Chapter 2

Madeleine

The VIP room is comfortably cool, but sweat drips from my brow and soaks into my uniform. I pull at the tight skirt, aware of the many eyes on me.

Afterall, I’m not supposed to be here.

The lounge is nothing like the rest of the casino. It’s quieter, more refined, and the extraction fans are working hard to suck out the cigar smoke and smell of alcohol.

But the tension is suffocating. I don’t know if it’s just the men gathered around the tables causing it, or if it’s me.

I have done my best to stay out of their way. A year and I’ve never crossed their path - until now.

It’s true, our Heavenly Father doesn’t discriminate, but if the girls I used to live with saw me now, dressed in this skimpy outfit, mixing with the worst sinners this world has to offer, they'd fall to their knees and pray for my everlasting.

Goodness knows, they nearly had a collective heart attack when they found me talking to Dom alone in the garden. And he was a decent man who was nothing like the infamous mafia don. 

Odds are, they’d rather see me dead with my soul safely in heaven, than serving drinks to someone like Rafael Andoletti.

The people surrounding Rafael have their eyes on us. Our every move is being scrutinised, every word they speak is calculated. The low hum of voices is the only sound filling the air.

Rafael, veiled in shadows, gets to his feet and taps his glass with a knife. The room falls silent. “We welcome Matteo Sforza,” he announces, “and his family. We are here to discuss the dispute about the ownership of the docks.”

Rafael’s voice is calm, even. “My wish is that we can reach an agreement that is beneficial to all of us, and that we can end this night with a celebration.”

A massive man with a scarred face turns his attention to me. His dark eyes are narrow and his lips set in a thin line of disapproval.

A red-haired girl, I don’t know her name, grabs me by the elbow and pulls me away. “Don’t listen,” she whispers urgently. “They don’t like it. Just pretend you can’t hear them.

I wish I could sink into the floor and disappear. I lean in closer to the redhead. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s easy. All we have to do is bring them their drinks, and later we’ll serve them dinner. Stick with me,” the girl offers, her voice light and soothing. “You’ll do great.” She offers me a small smile, picks up a tray of drinks, and hands it to me. “Take a deep breath. It’s not as bad as it seems.”

I nod, my grip tightening around my tray as though it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

“You’ll see,” she continues, her voice warm, like we’re old friends. “They’re just men. A bit scarier than the ones you know, sure, but they don’t bite.” She winks. “Remember to smile. They'll give you bigger tips if you flirt with them a little.”

I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. She didn’t have to warn me. It’s unusual to receive kindness in this gruesome place.

I can’t quite see Rafael Andoletti’s face from where I’m standing, but his presence fills the entire room. He’s almost larger than life, the air bending around him to suit his desires.

My throat tightens as I approach the table, my tray feeling heavier with each step.

I follow the kind girl’s lead, carefully placing drinks in front of the men. My movements are stiff, my heart pounding in my ears, and I cannot stop trembling. With every drink I hand out, I get closer to Rafael.

By the time I reach him, my hands are shaking so badly that I’m afraid I’ll upend the entire glass on his lap. “It’s customary to serve the don first,” the massive man sitting next to Rafael remarks brusquely.

“I- sorry, Sir,” I mutter. “It won’t happen again.”

I deliberately don’t stare at him when I put the glass down, but I feel his gaze. It's like a weight pressing down on my chest.

Remarkably, I manage to give him his drink without spilling a drop.

Mission accomplished. 

“Wait.”

The word slices through the air like a blade.

I turn slowly, my stomach dropping as I stare at the man with the scars. He holds up Rafael’s glass, his eyes fixed on the liquid, his brow furrowed.

“There’s something in this,” he growls.

My blood turns to ice.

“W- What?” I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.

The man’s chair scrapes against the floor, as he stands towering over me. He tilts the glass, and in the dim light, I see it - a faint white shimmer, something swirling in the dark red wine.

“She’s trying to poison our don,” he snarls, his voice booming across the room.

