A Beautiful Mistake: A Mafia Romance

CHAPTER THREE

FRANKY

My breath comes out in shallow pants as I kneel on the plush carpet, my heart racing with a potent mix of fear and anticipation. The opulent bedroom surrounding me stands in stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind. Dark, ornate walls loom above, adorned with gilded moldings that catch the dim light from crystal chandeliers, their beauty lost on me as I grapple with my decision. The massive bed, draped in rich, black linens, dominates the space—a looming reminder of what awaits me.

My skin still tingles from the thorough bathing I received earlier from one of the maids who came to fetch me from the dungeon. They even fed me—a gesture that felt more like preparation for slaughter than an act of kindness. The scent of expensive soap clings to me, a futile attempt to mask the terror that threatens to overwhelm me. I recall the clinical touch of the doctor who examined me this afternoon, his face impassive as he cleaned my injuries and checked for STDs. The memory makes me shudder—another reminder that my body is no longer my own.

My eyes dart to the oversized painting hanging on the wall, its golden frame a border between this Sicilian sanctuary and the world I've left behind. The antique dresser, the velvet curtains, and even the intricately patterned rug beneath my knees speak of old-world wealth and power. But right now, in this moment of fear and uncertainty, it feels more like a gilded cage than a refuge.

The room's shadows seem to pulse with my racing heartbeat, the darkness a fitting backdrop to the anxious thoughts swirling in my mind. I'm curious if Melina knows I'm missing yet. Is this sacrifice worth it? Of course it is, I tell myself. I've protected her all our lives; I won't stop now.

The thought of subjecting myself to a man's touch again makes me tremble, memories of past trauma threatening to overwhelm me. Flashes of our father's drunken rages, the bottles thrown, the pain I endured to keep Melina safe—it all comes rushing back. Then the horrors of my last kidnapping surface—the brutal hands, the violation, the helplessness. My body still bears the invisible scars of that ordeal. It's a relentless parade of pain and fear.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. I remind myself why I'm here—to protect Melina. But am I strong enough to go through with this? I've never willingly put myself in such a vulnerable position before.

Before I can doubt myself further, the room door creaks open. The handsome devil from earlier stands by the doorframe, looking breathtakingly devilish as I remember. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in my kneeling form, his gaze trailing over my body. A muscle in his jaw ticks, betraying the intensity of his reaction.

The air in the room seems to thicken, charged with an electric tension that makes my skin prickle. His presence fills the space, commanding and undeniable. I feel my breath catch in my throat as our eyes lock, the weight of what's about to happen settling heavily on my shoulders. I've revised the passage to enhance its emotional depth and descriptive elements while maintaining the original context and tone. Here's the revised version:

In this moment, suspended between fear and inevitability, I realize there's no turning back.

He moves from the doorframe with deliberate, predatory grace. His steps are measured, each one echoing in the opulent room. I can see the tension coiled in his shoulders, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. With every step he takes, his expensive Italian leather shoes clicking against the polished floor, my heart pounds faster against my ribcage. Fear grips me, stealing my breath as he comes to stand before me.

My body becomes rigid as his hand slowly moves into my hair. A low, animalistic growl escapes him as his fingers tangle in my blonde locks. His breathing quickens, hot against my skin, as he lifts my head, forcing me to meet his intense gaze.

"Chingar! You're even more perfect than I thought you would be," he says, his deep Mexican accent wrapping around me like velvet. The words slide off his tongue with a silky smoothness that sends involuntary tingles through my body.

His eyes rake down my form, taking in every inch of me clothed in sheer, black lace lingerie that leaves little to the imagination. The delicate fabric clings to my curves, showcasing my skin beneath intricate floral patterns. The robe, tied loosely at my waist with a satin ribbon, teases at the possibility of being undone with just one pull.

I recall begging the maid to let me wear the robe—this thin piece of lace that barely counts as clothing—just to have something between my skin and his searing gaze. The lace trim along the edges adds a touch of elegance to the otherwise provocative attire, framing my body in a way that makes me feel both vulnerable and dangerously alluring.

"I planned to go over the basics with you tonight, but having you on your knees like this..." his other hand moves over my lips, his thumb tracing their outline with a feather-light touch. "All I want right now is to have this around my slowly hardening cock."

I swallow hard, a shiver running down my spine. I knew this was coming. I had mentally prepared myself the moment I saw the maid today, but still...

The sound of metal clinking snaps my attention back to him. My breath hitches as I watch his hand move to his belt, the quiet, deliberate movements only heightening the tension in the room. The soft jingle of the buckle, followed by the whisper of leather sliding through loops, echoes in the otherwise silent space. Each sound feels amplified, heavy with the promise of what's to come, sending a fresh wave of anxiety through me.

His eyes never leave mine as he pulls the belt free, the subtle creak of the leather making my heart pound in my chest. The air between us crackles with tension, thick with unspoken desires and fears. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the intoxicating blend of his cologne and something uniquely him. It's overwhelming, terrifying, and yet... there's a part of me that responds to his raw masculinity despite my fear.

My eyes widen in shock as I see him through his boxer briefs. The outline of his manhood is intimidating, far larger than I'd anticipated. A wave of panic washes over me, my heart racing even faster. Melina, I love you, but there's no way I can handle that—not even in my mouth. The reality of what I've agreed to crashes down on me, and I feel my resolve wavering.

He notices my reaction, his dark eyes narrowing as his hands tighten in my hair. The slight pain sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Don't even think about it," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. I watch, paralyzed, as he slowly frees himself from his underwear. My breath catches in my throat as I realize the boxer briefs did little to hide what he's packing. How can someone carry all that? The sight of him, fully erect and intimidating, makes me want to shrink away.

"Open," he commands, his tone brooking no argument. Despite the fear coursing through me, a part of me rebels. Instead of complying, I shake my head, sealing my mouth shut. It's a small act of defiance, but it's all I have left. He lifts an eyebrow, his expression darkening ominously. "I assumed you'd be more compliant since this was your f*****g idea, but I guess I was wrong."

There's a moment of tense silence, his eyes boring into mine. Then, without warning, his hand moves to my breast. A yelp escapes me as he unexpectedly pinches my n****e, the sensation sharp and startling. He uses that split second when my mouth opens to push himself inside, filling my mouth before I can react.

I stare up at him, shocked to my core—not just by his actions but by my body's betrayal. The initial pain from the pinch fades, replaced by a tingling sensation that spreads across my chest. To my horror, I feel my body responding, craving his touch again. Confusion and shame war within me as I struggle to understand these conflicting feelings.