Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

“I’ll never do that!” Arabella screeched. Even with a gun pointed at her, baring her body in front of him was the furthest thing from her mind. “I refuse to yield to whatever you say!”

Sandro chuckled, rising from his seated position and stepping closer to her. He stood in front of her for a few moments before abruptly shoving her against the nearest wall.

“What did you say?” He growled, his fingers tightening around her neck.

“I-I’ll never do that…” Arabella’s words were cut short as his hand struck her face with force, causing her to bite her tongue and grimace at the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. Her eyes welled up with tears as she looked up at him.

His expression remained impassive as he sneered, “You’ll do as I say, always, regardless of my orders. Disobey me again, and mind your tongue when addressing me. Understood?”

Arabella nodded, her body trembling.

“Good,” Sandro gritted, releasing his grip on her neck. He yanked her by her long hair, dragging her back to the center of the room and shoving her roughly, sending her collapsing to the floor.

“Now, my patience wears thin. Follow my instructions, or if I were to take matters into my own hands, you wouldn’t appreciate the outcome.”

Arabella stared at her nails for a moment before slowly rising to her feet. She sniffled, blinking back the tears that had gathered in her eyes, and began to unzip the dress.

She wondered why she had defied him. Janice had warned her that Sandro wouldn’t tolerate disobedience. He wouldn’t tolerate it from anyone, not even her the daughter of his foe.

Arabella inhaled deeply, biting her bottom lip as she let the dress cascade down to her feet.

Sandro grinned, his eyes twinkling as they traced her beautifully sculpted body. He had never doubted her figure’s loveliness. When he had first seen the dress, he had envisioned her wearing it and no one else.

“Now, remove the rest of your clothing; I want to see it all,” he demanded, his tone laced with a mixture of authority and desire.

Arabella hesitated, her gaze fixed on her feet as her hand reached to undo the hook of the red lacy bra she wore, followed by slipping out of her panties. Standing before Sandro, completely naked, she felt a mix of uncertainty and vulnerability.

A flush of embarrassment crossed her cheeks, and she instinctively covered her breasts with one hand as his eyes roamed over her.

“You have a remarkable form, Tesoro,” Sandro murmured, a hint of appreciation in his voice. His hand itched to caress her smooth skin, especially the twin mounds on her chest that seemed to beckon for his touch. They appeared just the right size to fit snugly in his hands.

His arousal stirred within his pants, prompting him to rise from the bed. “Lie on your stomach,” he grunted, pointing towards the bed.

Arabella inhaled slowly, her nervousness obvious as she made her way to the bed. With a steadying breath, she positioned herself on the cool duvet, placing her hands by her sides. She contemplated peeking to see what he was preparing but thought better of it, realizing it could only worsen her predicament.

Sandro crossed the room, reaching the corner where a horsewhip was hung. His eyes remained fixed on her perfectly sculpted backside as he approached the bed. He cracked the whip, the sound slicing through the air, and angled it deliberately.

A sharp cry escaped Arabella’s lips as the first lash struck her back, leaving a deep, stinging cut. She stood abruptly, her body trembling as she considered making a dash for the door.

However, Sandro acted swiftly, yanking her back and forcibly pushing her onto the bed. “I’m not finished with you yet, Cara mia,” he declared, his sea-green eyes smoldering with intensity. Even in the dim light of the room, Arabella could perceive the dangerous aura he emitted.

“Release me, you bastard!” She shoved at his chest as he descended over her.

Sandro firmly gripped both her wrists and spread them apart, securing them to one of the bedposts.

“I believe you’ll be begging me soon,” he chuckled darkly, shifting her onto her back and delivering a light pat on the back of her thigh before his hand moved to her backside, his touch both possessive and provocative.

Despite the earlier sting, Arabella’s core was now dampened. It disgusted her that she was beginning to enjoy what he was doing to her, but she doubted her ability to control these conflicting feelings.

She gasped once more as the whip descended on her back, her eyes instinctively shutting as she took in a deep breath. She believed she could endure the pain, determined not to show fear in his presence. However, her attempts to appear firmer than she genuinely felt were proving to be a failure. Tears welled up, clouding her vision, as the whip continued to sear her back, intensifying the pain.

“Blood…” His grunt reached Arabella’s ears, despite her head spinning from the ordeal. His words were comprehensible amidst the chaos.

Yet, he showed no signs of stopping the assault.

“I want to hear your scream; I want you to beg me for mercy.” His grip on her hair tightened, asserting his dominance.

