Mafia Psycho

Mafia Psycho
Sheharzaad's body jolted as soon as the phone crashed against the wall, now lying on the
floor in an almost unrecognizable state. She was finding it difficult to breathe. She used to be
scared even of his frown, and now he stood in front of her, in all his glory, rage radiating
from him.
She thought she would die from fear.
She felt like going to her knees and begging him for forgiveness, but she knew it wouldn't
calm his dark soul.
"How the hell did you dare do that, Sheharzaad?"
She shook her head again.
"No! No!" she waved her hands, trying to make him believe. "No!"
"Don't lie," he snapped, and she saw his eyes darken with every passing second, along with
his hold on her arm.
"Please," she whimpered, her body trembling badly. His eyes showed that he didn't trust her
—not a single word from her mouth.
"Please listen to me."
She was desperate.
"Let's start again," he whispered, a mask slipping over his eyes.
He released her arm and slightly pushed her toward the door of the room.
"Close the door," he uttered, his gaze piercing through her. She could tell he was up to no
good.
He did it only to make her aware of the upcoming events.
Inhaling a shaky breath, she turned around and faced the door. She stared at the hallway—it
looked so tempting. She wanted to run far from his reach. She wanted to escape this room.
But even if she ran, sooner or later, he would catch her and punish her with even more
ferocity.
Sheharzaad looked at the door, then back at him helplessly, her eyes pleading for mercy. But
the cold, grey mask in his gaze didn’t waver. She felt herself shaking to the bone.
"Close the door, Sheharzaad." And she did just that, her hands trembling on the knob. She
knew now there was no room for defiance.
"Lock it."
The intensity of her shivering doubled as she turned the lock, slowly turning to face him.
He sat back on the sofa, eyeing her from head to toe. It took everything in her not to take a
step back and flee his sanctuary. She couldn’t tell if he was angry. His face betrayed no
emotion.
"Shehryaar... I... please... ple-ase... ple-ase," she stammered.
"Come here," he ordered, and with slow, shaky steps, she moved toward him, whispering,
"I... did not...did not..."
Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest.
She couldn't tell what was going on in his mind.
"Sheharzaad," he stood in front of her, slowly reaching to grasp her chin, forcing her head
up.
She flinched at his unyielding grip. She began stepping back when he grabbed her arm,
daring her to move further from him.
"Where were you?" he questioned. Her chin wobbled as she raised her hands to grasp his
wrist.
"With... th-th-the...restaurant...restaurant...lun-ch," she stammered. His expression remained
calm, but his demeanor screamed danger, making it difficult for her to think clearly. She
could hear her heart drumming in her ears.
So rapid.
So fast.
Her breath grew hot and shaky.
Tears began to blur her vision as she questioned if she'd made a mistake. The thought sent
chills down her spine.
"Let us not discuss whom you met," he said, his voice dangerously calm as he released her
chin, which now bore his thumbprint. "But what about the permission?" And this question
brought the memories of trauma back. "Don’t you remember what I taught you in the cell?"
She gulped, her eyes wide. Her tongue went dry, unable to move. She had to slightly open
her mouth to inhale oxygen. The terror of his question paralyzed her so much that, for a
moment, she forgot to breathe.
He stepped closer, leaving no space between them. "Shall I remind you once again,
Sheharzaad?" It was a hot whisper near her face. She lost her ability to speak. Her eyes
didn’t dare meet his. She looked instead at his chest, stuck and immobile.
"Shall I, Sheharzaad?"
Speak, Sheharzaad! Speak!
Her mind screamed at her.
Defend yourself!
Speak for yourself!
"Shall I, Sheharzaad?" His question replayed like a tape, followed by memories of the
dungeon.
"Hmm?" he urged her to respond.
She gathered her courage and shook her head. "Please don't... take me back to that... that...
place again." With great difficulty, she let this sentence out, yet she still didn’t meet his eyes.
"Then with whose permission did you step out of this house?"
"They... she...told... I c-can go... I can... she told...go..." Sheharzaad couldn’t understand the
gibberish she was muttering, but she hoped he would.
"Since when do you have this much freedom to step out whenever you want?" he snarled. In
a flash, his hold on her arm tightened as she began to whimper loudly.
"They... they told me... I was-was... allowed... I was..."
"Oh my," she saw him analyzing her dress. "You look beautiful, Sheharzaad," he muttered,
and she sensed his insinuation. "Why haven't you adorned yourself the same way when I
come home?" he whispered near her lips.
His eyes.
They seemed crazed.
"Or is this adornment just for that scum? Huh?" She saw a vein throbbing near his temple.
She watched a monster slowly take over him, her breathing growing heavier as if she had
been running a marathon. The same monster she had glimpsed moments ago.
"I-" she was about to say something when he flung her onto the bed, earning her scream.
She was sobbing. A crying mess. Begging. Pleading. Her heart throbbed. And she again found
her helpless. She feared his anger. And her worst of the worst fear was coming true. Being
subjected to his anger. Alone in this house. And no one here could save her. Even if there
were people in this mansion, they still would not be able to save her from him. His pure,
unadulterated rage.
"Shhh," he placed a finger to his lips, silencing her. "The wedding night is overdue,
Sheharzaad. Maybe if I had tainted your soul with my touch, you wouldn't have dared to
betray me," he said like a madman.