“No!” I blurt out, panic clawing at my throat as I try not to think about the three people who died during Rafael’s last visit. “I didn’t… I didn’t touch his drink! I swear, I just took the tray-”

“You’re lying,” he snaps, stepping closer. “I personally chose every girl for tonight. I don’t remember seeing you-”

“She didn’t do anything,” the red-haired girl interjects, her voice shaking yet firm, but I catch just the faintest glimpse of a sneaky smile. “I was with her the whole time. We simply took the drinks from the bar. If anyone tampered-”

“Shut up,” the man barks, his glare silencing her.

The girl steps back, mouthing a ‘sorry’ to me. I feel bad for her. Surely they will punish her for speaking out of turn.

The imposing man’s attention swings back to me, his lip curling in disgust. 

“Stop,” Rafael says, his deep melodious voice is calm, even. “Let her drink it.”

The already quiet room is somehow even more quiet. All eyes turn to him. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it carries an authority that forces everyone to pay attention to him.

I freeze, my mouth going dry. I may not know what’s going on, but even I can see that there’s something in the wine that doesn’t belong there.

It could very well be poison.

“You heard the boss,” the man repeats, shoving the glass toward me.

I purse my lips together and shake my head.

A chair scrapes, and Andoletti crosses the room, his sharp gaze never leaving mine. “Do you think you can defy me? Here, in my own house?” His tone measured, almost bored, as if he’s swatting away a tiresome fly. “You can do this the hard way or the easy way. Choose.”

I don’t budge. I’m transfixed by Rafael. Up close, he looks oddly familiar, but before I can give it much thought, he says, “Do it.”

The scarred man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pistol. 

The loud click-clack of the slide being pulled back echoes through the room, jarring my mind into a complete standstill.

My heart drops and tears sting my eyes. All I can think about is Betsy. I am going to die tonight, and what will become of my poor Betsy?

Two men wrestle me to the ground. My instincts kick in and I start to fight them, arms flailing against their iron grip, legs kicking against the floor, but it’s futile. One of them sits on my chest, pinning my shoulders to the floor with his knees.

The burly man on my chest takes the drink from the scarred man, and with a maniacal grin, he pinches my nose shut, forcing me to open my mouth so I can breathe.

He immediately pours the wine down my throat. I start to spit it out, but then I feel the cold steel barrel of a gun against my temple. “Swallow it,” Rafael orders is that same, calm tone. “Or Enzo here will blow your brains out.”

My throat locks up, then it opens - maybe it’s not death being poured down my neck.

I swallow as much of the wine as I can manage. Some of it dribbles out of my mouth and runs down my cheeks, pooling in my ears. They don’t stop until the glass is completely empty.

The liquid burns as it slides down my throat, an odd heat spread through my chest. I struggle to breathe and my limbs go heavy.

The man sitting on my chest lets me go. The onlookers laugh at me. “That’ll teach a whore, all right,” someone says.

“Don’t mess with Rafael Andoletti,” another offers an opinion.

My head starts spinning, and I blindly grab at something, anything, to hold onto. It hurts. Everything hurts. Whatever was in that wine is working. Fast.

I feel his presence before I see him, his footsteps deliberate, unhurried. He crouches next to me. A strong, warm hand grips my chin, firm but not cruel, tilting my head in his direction.

I blink up at him, my vision blurring.

NO. Wait. It’s impossible. It’s HIM. 

DOM.

It can’t be. The man I met all those years ago was kind. Generous. 

How can this monster be my Dom?

For a moment, I forget where I am. I forget the fear and the pain. All I can see is him - his sharp features, the dark intensity of his gaze. 

The indifference vanishes from his eyes as we stare at each other, and there’s a brief moment of recognition in his irises.

He’s still just as handsome as I remember. The thought drifts through my mind, strange and detached, as the world tilts around me.

His lips move as he continues staring at me. I might be hallucinating, yet I’m sure I hear him ask, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

And then everything simply blinks out of existence.