Hope

Hope
“Increase security at the club; this staff turnover over the year is suspicious,” I hear Michael’s deep voice.

I rest my arms on the edge of the pool, watching my husband approach, Trent by his side, and that despicable Andrew. I hate how this man has been crawling around the mansion, like a little dog at Michael’s feet, begging not to lose the art companies under his name. Even though he acts tough and always stares Michael down with defiance, Andrew has kept himself in line.

He doesn’t stay long in the mansion, and when he does, he doesn’t bother anyone. My husband has managed to control his father, and from what he told me a few days ago, he’s just waiting for the business transaction to finish so he can end his father without raising suspicion. Andrew will go on vacation, and Michael will never be seen as a traitor who killed his father—a cardinal sin in our organization. He needs to be careful not to lose the respect of the members.

Nothing controls people like respect. Fear might make someone obey you, but it will never prevent thoughts of betrayal or actions that could lead to it. Respect, on the other hand, makes people admire you and builds unbreakable loyalty, trusting blindly in your word. That’s what my husband has been doing in the year we’ve been married—establishing his dominance. No one would dare misstep without Michael’s permission.

“What happened at the club?” I ask, water moving around me.
“Security measures. Nothing to worry about.”
“Okay.” I bat my eyelashes at him, trying to seduce him.

“You can go,” Michael tells his father, who nods and leaves without saying a word to me. I prefer it this way—minimal contact. “What a beautiful mermaid I found here.” His blue irises burn as he studies me.
“Come up, I want to see your bikini.”
“I’m not wearing anything,” I whisper, untying the back bow, removing the piece over my head, and placing it on the edge. “Come swim with me.”

I push off the pool wall with my feet, slowly moving away from Michael. His dark eyebrow arches, the dimples in his cheeks appearing seductively, and my husband bites his lips, removing his blue tie. He tosses his shoes aside, giving me a perfect view of his body becoming nude. I hate seeing the bandage on his shoulder, from a recent mission with the monster quartet.

“Tell me your codename in the underworld again,” I ask, trembling at the memory.
“Dragon.” He pulls up his underwear; I delight in the sight of his hard cock, gasping to have him inside me.

I remove the bottom of my bikini and toss it to Michael. He catches it, smelling it. I’m aching for him and can hardly wait as he enters the pool, coming toward me.

“Come, Dragon, eat your prey.” I gasp as his chest presses against my legs.
“There’s no meal better than your pussy.” His fingers slide into my folds. “Dripping with desire for me to fuck you.” He bites my neck, pressing his thick cock against my flesh. “A queen by day and night, my little slut.” He enters me. I sink my teeth into his neck, moving on his cock just the way he likes.

“Only yours,” I moan, feeling his thrusts, the water around us shifting. Our bodies float until my back hits the pool wall. “Oh, Dragon.” I’ve had a huge kink for calling him by his codename ever since I found out.

The imposing dragon tearing through the streets of the underworld, spreading fear and chaos, bringing darkness to every alley of the city. It’s my husband—the only one who enters my body and does as he pleases, and I surrender to every one of his perversions with a smile, knowing he will always give me pleasure and love.

We reach our peak and continue swimming naked in the pool until night falls. Then we get ready and attend a dinner for the organization. That’s been our routine—balancing our mafia duties with our social life. I’ve finished a semester and am on vacation until the next one starts in three weeks. For now, I just want to keep resting.



Today is Saturday, and in the afternoon I have a meeting with the Ladies at the club. As I enter, I notice the new staff; I can’t understand how so many accidents and illnesses caused the previous ones to leave.

The security guards are stationed in every corridor, security doubled now that I’m here. I sit at the table in the center of the hall, and we begin the usual trivial conversations, until Mrs. Griffin puts on a smile I know will bother me.

“When will we have the Bianchi heirs?” She asks this every time she sees me. I bite my lips, rubbing my fingers nervously before answering.

“Michael and I are still enjoying our first year of marriage. We’re not planning for children yet,” I reply, watching her nose wrinkle in disapproval.

“But you need to think about it. We have to have an heir—it can’t take too long, and there’s a risk something could happen to one of you. The organization depends on it.”

“My child will not be born out of the organization’s need.” I clench my fist, hating it when they speak as if a child were just an object. “When the right moment comes, we’ll have a baby. I could be pregnant now and you wouldn’t even know.” I smile at them.

Which I’m not—yet. Only Emily, Josephine, and Daisha know that I’ve begun the process of stopping my birth control to try for a child. I have a plan with my husband to balance college and motherhood. We’re trying for a baby; after the first one, I’ll only have more after graduation. Michael insisted on having ten children, but I convinced him to limit it to five. I only had to argue that we wouldn’t have time for sex otherwise, and he gave up on doubling the number.

“As you wish.” She sips her tea, and I bet she swallows the words.
“I won’t turn my pregnancy into a mega event—deal with it, Mrs. Griffin.”
“How can it not be a mega event?” She puts a hand to her chest, coughing. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you sick?” My throat itches.
“No.” She coughs again.

