A Bloodthirsty Mafia Past

MAGNUS

The heavy mahogany doors of my home office clicked shut, sealing me inside the sprawling, soundproof room. I stood frozen in the center of the Persian rug, staring at the polished brass handles. Nina was gone. I had ordered her out of my house, casting her out into the cool evening air. The silence she left behind was deafening. It pressed against my eardrums, thick and suffocating, wrapping around my chest like a physical weight. I turned away from the doors and dragged my heavy boots across the floor, heading straight for the massive oak desk dominating the far end of the room. I dropped my large frame into the leather executive chair. The expensive material groaned under my weight. I needed to work. I needed to drown the chaotic, burning thoughts of that girl in a sea of corporate warfare, quarterly reports, and offshore accounts. I reached out, my large hands gripping the edges of the desk. I pulled myself closer to the glowing monitors. I opened the top file. Rows of financial data stared back at me, detailing a recent acquisition that would add millions to my net worth.

I blinked at the screen, but the numbers blurred into meaningless shapes. My focus was shattered. Work had always been my sanctuary. It was the one place where my mind operated with cold, ruthless precision. Nothing breached these walls. No distraction ever penetrated my focus once I sat behind this desk. But tonight, the iron fortress of my discipline had crumbled. I leaned back in the chair, dragging my palms down my face with a harsh, frustrated breath. The scent of her lingered in the air. Vanilla frosting mixed with the sweet, intoxicating musk of her natural scent. It clung to my expensive dress shirt. It burned in the back of my throat. I inhaled sharply, trying to clear the scent from my lungs, but the effort only drove the phantom memory deeper into my brain.

My right hand dropped to my lap, curling into a tight fist. My palm still burned with the memory of her soft flesh. I had grabbed her ass. I had squeezed the plush curves, kneading the soft cheeks while my mouth ravaged hers. The memory sent a vicious, unyielding surge of blood straight to my groin. My cock strained painfully against the zipper of my tailored trousers, throbbing with a dark, heavy ache. I ground my jaw, the muscles feathering along my jawline. She was a young woman in her twenties. A girl I was supposed to protect. A girl I should strictly treat as a daughter. I was a billionaire with a dark, blood-soaked past, and she was untouched, pure, and infinitely too young for a monster like me. I knew the rules. I knew the boundaries. I had built my life on rigid control.

Yet, my mind spiraled down a dark, filthy path. I could not stop the explicit fantasies flooding my brain. I remembered the exact friction of her hips rolling against my rigid erection. I remembered the desperate, needy whimper that vibrated against my tongue. I knew she was soaking wet for me. I could smell her arousal. I shifted my hips, a low groan rumbling in my chest as my cock twitched hard against my slacks. My thoughts turned darker, dirtier. I pictured her spread out on this very desk, pushing the files and laptops onto the floor. I pictured her naked, her thighs pushed wide apart, exposing her dripping wet pussy to the harsh office lights. I wanted to bury my face between her legs. I wanted to part her soft pink lips with my tongue, tasting her sweet juices, lapping up every drop of her wetness until she writhed in agony. How sweetly would she moan for me? How loud would she scream my name when I shoved two fingers deep inside her tight core? I wanted to hear that sound. I wanted to rip her panties off and plunge my thick, throbbing cock deep inside her tight pussy, stretching her out, ruining her for any other man. I wanted to claim her in the most primal, dirty way possible.

The sharp, piercing ring of a telephone shattered the heavy silence.

My muscles locked instantly. I blinked, dragging myself out of the filthy, sex-fueled trance. The sudden noise was a splash of ice water over my burning skin. I turned my head, staring at the sleek smartphone resting next to a stack of contracts. The screen glowed bright in the dim room, displaying an unknown number. My dark eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. The lingering heat of lust in my veins evaporated, instantly replaced by a cold, hardened edge. The mafia boss I kept chained inside me woke up, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. I reached across the wood, my large hand grabbing the device. I swiped the screen to answer and lifted the phone to my ear.

I stayed quiet. I did not breathe. I did not speak. In my world, silence was a weapon. I let the empty air stretch between the two lines, waiting with lethal patience. For the first few seconds, the other end of the line was dead quiet. The caller was testing the waters. Then, a voice broke the tension.

"Hello, Magnus."

The voice was familiar. A ghost from a brutal, buried past. A man who knew the exact shade of red I used to paint the streets. I leaned back into the thick leather padding of my chair, my grip tightening on the phone. My posture relaxed, but it was the deceptive relaxation of a coiled snake preparing to strike.

"Why did you call?" I kept my tone flat, stripping away every ounce of emotion.

"I heard you are back in the country and you are a billionaire now." Silas let out a dark, mocking chuckle that scraped against my eardrum like rusted metal. The amusement in his tone was a calculated insult, a deliberate attempt to undermine the empire I had built.

