His Mafia Possession

casting long shadows that danced like ghosts of the past. Zamian stood with his back to the arched windows, the stained glass painting his tailored suit in hues of crimson and sapphire.

off. At the time, he let it slide. He hadn't known who she was. She didn't know who he was either. But fate... fate had a dark sense of humor. He stared at the photograph for a long moment before he finally spoke. "I've already seen her," he said slowly, eyes never leaving the image. "She was brave. Rude. Untouched by this world." His voice dropped to a whisper, like a vow. "That won't last." Thomas paled. "Please... don't hurt her. Just take what you want from me-" "You already gave me what I want." Zamian slid the photograph into his coat pocket and turned away. "She's mine now." Avery I sat curled on the cold velvet couch in that giant red-walled room, arms still tied, wrists burning. The door opened with a hiss, and I jerked my head toward it. He walked in again-the man from before. The one with eyes like winter and a face carved from authority. I expected to feel fear. I expected to cower. But I didn't. I stared right back. He watched me with a strange look, almost... fascinated. He set his drink on the table, sat across from me, legs spread slightly, hands resting on his thighs. Power radiated off of him in waves. "You don't recognize me, do you?" he asked after a moment. I blinked. My mouth was dry. "Should I?" He leaned in slowly. "Weeks ago. Down at the docks. You bumped into me. Called me an arrogant b*st*rd. Ring a bell?" I searched my memory-and then it hit me. That man in the designer suit. I'd been in a rush, earbuds blasting music, and I s