Bound by Blood and Desire: A Mafia Dark Romance

The Monster's Plan

~Axel~

“f**k!” I cursed, yanking the syringe from my leg. The needle had snapped, leaving a piece embedded in my flesh. The pain didn’t bother me; it was just an inconvenience. What really burned in my mind was the thought of what I was going to do to her when I caught up to her. I could still see her tiny form running, as fast as her legs could carry her, vanishing into the night.

My driver changed lanes without a word. I gave the command, my voice cold and sharp, “Don’t. Let. Her. Run.”

He didn’t question me—no one ever did. He stopped the car immediately, awaiting my next order.

“Take me home.”

He obeyed without hesitation. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a knife and tore through the fabric of my trousers, cutting around the wound. I dug the blade into my skin, fishing out the broken pieces of the syringe. Pain was irrelevant. I’d learned to block it out long ago—now, it only mattered when I was the one causing it.

The broken needle wasn’t too deep, but I’d need a doctor to handle it properly later. For now, I just needed enough out to avoid permanent damage. My hand moved with steady precision, cold and detached, as I removed the largest fragments.

When I was done, I wiped the blood on my torn pants and pulled out my phone. Marcel answered after a few rings, his voice carrying a tired, irritated drawl, “I told you to give me at least an hour to find out who attacked. You know how much I hate being interrupted.”

Marcel was the only person who could get away with talking to me like that. He’d earned it. We’d bled together, and he was the best at what he did.

I kept my voice even, though I wasn’t in the mood for his attitude. “I need you to do something else. Camilla stabbed me with a syringe and ran.”

I could practically hear the grin spreading across his face. “Well, looks like our mafia princess isn’t as dull as I thought. You want me to have her found and brought to you?”

“No,” I snapped, irritation flaring in my chest. “Find her and have her taken to the auction house. Make sure whoever you send scares her. I want her shaking before she gets there.”

Marcel chuckled. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Romantic? Auctioning off your new bride to some sleazy bastard. Where will she ever find love like yours?”

Grinding my teeth, I growled, “I’m not in the mood. Get her there. She’s on foot, in a hospital gown, running through the streets like a scared rabbit. It won’t take long. I need her at the auction in twenty-five minutes.”

He sighed, clearly irritated. “You’re lucky you pay me enough for this shit.” Then he hung up.

I hurled my phone across the seat, the feeling of annoyance boiling up inside me. Marcel was right about one thing: Camilla had proven to be more of a challenge than I expected. When I first saw her picture, I thought she was just another spoiled princess. Pretty, fragile, easy to control. But she had surprised me—again and again.

The first time was when she tried to escape before the wedding. Then, when she dared me and took those drugs, and now, with the syringe. It was almost impressive.

Almost.

She feared me—of that I was certain. I saw it in her eyes every time she looked at me. But she was unpredictable, and that unpredictability was getting under my skin. She was going to learn the hard way that no one crossed me. Not her. Not anyone.

As soon as we arrived home, I got out of the car, my leg still throbbing, though I barely noticed it. I made a mental note to call the doctor later. For now, I needed to clean up and change.

Blood soaked my pant leg as I walked into my penthouse, the marble floors gleaming under the dim lights. The silence in the house was heavy, cold, the way I liked it. I headed straight to my room, stripping off the ruined clothes and tossing them aside without a second thought.

The wound in my leg was deep enough that I’d need stitches, but that could wait. I wrapped it tightly for now and dressed quickly, pulling on a black button-down shirt and dark slacks. Simple, sharp, functional. I glanced in the mirror, checking my reflection. Clean, controlled, ruthless.

Just as I needed to be tonight.

Sliding into one of my cars, I sped off toward The Black Orchid. The streets blurred past, the city nothing more than a backdrop to the chaos running through my mind. The Black Orchid was a club which was a front for many things, but tonight it would serve one purpose: the auction.

Camilla didn’t understand the world she’d been thrown into. She thought she could escape me. Thought she could run and hide. How naïve. In my world, there was no room for weakness, no room for error. And certainly no room for disobedience.

I parked outside the club, the neon lights casting a cold glow over the entrance. Men in suits milled about, their eyes dark with hunger, their desires twisted and dangerous. This was where power was bought and sold, where lives were traded for the right price.

And tonight, Camilla’s life would be on the line.

Stepping inside, I made my way through the crowd, barely acknowledging the people who greeted me with nods of respect. My mind was elsewhere—focused on the plan, on her.

I needed her scared. Terrified, even. I needed her to understand just how small and insignificant she was in this world. As I approached the back room, my phone buzzed, and I answered without hesitation.

Marcel’s voice cut through, his tone laced with amusement. “She’s on her way. My guys picked her up. She was crying by the time they dragged her into the car. Hospital gown, barefoot, the whole damsel-in-distress package.”

I ignored his sarcasm, focusing on what mattered. “Good.”

Marcel chuckled lightly. “What exactly do you plan to do now? How do you expect this to play out?”

I leaned against the wall, staring at the bloodstained knife still in my hand. “She made a choice. She ran. Now, I’m going to show her how women picked off the streets are treated in my world.”

There was a pause before Marcel spoke again, his voice incredulous now. “So, let me get this straight—you’re going to buy your own wife, treat her like a common w***e, just to prove a point? You could’ve skipped this whole charade and had her brought back to you directly. Done whatever you wanted without the theatrics.”

I smiled coldly, finally feeling some amusement creep into my own tone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Marcel sighed on the other end. “You really are something else, Axel.”

I ignored his comment, “You can get back on finding out who ordered the attack on my car.”

His casual tone shifted as if he were examining his nails. “That on’t be necessary anymore, I already have the answer.”

I felt my patience wear thin. “Why didn’t you start with that?”

“You seemed more concerned about your runaway bride,” he replied dryly.

“Marcel,” I growled, letting his name hang as a warning.

The shift in his tone was immediate. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Talk.”

There was a moment of hesitation, one that only fueled the fire burning in my gut. Then Marcel spoke, the weight of his words landing like a bomb. “The order for the attack came from the same source I just uncovered four months ago. The one you’ve spent the better part of your life searching for.”

My entire body stilled for a moment. The person that had begun my nightmares, made me turn into the monster men feared now was had chosen to resurface then Marcel spoke again, his next words cementing my thoughts and sending a wave of anger spiraling through me.

“The anonymous source matches the one where the order came from that night years ago and I believe whoever killed your mother and brother has decided to surface again to finish the job and you are top on the list.”