A Beautiful Mistake: A Mafia Romance

CHAPTER NINE

RAFAEL

The deafening crack of the first shot reverberates through the room, the force of it nearly toppling me. My eyes dart to the gun; confusion etched across my face as I realize my finger wasn't even on the trigger. Before I can process this, a second shot rings out as if in defense, but it's quickly drowned out by piercing screams that fill the air, echoing off the walls of the dark space.

Panic surges through me as I hastily toss the weapon to the floor, the cold metal clattering against the hardwood. My eyes frantically scan the pitch-black room, searching for the source of the heart-wrenching cries. The darkness seems to press in from all sides, suffocating in its intensity.

Suddenly, a face materializes before me, beautiful and youthful, but with an unsettling emptiness in the eyes - green eyes that mirror my own. The realization hits me like a physical blow, and I feel my heart constrict painfully in my chest.

"Mama," I cry out, my voice breaking with emotion. I reach for her desperately, but she seems to drift away as if carried by an invisible current. The distance between us stretches impossibly, and I feel a wave of despair wash over me.

Her voice, tinged with pain and sorrow, cuts through the air in Spanish, "Why, my love? After all I have done is love you.”

My brows furrow in confusion, but the expression quickly morphs into one of abject terror as I watch blood begin to pour from every orifice of her face. It streams from her eyes, nose, and chest, saturating her clothing and pooling at her feet.

"How?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. In response, she simply points to my hands. With growing dread, I slowly lower my gaze, only to recoil in horror at the sight of my hands painted crimson.

"¡No!" I scream, shaking my head vehemently as I look back at her. But the gruesome scene only intensifies, with more blood flowing from her eyes like macabre tears.

Her voice, somehow still gentle despite the nightmarish situation, reaches my ears once more. “I love you, baby. I only wanted the best for you.”

Desperation claws at my throat as I try to explain, "I didn't mean to, mama. You have to believe me. It was for him. It was meant for him.” I reach for her again, but this time, instead of her moving away, I find myself unable to move.

Glancing down, I'm horrified to see a crimson pool slowly engulfing me, pulling me down into its depths. The more I struggle against it, the faster I sink, the thick, warm liquid clinging to my skin like a living entity.

"Mama, please help. I didn't do it. You have to believe me. It wasn't me.” I plead, my voice rising in panic as I fight against the blood that threatens to consume me.

Her expression shifts, hardening into something unrecognizable. "No, you wanted to kill me,” she says, her voice cold and detached. To my horror, she materializes a gun, the metal gleaming ominously in the dim light.

"Mamá, no," I manage to choke out, but it's too late. The gun fires and I feel a searing pain as the bullet strikes me squarely in the forehead. The world tilts and spins, colors bleeding into one another until everything fades to black, leaving me alone in the oppressive darkness of my own guilt and fear.

I jolt awake, sweat trickling down my bare chest and my heart racing like a runaway train. The sheets cling to my damp skin as I sit up, running a trembling hand through my disheveled hair. A deep sigh escapes my lips, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence of my opulent bedroom.

It's been months - no, f*****g years - since I last saw Mama in my dreams. Sometimes, they were vivid replays of that fateful day, every excruciating detail etched into my subconscious. Other times, like now, they were twisted versions of what actually happened, warped by guilt and time.

As my breathing slowly steadies, the realization hits me like a punch to the gut: the only reason I had this f*****g dream after so many years is because of one sinfully beautiful blonde. Hearing her sing "Bésame Mucho" must've awakened something dormant in my mind, stirring up memories I'd long tried to bury.

I close my eyes, recalling the events of the previous evening. I had gone to her room, intending to tell her she could roam the estate with her guard. Julio, had mentioned how bored she looked, confined to her room all day earlier. Despite myself, I felt a twinge of... something. Pity? Guilt? Whatever it was, it compelled me to offer her a semblance of freedom.

It's not like she could escape - I had enough men to catch her in seconds if she tried. I saw no harm in letting her think she could survey the place and find an escape route. It's almost... cute.

But then I got the shock of my life. She could have sung any other song with her angelic voice, but she had to choose Mama's song. f**k! I felt an overwhelming urge to punish her for causing me to see Mama again in my dreams. She is the cause of this f*****g ache in my chest, an ache only Mama and Rosalie evoked.

Fuck! Even now, thoughts of Rosalie intrude. Of course, they would. They are the only two... No! We aren't going down that path. f**k no! I've buried them in my past, and that's where they'll stay. Now, I need to focus on punishing that f*****g siren.

I throw off my sweat-soaked blanket and stride out of my room, my bare feet silent on the cold floor. As I make my way to her, all I can think about is how much I want to punish her and also make her c*m. There's this deep-seated need to bring her to the brink, to make her know that only I could give her such release. I don't understand where it stems from, but I feel it intensely, which makes it nearly impossible to f*****g take things slow with her.

I've always prided myself on my self-control, but around her, I'm like a hormonal teenager seeing his first naked body. I don't know why. Yes, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, but that alone doesn't explain this primal need to f**k, punish, and own her. f**k! She's been here for only a day, and already, my possessive side is rearing its ugly head. What sorcery does she possess? The mere thought of her makes my body react, my eyes closing involuntarily. No one has ever felt as good as her. I worry that this might make me want to keep her even after I'm done cleansing the earth of that fucker Thomas.

I snap back to reality as I reach her room. Pulling the door open silently, I'm greeted by the sight of her sleeping form, looking ethereal in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains. Couldn't the woman look less perfect for once? f**k! My eyes travel down her body, drinking in every curve. She's wearing a diaphanous nightgown that leaves little to the imagination. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath, partially exposed by the covers that have slipped to her waist. The sight of her dusky n*****s through the thin fabric causes my body to respond instantly. f**k! I'm behaving like a horny teenager again.

I want to take her right here and now, but anger still simmers beneath the surface. I'm pissed off at her for singing that song, for stirring up memories I've tried so hard to bury. I want to punish her, truly punish her this time, unlike before when she ended up climaxing from my attempts at discipline.

With practiced stealth, I approach the bed and yank the covers off her body. In one fluid motion, I wrap my arm around her waist and hoist her over my shoulder. She's a light sleeper; her body tenses immediately, and it takes only a second for a startled scream to escape her lips.

"Oh my God! What's happening?" she asks, her voice trembling with fear and confusion. Her reaction makes me smirk, a dark satisfaction coursing through me. I love seeing her scared, trembling slightly because of me. It warms my f*****g black heart.

"You'll find out soon, pequeña chispa," little rebel. I growl, my voice low and menacing as I carry her out of the room. I'm already eager to see how she'll defile me again, just as she's done since the moment she walked into my life.

She falls silent upon hearing my voice, likely recognizing it even in her disoriented state. Good! She should know it's me even without looking. For what I have planned, she's going to need that familiarity, that connection to ground her in the storm that's about to come.