The Mafia's Angel Ordeal.

ng door, the cool San Diego midnight breeze ruffled my hair. Dontrell'

rmured, his voice low, close to my

His steps were sure and confident, and his presence was strong as I carefully followed behin

ring of youthful ladies and men dressed in savvy, blue outfits t

ed forward, attempting to take the bag from me. Her smile was polite, but her fingers twit

u; I can carr

yes, but when Dontrell turned to look at her, she quickly retrac

imple golf cart was parked. Its inviting presence made me briefly consider leaving the luxury vehicles behind. It felt

ntly turning me to face him before placing a soft kiss on

tone even, but I could hear the fa

and without the heels I had worn in the wedding hall, I couldn't see past his shoulder. My mind hungered for

"You want to ride in that instead?

not caring how rid

remove his suit jacket, handing it to one of the staff before rolling up his sleeves. My eyes lingered for a moment on his bare arms-well-toned, veins visible beneath the

er seat. He turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. The convoy of luxury cars trailed from behind;

sn't just a house-it was a fortress. Everything about it screamed wealth, but as we got closer, the sheer size and

ut I barely acknowledged her, just following closely beside Dontrell as he headed straight for the eleva

of the city below, while the interior was a blend of sleek, modern design and raw, industrial elements. A home bar stood in

, his tone shifting. It was

ar end of the room, where he pres

asked, curious as to why he needed fingerprint access to such a personal s

yes narrowing slightly. "Your fi

the thought faded. Getting my fingerprint

ek furniture. It was breathtaking, yet cold, like a museum display, not a home. Dontrell walked further into the room and dropped his

oaxed, taking off his belt, b

me. I'm not the type to want a woman around, so if I'm trying to keep you wit

ack, turning away as I sat on the edge of th

, it won't work, and you can't make me mad at you, at least not

A series of questions raced through my mind: What if he hits me or beats me in

me to stop, but I won't care. I'll keep going until you can't stand

hat to expect next. Fear rose in my chest

with a large crest tattoo, identical to his brother's, except he was larger, taking up the entire top left side of his back. The tattoo depicted a shield with two swords crossed above it. T

d muscles of his torso tapered down, leading my eyes to his manhood and the enormity of it. He stoo

are you?" he asked, a taunting edge in his voice. I experienced the dread

My body reacted to him, and my pussy got wet, but as my eyes fluttered shut to take in the moment, a memory hit me-Andrew. His cock in my mouth. The sight

by him. His erection was still there, hard and close, but then, with

ust recoiled at my husband's touch, but he didn't respon

survival depended on this twisted marriage. But how could I make this work?