Spellbound by the Mafia King

I held the razor sharp knife tightly. I took no notice of the way the blade cut deep into the flesh of my palm. I took no notice of my crimson blood which spilled out and stained the carpet below. It relieved me. To feel my body in physical pain was a great distraction from the emotional pain that troubled me. I wasn't one to harm myself but I didn't know how to react and my knife, it was just there.

Father wanted me to get married to a stranger. No, he forced me to. He left me with no choice. Granted, I could run. I could hide. But I won't. My whole life, I've been nothing but a disappointment to him, and this affirmed it. I was nothing more than a mere commodity, an object to trade at his will. He never fucking liked me, and I did nothing to earn his approval because I would never get it.

I am Rita Locke, the Don of the Italian Mafia. Father only passed it down to me because he is dying and he has no male heirs, which is quite unfortunate for the bastard. He didn't even have any illegitimate sons despite the fact that he fucked day in and day out. He hated watching me take over his mafia, making it mine, making the power mine. But I never asked for this life.

Sadly, I grew up as an only child being raised by maids and nannies. Father was far too busy, and he was disgusted by me anyway. The phrase 'Hai ucciso tua madre' (you killed your mother) was something I've heard every single day of my life. Mother, my beautiful mother died during childbirth. I didn't mean to kill her; I didn't ask to be born. So there he was my cruel, wicked father, who forced Mother into marrying him. I know he forced her, she can't have been in love with him.

The maids often told me what a beautiful mother was. How wildly spirited she was. And how her father broke her piece by piece. In a way I'm glad she's not here; she broke free, and I'm still here.

So here I sit, thinking of a way out. It was impossible. If I were to run away, my whole life would be false. I was born to be a Don. The power ran in my veins. Besides father would hunt me down and no doubt have someone slit my throat while I slept. Perhaps I could kill the bastard. But if someone found out, fuck, I'm screwed.

I'm only twenty-three, and he had offered my hand without even asking me. He never would have asked. The thought of marriage never crossed my mind. Perhaps a couple of times when I was a young girl. But I always imagined marrying a prince. Not the boss of the American fucking mafia.

The American mafia was well known for its reputation of being manipulative and brutal. They were deadly; even I was impressed. The mafia boss; I didn't know much about, but only his name. I was to be married to Chase Rodriguez. The roles of women in mafias are very traditional. To obey and serve. To be complacent doormats. Fucks sake. If Father thinks that uniting our mafia through marriage would mean me giving up my mafia to fucking Chase, he's got another thing coming.