Others begin coughing too. I look around, confused at how everyone seems to have a crisis at the same time. The burning in my throat intensifies, and I start coughing. Zayn approaches, his face worried, placing a cloth over my face and lifting me by the arm.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Other guards begin escorting their ladies. Emily, who was next to me, faints, hitting her head on the table. Before I can reach her, I hear the sound of multiple bodies falling. Around me, all the ladies and their daughters who were coughing start passing out. The guards hold their weapons with cloths over their mouths. My vision blurs, and I stumble forward, leaning on Zayn. He has his Glock close to his face while dragging me. My legs give out, and I fall to my knees. Zayn coughs, trying to hold me in his arms before weakening.

“What the hell?” I manage to say before my vision completely blurs and I collapse to the ground.

I try to move my body, my head heavy and my eyes impossible to open. I sway with the movement of wherever I am—I think I’m in a vehicle. I try to move my hand and touch something soft, like someone’s leg. My head tilts, resting on a shoulder. The scent isn’t Michael’s; could it be Zayn or another guard?

I try to open my eyes, but they’re too heavy. I part my lips, needing more air, my head far too heavy.

“Sleep, Hope,” someone says. I can’t distinguish the tone of voice—it’s confusing, and I don’t know if I know this person or not. “We’ll be home soon. Everything will be okay.”

Home?

Am I going to the mansion? What happened to me? I can’t remember anything beyond fainting at the club. I try once more to open my eyes, but something wet is pressed against my nose and mouth. The strong smell invades my senses, and I pass out again.



“Wake up, princess.” I hear it in the back of my mind. “I’ve waited so long for this moment. Come on, Hope, open your eyes.” — They touch my face.

I jerk my head back, freeing myself from the touch. My mind aches, my senses sluggish. My vision blurs slightly before focusing on the person in front of me. A tall man, shaved head, with a burn scar across his face.

“Did you like the gift your husband gave me?” He points to the burned ear and part of the melted cheek.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice weak.
“Oh, didn’t your daddy tell you about me?” He touches my chin; I jerk my head back again. He pinches my cheeks between his fingers, pulling me closer. “We should have been introduced earlier. Pleasure, Hope, I’m Samuel Bonnarro, your brother.”

It can’t be possible.

Fear slithers through my body like a thorny vine, cutting every inch of my skin. It traps my heart in a tight box, compressing it while sending sharp pain through me. Air doesn’t reach my lungs; the pressure in my head spikes. I raise my hands toward his neck, but my attack is stopped by chains digging into my flesh, restricting my movements. Only then do I notice my body is tied to a chair.

“Liar,” I growl, glaring into his green eyes, enjoying my torment.
“Benjamin Bonnarro.” He smooths my hair. I open my mouth and bite his fist. He pulls back, glaring at me with hatred. “Don’t do that again, or I’ll punish you.”
“Fuck you!” I scream through a snarl.
“Aren’t you curious about our connection?”
“I’ll kill you with my own hands,” I threaten. He laughs, clapping.
“Well, our father did say you were fierce.”
“My father is Bartolomeu Bonnarro, and he had no other children besides Black and Steve.”
“Oh no, I’m talking about the usurper brother, not your real father—the Benjamin.”

I shiver with fear at how he knows the truth and what he might do with it. I thought only my family and Michael knew the secret of my birth, but if Samuel has this information, it’s possible he’s truly Benjamin’s son.

This isn’t the time to be afraid, but to shut down all emotion and focus on escaping. If I can grab the dagger from my bra, I can free my wrists and attack the bastard. I scan the room: a table in the corner, windows showing we’re on the second or third floor since I can’t see the ground, and a door. No one else is nearby. I just need to buy time until Michael finds me—the trackers will lead him here.

“What do you want?”
“A family reunion and to avenge our father,” he spreads his arms, “I’m excited to finally meet my little sister,” he smiles like a deranged lunatic. “But first, I’ll give you two options. I’m sure Bianchi has a way to track you, so either you tell me how he does it and I destroy the device, or I grope you completely until I find what I’m looking for.”
“Don’t touch me!”
“I don’t want to either—we’re siblings, after all,” he shrugs, his face turning serious. “But I will if you’re not honest.”

I bite my lips, hatred and fear clashing inside me. I take a deep breath, searching for anything I can use against him. Michael was right; we needed five trackers in case one was found. Everything will be fine if I still have the other four. But if Samuel gropes me and finds them all, I’ll lose our advantage.