"Do you have anything to say?" My voice dropped an octave, resonating with a stern, menacing warning. I had zero patience for small talk.

"How many lives did you waste to get that much money?" Silas dropped the amusement. His tone shifted into a blunt, stern accusation. He was digging at the foundation of my wealth, reminding me of the corpses buried beneath the polished marble floors of my corporate towers.

"Just enough to get me here." I stared blankly at the rows of leather-bound business books lining the massive shelf across the room. My answer was cold, factual, and unapologetic. I owned my sins. I did not hide from the blood on my ledger.

"There's a huge job and I thought I should get you onto the job."

"I don't do it anymore. I stopped a year ago." I cut him off sharply. My voice was a steel blade slicing through his pitch. I did not hesitate. I did not leave room for negotiation. I delivered the statement as an absolute fact.

The line went silent. Two agonizing seconds ticked by on the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the office. Then, Silas burst into loud, genuine laughter. The sound echoed through the speaker, grating on my nerves. It was the sound of a man who believed he held the winning hand.

"You don't do it anymore? Since a year ago? You mean to tell me you haven't soiled your hands in a year?"

"I don't intend on getting back to it." I remained stoic, my eyes locked onto a single book spine across the room.

"Magnus Thorne is telling me that he hasn't killed in a year. That is the last thing I would ever believe. You are always bloodthirsty, you can't stop. You know that, Magnus."

The words hit their mark. A dark, familiar rage clawed its way up my throat. The monster inside me bared its teeth, eager to be unleashed. The air in the office grew colder, heavier. My free hand curled into a tight fist on the desk, the knuckles turning stark white under the strain. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, the raw, violent urge to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his windpipe crushed.

"If you don't end the call right now, I might get bloodthirsty enough to drain the life out of you." I delivered the threat in a low, guttural growl. It was a promise, laced with lethal intent.

"Fine, I will end the call but I am sure you will be back soon. You can't leave, you know it but by then you would have lost this huge deal."

The line clicked and dropped into a dead dial tone.

I threw the phone down. It clattered loudly against the polished mahogany, skidding to a halt near the edge. I let out a low, frustrated groan that vibrated in my chest. I glared hard at the shelf of business books, my jaw locked tight. Silas's mocking words echoed in the quiet space. He was taunting me. He was testing the chains I had placed on my own nature.

I crossed my arms over my broad chest, staring into the shadows of the room. The grim reality of my existence stared back. Once you dive deep into the dirty business of the mafia, leaving is difficult. No, it is impossible. The underworld is a tar pit. The harder you fight to pull yourself out into the light, the faster the darkness drags you under. Yet, a year ago, I had done the impossible. I had stepped away. I had left the active operations of the mafia behind, trading my guns for corporate takeovers.

But even I, Magnus Thorne, the most feared enforcer the city had ever seen, could not leave completely. The rules of our world were written in blood. Leaving completely meant severing all ties, dropping all defenses, and exposing my life to the constant, looming threats of my past enemies. Walking away with a clean break would guarantee getting myself killed instantly. There were too many grudges. Too many sons seeking revenge for the fathers I had buried. I was forced to remain strictly inactive. I kept my contacts. I kept my enforcers on the payroll. I maintained the fear of my name. I was a sleeping dragon, holding the line through pure intimidation. I planned on keeping it that way until the day I fucking died.

I was done with the lethal business. The life of a killer had stripped away my humanity, taking everyone I ever cared about away from me. I wanted to sit in this office and build legitimate wealth. I wanted to exist without the constant stench of copper in my nose. But as I sat there, my heart pounding with a mixture of dark rage and unresolved lust, a sickening truth settled in my gut. Silas was right.

I was far too bloodthirsty to ever truly be done. The violence was wired into my DNA. It was woven into my muscle fibers. The monster was merely resting, never dead. And now, the volatile, dangerous energy of my mafia past was mixing with the twisted, inappropriate desire for the young girl who had just left my house. My hands were lethal weapons, and yet, all I wanted to do was use them to hold Nina down and fuck her until she forgot her own name. The realization was a heavy anchor, dragging me deeper into the dark.

MARCELLA

The bell above the local cafe door chimed continuously as a steady stream of mid-morning customers shuffled in and out. The air inside the small shop was warm, heavy with the rich scent of roasted espresso beans, steamed milk, and sweet pastries. I sat in a secluded corner booth, my fingers wrapped tightly around a white ceramic mug. The black coffee inside had long since gone cold, but I kept my gaze fixed on the dark, still surface of the liquid. The bustling noise of the cafe—the clinking of spoons, the hiss of the espresso machine, the overlapping chatter—faded into a dull, meaningless hum in the background.