Arabella managed only a subdued gasp, doubting he even heard it. She pondered whether she would have had the strength to scream and plead for him to stop. At that moment, all she could do was wait, counting down the seconds until he would cease.

After enduring what felt like an eternity of this unrelenting torment, her eyes rolled back, and the darkness of unconsciousness consumed her.

Sandro seethed with rage as he gazed at Arabella’s nearly lifeless body. Humans. He despised their fragility and weakness.

Examining her bloodied form, he flung the whip aside and clutched her wrist, seeking her pulse. He exhaled with relief; she was still alive. However, he wasn’t ready for her to die, not yet. His intentions for her were far from fulfilled, and he had promised her a slow and agonizing demise.

Yet, an odd sensation tugged at his heartstrings whenever her screams pierced the air. He found himself almost pitying her, entertaining the thought of granting her request.

“No,” he muttered, vehemently shaking his head. “She’s an enemy that needs to be destroyed.”

His gaze narrowed as it settled on the doorway. Blaze, his bodyguard, and second-in-command, stood there.

“Blaze.”

“Boss,” Blaze mumbled, entering the room. His nose wrinkled, and he instinctively averted his gaze from Arabella’s exposed backside, clearly taken aback by the sight.

Sandro glared at him, grabbed a duvet and swiftly covered her body. Blaze shrugged indifferently before shaking his head. “What do I need to do?”

“You know what to do,” Sandro replied curtly.

Casting a final glance at Arabella, Sandro exited the room. Once the door had closed behind him, Blaze turned his attention to Arabella.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” He mumbled softly as he skillfully released her hands from the handcuffs. Gently wrapping her delicate form in the bed sheets, he lifted her in a bridal-style embrace and left the room.

He carefully laid her on a gurney in the expansive infirmary, five minutes from the main building. From there, Blaze headed towards another room.

“Doc, your help is needed,” he informed the doctor, Francis, who was in the room. Francis nodded, immediately rising from his seat and following Blaze.

Francis gasped as soon as he entered the room, his shock evident. “Who on earth is that? She looks as if she’s been through hell and back.”

“She practically has,” Blaze muttered, running a hand through his hair after shoving it into the pocket of his cargo pants. He was well aware of Arabella and Sandro’s history.

It was the reason Sandro had been relentlessly searching for her. And he knew that when Sandro finally found her, their reunion wouldn’t be a joyous one. However, he hadn’t anticipated it to be as gruesome as this.

Her screams still resonated in his mind, a haunting reminder.

When he had learned from Janice that Arabella was supposed to meet Sandro earlier, Blaze had positioned himself outside the room. It had become his role to clean up the aftermath of Sandro’s actions as his bodyguard. Among the gang, Blaze was the sole individual Sandro trusted not to divulge any information about what occurred in his room. But their encounters were usually not as messy as this.

Despite his temptation to storm into the room and wrest the horsewhip from Sandro’s hand, he knew that challenging him was a route he didn’t want to take.

Blaze’s eyes narrowed as he studied Arabella’s pale, contorted face. The sight pulled at his heartstrings. Retrieving a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket, he paused for a moment, his thoughts swirling.

“No smoking here,” scowled Francis, his disapproval evident.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“I forgot,” Blaze mumbled, placing the cigarette back in the box with a heavy sigh.

“What happened to her, she seems new,” Francis inquired, placing his hand on her neck to assess her pulse and checking her wrist.

“Sandro happened.”

“Sandro?” Francis furrowed his brows in confusion.

“He damn well hit her with a horsewhip,” Blaze clenched his fists, a surge of rage coursing through him once again. His anger toward Sandro was intense, even though this wasn’t the first time something like this had occurred. However, it was the first time it had happened to a woman, and until now, Blaze had never thought Sandro was capable of striking a woman.

“Good Lord, why on earth would he do that? She’s a lady, for goodness sake,” Francis exclaimed, grabbing a cotton wool ball to tend to her visible injuries.

“Tell that to him,” Blaze grunted bitterly.

“She’ll be fine, though. She seems strong,” Francis reassured as he tended to Arabella’s wounds.

“Let me know as soon as she wakes.”

“Of course,” Francis nodded and continued his work.

“Alessandro De Luca,” Blaze muttered, his teeth grinding together. He lit the cigarette once more and took two puffs, his gaze narrowing. He kicked at a pebble in frustration before closing his eyes, his thoughts drifting back to Arabella.

He could only hope that she would awaken soon. If not, he feared he might be unable to resist the urge to confront Sandro and deliver a much-deserved beating to his arrogant face.