I can’t let him get to them.
“What will you do if I tell you?” I ask, stalling.
“We’ll leave the device here and then go, but you need to be quick, or your little husband will find us first.” He makes a clicking sound. “He can be persistent. He almost found me at the drug warehouse, but I escaped before being fully burned. Imagine how we’d meet if I had died.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Revenge.” Malice shines across his face. “Bartolomeu killed my father when I was twenty, Zacharias killed my mother for having an affair with Benjamin. I destroyed all of Boston’s mafia in revenge, killed my brothers, and got that bastard Ícaro before he could meet your husband. Did Michael tell you how he got hit in the shoulder? He was trying to protect Ícaro, thirsty for information. In the middle of the shootout, I killed that bastard and even wounded your husband.” He laughs. “I used mercenaries for that—Michael must still think he hired them. Which do you think happens first: I kill him or he finds me?”
“How do you exist?”
“We’ll have our full family reunion later, but now, where is the tracker?” He pulls a knife from his belt, approaching me. “Or do you want me to be an incestuous lunatic who looks inside his sister’s vagina?”
“My arm,” I whisper, fear twisting inside me at the thought of being violated. “And leg.” I close my eyes, hating myself for confessing, but if he doesn’t keep his word and gropes me, he’ll realize I lied—and if he searches enough, he’ll find them all.
“The information was correct,” he smiles, sliding the knife across my face. “You have two trackers. Thanks for not lying.”
“How did you know?”
“I’m clever and have my methods for getting what I want,” he shrugs. “Now, if it hurts, don’t scream.”

Without me telling him where the trackers are, he plunges the knife into the exact spots, tearing my skin and retrieving the small objects. I grit my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making me suffer. Samuel leaves the room with the items, leaving me alone. I search for cameras but find none.

I bend forward, sliding my hand into my bra. Luckily, he used half-meter chains, and I can grab the dagger. I remember Michael’s lessons on unlocking handcuffs with the blade. Fear hampers my movements, but when the click on my left wrist sounds, I breathe a sigh of relief. I free the right wrist, then my ankles.

I leave the chains loose to appear restrained, holding the small dagger firmly, ready to strike. When he returns, I’ll thrust it into his jugular and escape. Michael will find me wherever I am, but I need to stay alive.

I don’t care to hear Samuel’s story about his birth, Benjamin’s affair with his mother, or how he learned about me. Those answers can go to hell. All I care about is killing the bastard, escaping, and returning to my family, never feeling fear again.

Michael is coming to save me, but that won’t make me vulnerable to Samuel’s madness.

I tilt my head forward, wanting him to think I’ve fainted. I focus on controlling my breathing; nothing can go wrong. The door opens, footsteps approach, a hand presses on my shoulder—I remain still.

“Hope?” I hear the bastard’s voice. “I guess I scared you too much with the knife and the trackers. I’ll be nice and tell you I discovered them when I touched you in the car.” I don’t move, keeping control, only narrowing my eyes to manage my rage. “You’re really hot, and if we weren’t siblings, I’d claim you as mine. But our father was clear: I had to save you from the Bonnarros of Las Vegas.”

He steps back. I need to use the element of surprise, attacking only when he’s close enough for one swift strike. I maintain my pose, listening to his words.

“Our father had business with Zacharias, spent a lot of time in his territory. He had an affair with your mother, and when she got pregnant, they pretended it was Zacharias’s child. But as soon as I was born, he took me to be raised by a politician’s wife. You never got to know him—shame, he was incredible.”

I feel him approach again, grabbing my chin, forcing my head upward. I keep my eyes closed, refusing to look at him.

“Because of Bartolomeu, I had to be raised in secret. When our father slept with your mother, he was certain she’d get pregnant and they’d have a child together. The Bonnarro forced my father into hiding, but he took me with him. I was sixteen, forced to flee because of that damn Bartolomeu. We spent four wonderful years building father-son bonds while I learned everything about both mafias, made contacts, and prepared for when we’d take over—destroying the Bianchis and the Boston ones.”

His rotten smell grows stronger, hot breath hitting my cheek. Now.

“But that bastard Bartolomeu killed our father, and I spent the following years building my own organization of assassins and spies, infiltrating everywhere. The Bianchis remained a challenge, but Boston was easy. All to reach this moment, fulfilling our father’s wish for us to be together, ruling the underworld.” I open my eyes, staring at him, gripping the dagger tip tightly, inhaling deeply. “Let’s go, Hope. Your husband is on his way.”

I release the blade from my palm, driving my hand to his jugular in one precise, swift strike. Blood sprays onto my skin; his eyes widen as he chokes on the liquid. I rip the skin on his neck, and his body topples backward as he tries to stop the bleeding. I rise and move to the window, opening it.

Outside, guards patrol—there’s no escape. I’m many meters off the ground, and a fall would break at least one bone, not to mention the guards would catch me quickly. I dash for the door as Samuel stumbles behind me. I turn the knob, entering a corridor.

Two men in black stand ready on the other side. They see me and act fast—one punches my jaw, throwing me to the ground. I lose consciousness. I should have been smarter, but with Samuel almost dead, I may have bought time for Michael to arrive.

Please, my love, come quickly.