any girl you could flirt with?"

He tried to mumble an apology, but I wasn't interested in what he had to say.

Words meant nothing to someone like him.

Stupido!

When I noticed the van trailing behind me, I knew immediately it was her. Call it intuition or some kind of twisted instinct, but Emilia was impossible to miss, no matter how hard she tried to stay hidden. The moment she stepped into my club, it was like her presence slammed into me, demanding my attention. She wasn't exactly skilled at blending in, and the fact that she thought she could follow me unnoticed almost made me laugh.

Who knew my Emilia was capable of such things?

I allowed myself a small, amused smile. There was something almost endearing in her naivety, thinking she could sneak into my world without me knowing. But then again, that's what made her different from everyone else. She was daring, reckless even. Still, I wondered why she had followed me here of all places. Did she think she was going to catch me off guard?

I smirked at the thought. 

She could try to run, follow me, or even play her little games. 

But Emilia was mine.

And I was going to make sure she never forgot it.

"You don't know what you've done, do you?" My voice was low, cold, as I circled him, each word dripping with the promise of pain. My hand hovered over the knife, fingers twitching in anticipation.

"P-please... I'm sorry, I... didn't know," he stammered, his voice trembling. I ignored his pathetic pleas.

My hand moved to the table beside me, where a sharp knife gleamed under the harsh light. I picked it up, feeling the familiar weight in my hand, and stepped closer to him. His breathing quickened, eyes widening as I brought the blade to his hand.

"You touched her with these hands," I said softly, almost conversationally, as I placed the tip of the knife against his index finger. The blade pressed into his skin, and he whimpered.

"You don't get to touch what's mine," I whispered, slicing off his first finger with a quick, brutal motion. His scream filled the room, echoing off the walls, but I felt nothing as I continued.

If anything, it fueled the dark satisfaction building inside me.

One finger.

Then another.

And another.

Each cut was methodical, precise, and by the time I was done, his hands were nothing but a bloody mess. He was sobbing now, the pain too much for him to bear, but I wasn't finished.

Not yet.

"You also spoke to her," I said, my voice calm despite his cries. I grabbed his jaw, forcing his mouth open as I leaned in closer. "What did you call her?"

His mouth was drooling as he stammered, "...B-beautiful..."

I grabbed his tongue with one hand, pulling it out as far as it would go. The knife was back in my other hand, hovering just inches from the quivering muscle.

"I don't like hearing other men say that," I whispered before slicing through his tongue. Blood gushed from his mouth as his screams turned into desperate gurgles.

Finally, I took out a needle and thread from the table, slowly stitching his mouth shut, sealing his cries and sealing his fate. Each stitch was a promise, a warning to anyone who dared to cross me—or her—again.

When I finished, I stepped back, wiping the blood off my hands with a cloth. The man was slumped in the chair, barely conscious, his head hanging low as blood dripped onto the floor.

I looked down at him, feeling nothing but cold satisfaction. He was a message, a warning to anyone who thought they could get close to Emilia.