Vivian sat across the small wooden table, sipping a massive iced matcha latte. She was leaning forward, her eyes wide and bright, waving her manicured hands excitedly in the air. She had been talking for twenty straight minutes, rambling on and on without taking a single breath.

"He is so fucking handsome, and the girls he has been with all say he is incredible in bed!" Vivian gushed, her voice pitching higher with enthusiasm.

I slowly dragged my eyes away from the coffee mug and looked at my best friend. I pulled my brows together, letting a small frown crease my forehead.

"A playboy?" I asked, my voice flat, devoid of the excitement she was desperately trying to provoke.

"Nah, not a playboy. I would never introduce you to a playboy. He is a nice and loyal guy, as I have heard." Vivian waved her hand dismissively, offering a reassuring smile.

My face relaxed a fraction. Nice. Loyal. Safe. These were the words I needed to hear. These were the attributes of a normal college relationship. I was only sitting in this cafe, attending this ridiculous blind date, in a desperate attempt to build a raft in the middle of a raging ocean. I needed a distraction. I needed an anchor to stop my mind from racing back to the foyer of that massive, terrifying mansion.

Despite Vivian’s endless hype, I could only think back to someone else. I closed my eyes for a split second, and the memory assaulted me with brutal clarity. Magnus Thorne. I felt the phantom heat of his massive body pressing me against the cold marble floor. I felt the bruising, possessive grip of his large hand crushing the flesh of my ass. The sheer size of his rock-hard erection grinding into my stomach had left a permanent, burning imprint on my skin. Just thinking about his dark, furious eyes and the rough, strained sound of his voice telling me to get out sent a violent spike of pure heat straight to my core. My pussy throbbed, a fresh wave of slick wetness pooling in my panties as I sat in the middle of a public cafe. My breathing hitched. I shifted uncomfortably on the vinyl seat, crossing my legs tight beneath the table to ease the vicious ache between my thighs.

"Oh, he is here." Vivian sat up straight, practically vibrating in her seat with excitement. She readjusted her posture, running a quick hand through her hair.

I took a deep breath, forcing the inappropriate, dirty memories back into the dark corners of my mind. I looked behind me, scanning the crowded room. A guy was weaving through the narrow spaces between the tables, heading straight for our booth. Caleb.

He flashed a small, polite smile as he walked over. He wore a crisp denim jacket over a casual white t-shirt. His sandy blonde hair was perfectly styled, and his posture was relaxed, easygoing. He was conventionally attractive, the kind of guy who commanded attention at campus parties. But as I watched him approach, a cold, heavy wave of disappointment crashed over me.

"Hello ladies." Caleb stopped at the edge of our table. He aimed a bright, charming smile at me first, and then shifted his gaze to Vivian.

"Hello." I forced the corners of my mouth up, returning the smile. It felt plastic and hollow on my face.

Caleb shifted his weight, his eyes darting to the empty wooden chair next to Vivian, and then back to my face. He stood there, waiting for a polite invitation. The hesitation grated on my nerves. A dominant man would have just taken the seat. A dominant man would have owned the space the second he walked into the room. Magnus Thorne never asked for permission. He demanded compliance with his mere presence.

"Oh, please do. Have your seat." I gestured toward the empty chair quickly, understanding the silent question he was asking.

"Thank you." Caleb spoke in a sweet, eager tone. He pulled the chair out and sat down opposite me, resting his arms on the table.

"Caleb, this is Nina, my best friend. And Nina, this is Caleb." Vivian clapped her hands together, looking terribly pleased with her matchmaking skills as she formally introduced us.

"Nice meeting you, Nina. You look so beautiful now that I am sitting close to you." Caleb leaned his upper body across the table, closing the distance between us. His eyes scanned my face, offering a rehearsed compliment meant to make me blush.

"You look very handsome too. Uhm... Vivian told me you are good-looking, and seeing you now, I do think that she is more than right." I delivered the lie with practiced ease, maintaining eye contact.

Caleb chuckled. It was a light, airy sound that barely registered over the background noise of the espresso machine.

"Seems like the both of you click really well, I should just leave the both of you be now. I have somewhere to be. You both should get to know each other better." Vivian grabbed her purse from the table and got to her feet in a rush. She threw a blatant, exaggerated wink in my direction, clearly proud of her setup.

"Bye then." Caleb raised his hand, offering a casual wave.

Vivian spun on her heel and hurried toward the glass exit doors, leaving us entirely alone at the small booth. The dynamic shifted instantly. The silence stretching between Caleb and me was thin, awkward, and terribly polite. It lacked the heavy, suffocating, sexually charged tension that choked the air whenever I was in the same room as my father's best friend.

"Uhm, Nina. I see that you only have a cup of coffee. Would you like something else?" Caleb tilted his head, pointing at my cold mug.

"No, not really, but you should get something for yourself." I shook my head, keeping my voice soft and agreeable.

"That's right, but I am fine for now. Listening to your voice makes me feel better than any edible would make me feel right now." Caleb flashed a wide, charming smile. He thought he was being smooth. He thought the line was clever.

I stared at his smiling face. Hear me out, under normal circumstances, before the hurricane of Magnus Thorne ripped through my life and destroyed my baseline for attraction, I would have fallen for those words. I would have found the cheesy pickup line endearing. I would have giggled and twirled a strand of hair around my finger. But the only person occupying my mind right now was a lethal, scarred mafia boss twice my age.

My brain immediately went to work, ruthlessly analyzing the boy sitting across from me. I compared every single detail to Magnus, tearing Caleb apart piece by piece. Caleb's voice was too light, too bright, too youthful. It lacked the intoxicating, gravelly depth that made Magnus sound like a dangerous predator growling in the dark. Magnus’s voice vibrated right through my bones, vibrating straight down to my soaking wet pussy and commanding absolute obedience. Caleb’s shoulders were broad, sure, but his frame was far less dominant. He looked soft. He lacked the massive, terrifying mountain of muscle that made Magnus look like a god of war poured into a bespoke suit.

My mind pushed further, explicitly supplying dirty comparisons. I looked at the loose fit of Caleb’s jeans beneath the table. There was no bulge. No heavy, intimidating threat of male arousal. I squeezed my thighs together, remembering the sheer, thick size of the rigid erection I had felt grinding against my stomach just hours ago. Caleb’s cock could not possibly compare to the massive, rock-hard monster lurking between Magnus's thighs. Caleb wouldn't know how to wreck me. Caleb wouldn't make me scream and cry out in pleasure while tearing my clothes off in a dark hallway. He was a boy, and I was desperately, painfully craving a lethal man.

The scorching memory of Magnus's rough kiss still burned brightly on my swollen lips. The taste of his anger. The brute force of his lust. I swallowed hard, a pathetic, needy ache tightening my chest.

"Are you okay?" Caleb's voice broke through the haze of my filthy thoughts. He leaned back slightly, a small line of concern appearing between his brows.

"Yes, I am good." I blinked rapidly, plastering the fake, polite smile back onto my face. I sat up straighter, adjusting my posture.

"Glad." Caleb mumbled, looking relieved that he hadn't ruined the date already.

"I have actually been seeing you around these past few weeks, and I have been liking you a lot. You don't know how happy I was when Vivian told me she would be introducing me to you." Caleb shifted gears, laying his cards on the table with an earnest look.

"You are one of the hottest guys in school and you have eyes for me?" I leaned closer, propping my elbows on the table and resting my chin in my hands. I forced myself to act interested. I had to try. I had to play the game and engage in the conversation.

"Is it that you don't know how hot you look? Or are you just being really, really humble?" Caleb asked, a playful glint returning to his eyes.

I laughed softly, a hollow sound that did not reach my eyes.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" I brought up the question, steering the conversation toward commitment.

"No, but I will be having one soon. You." Caleb held my gaze as he delivered the bold line.

I stared back at him, my internal radar scanning the delivery. He tried to sound dominant. He tried to sound possessive. But his words lacked raw confidence. His voice wavered on the final syllable, and his posture remained relaxed and unthreatening. Even though he was looking right into my eyes, his gaze failed to ignite even a fraction of the intense, consuming fire that Magnus caused with a single, furious glare. When Magnus looked at me, I felt hunted. I felt exposed, naked, and desperate to submit. When Caleb looked at me, I felt nothing but a dull, nagging emptiness.

I dropped my gaze to the cold coffee mug, mentally scolding myself. My thoughts were toxic. My desires were sick. This desire was sinful, Nina. Craving the rough hands, the dominant orders, and the massive cock of my father's best friend was deeply wrong. I was supposed to be a good girl. I was supposed to stay away from the darkness. I needed to snap out of this pathetic delusion. I needed to get that dangerous, bloodthirsty man out of my head before he dragged me down into the abyss with him.

I tightened my grip on the ceramic mug, determining firmly that I would use this boy sitting across from me. I would build a committed, normal relationship with Caleb. I would let him hold my hand. I would let him kiss me. I would force myself to desire his gentle touch until the scorching, violent memories of Magnus Thorne were completely eradicated from my brain. I nodded to myself, cementing the plan in my mind.

Well, at least I thought I could.

But as I looked back up at Caleb’s sweet, unthreatening smile, a dark, heavy knot of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. Deep down, in the darkest, wettest part of my aching core, I secretly doubted I would ever succeed. Magnus Thorne had already claimed my mind, and I knew, with terrifying certainty, that no normal boy could ever satisfy the dark craving he had awakened inside me.