Dark Mafia Scene
The car sped through the dimly lit streets, the silence between them thick and suffocating. Sherry pressed her bare feet against the floor, bracing herself against the sharp turns. After dealing with the thug and his lackeys, Dallion had pulled her into the black SUV without a word, his cold aura sending chills down her spine. Now, they were on their way to his mansion, a destination she was terrified to reach. It was a pure coincidence that he'd bought her, because he was out hunting for a man she'd barely heard his name was thunder. She couldn’t speak—not after what she had just witnessed. Frank’s brutal stabbing replayed in her mind. Blood had sprayed like rain as Dallion dealt with the man as if it were nothing. A man’s life snuffed out with the ease of checking if meat was cooked properly. Even though the ropes that had bound her wrists were removed, she still felt their phantom grip around her skin in the presence of the man seated next to her. Sneaking a glance at him from the corner of her eye, Sherry saw Dallion seated with one leg casually crossed over the other, his focus seemingly on the passing city lights through the tinted window. The light from the street lamps barely illuminated his sharp features—his jawline was strong, his cheekbones were cut high, and dark eyebrows framed eyes that she dared not meet. A lock of inky black hair fell across his forehead, softening the hardness of his face, but only just. Before she could tear her eyes away, Dallion's voice broke through the silence. “When was the last time you ate?” His tone was low, almost too calm for the storm of violence she had just witnessed from him. Startled, she looked up to find his dark gaze fixed on her. “Last night,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The hunger gnawed at her, but it wasn’t just that—exhaustion, fear, and the emotional strain of being dragged into this nightmare were weighing on her. Dallion didn’t reply immediately, simply studying her with an unnerving intensity that made her want to shrink into herself. Finally, he tapped on the front window, signaling the driver. “Pull over at the next restaurant.” The driver nodded silently, obeying without question. Sherry's stomach twisted with both hunger and dread. Was this some twisted act of kindness before he did something even more sinister? She had heard about men like him—ruthless, untouchable, and never kind. Men in his world didn’t do things out of compassion. They played games, and she was nothing more than a pawn in his. The SUV came to a stop outside a sleek, upscale restaurant. Dallion stepped out first, not waiting for the driver to open the door for him. Sherry hesitated, her legs still shackled with a chain that allowed her only small, controlled movements. As she stepped down carefully, her chains clinked, drawing attention from the people passing by. Their judgmental eyes followed her, some whispering among themselves at the sight of the woman in tattered clothes and shackles being escorted by a man in an expensive suit. She kept her head down, not daring to look back as Dallion led her inside the restaurant. It wasn’t an ordinary one—this place catered to the wealthy, the elite. and now it was about to cater to a disguised saint of a Mafia. Sherry could feel their stares, their judgment, as they entered the lavish room, all eyes on her shackles and the man she was with. They were led to a private room, the opulence overwhelming. Dallion took a seat, his back resting against the cushioned chair, while she remained standing, unsure of what was expected of her. “What’s your name?” His voice was sharp, cutting through her thoughts. “Sherry… Sherryl,” she corrected herself, trying to keep her composure. “Sherry,” he repeated, almost like he was savoring the taste of her name. “From now on, you answer only to me. Do you understand?” His voice was calm, but the power behind it was unmistakable. He wasn’t asking. He was commanding her. She gave a hesitant nod, but that wasn’t enough for him. Dallion stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he closed the distance between them in two strides. Sherry backed up instinctively, her body pressing against the wall behind her. The chains rattled as her feet struggled to move. Dallion placed one hand against the wall beside her head, trapping her. His dark eyes bore into hers, they were both unyielding and dangerous. “I noticed the hesitation back there, before you were dragged onstage. What was that about?” Her heart raced, her breath catching in her throat. “I… I don’t know,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. A sinister smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re lying.” His other hand pressed against the wall, completely boxing her in. “Do you think I’m a fool, little mouse? Your heartbeat’s been going wild since we got here.” Her chest tightened as his words cut through her. Dallion Cross was deadly in more ways than one—his handsome face and charm were only masking the monster beneath. The closer he leaned in, the more suffocated she felt. “Shall I guess the reason for you?” His smile twisted, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. “Or are you planning something I should know about?” “No,” she replied quickly, but her voice lacked conviction. Dallion's smile widened, the madness in his eyes gleaming. “Good,” he muttered, his tone dripping with malice. “Because if I catch you running, you won’t like what happens next.” Sherry flinched, trying to hide the fear that had bubbled to the surface, but it was no use. Dallion's eyes saw through her like she was transparent. Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. Two servers entered, laying out a feast of dishes that made her stomach clench painfully with hunger. The rich scents filled the air, but her appetite was dulled by the weight of Dallion's presence. He moved back, taking his seat, his gaze never leaving her. “Sit,” he ordered, gesturing to the floor next to him. Not at the table, not across from him, but on the cold, hard floor. Sherry hesitated for only a second before lowering herself onto the ground. Dallion began eating, savoring each bite of his meal, while she silently sat there, her stomach kept on growling in resistance, a reminder of her place in his world. A place where even a meal came at a price.Sherry's stomach growled, the fierce hunger gnawing at her insides as she stared at the lavish spread before her. Plates of roasted meat, warm bread, and delicacies filled the large oak table, but not a single bite had been offered to her. She shifted in on the floor, trying to ignore the pangs of hunger as the man across from her—Dallion Cross, one of the most feared mafia dons in the underworld—ate in silence. His jaw moved slowly, chewing methodically, like a predator savoring its prey. Her fingers clenched around the wooden armrest of the close to her as she tried to suppress the urge to lunge at the food. This was a test. Everything with these men was always a test. She had thought she could trust him because he'd saved her from that hall called Bluebeard of Bone lake city—just maybe—but Dallion had proven to be a different kind of monster. One who could afford to buy and sell anyone, even her. The realization hit her like a
Sherry had been confined in one of the rooms of the luxurious yet coldly ominous hotel, trapped under the watchful eyes of the mafia's henchmen. Tonight, she made her escape. With the bed sheets tied securely, she slid down from the fourth-story window, her hands gripping the fabric tightly as her legs dangled perilously in the air. The cold breeze of the midnight city whistled in her ears, but she fought through the nerves and the pain, inching closer to the alley below. Her feet, shackled by the heavy metal chains that the Dallion's men had bound her with, made each movement more painful than the last. She gritted her teeth, pushing through the agony, knowing that freedom was just a few feet away. Shery’s heartbeat thundered in her chest, the chains clinking as her feet barely scraped the cold brick wall on the way down. Hitting the damp concrete with a soft thud, she took a moment to breathe. Her breath was heav
The dim light of the alleyway barely illuminated the figure sprawled on the ground—lifeless, blood pooling beneath him. The sight sent a jolt of terror through Sherry's veins. Beside the body stood the man who had chased her relentlessly: Dallion Cross. His suit was pristine, not a drop of blood on him, despite the carnage at his feet. With an almost casual grace, he took a step toward her, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. Sherry's instincts kicked in, and she bolted. She tried to run, but the weight of fear and exhaustion made her legs feel like they were dragging through quicksand. Maybe a rabbit could hop away faster, but she was no rabbit. She was shackled—metaphorically and literally—to the darkness Dallion embodied. "Run, little bird," Dallion called, his voice calm, taunting, as he began to follow her, not in a rush. "You know you won’t get far." Sherry's heart raced in her chest as she tri
She gulped, her throat tightening as those threatening and dangerous words left Dallion’s mouth. Her body, seated cross-legged with her injured leg resting across his lap, froze. The moment felt like an eternity before he released her leg, allowing her to pull it back, careful not to make any sudden movements. A cold sweat trickled down her back, sticking her thin blouse to her skin. His smooth, almost charming tone didn’t mask the threat he had just casually thrown at her. His words hung in the air, heavy with menace, leaving her insides coiled with worry. Truthfully, Sherry couldn’t figure him out. She had tried to understand Dallion, but the more she observed, the more confusing his character became. A notorious mafia boss, he was feared by all, yet somehow, here she was, caught in his web. He had claimed he knew she wasn’t one of the usual women his men brought in—those marked by the famous Bluebeard—but that didn’t
It took a few hours before consciousness slowly returned to Sherry, her eyes fluttered open to a dimly lit room, the familiar scent of expensive cigars and leather assaulting her senses. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the space she was in. The ceiling above her wasn’t the peeling white she was used to from the dingy motel she had fled, but instead, it was a high, vaulted structure, covered in ornate dark wood paneling. The mirror directly overhead made her jump slightly—she barely recognized herself in the reflective glass. Her face, was pale and hollowed from exhaustion, she seemed almost foreign even to herself. The bed she lay in was an oversized king-size bed, its posts carved intricately with designs that reflected power and control, draped with thick, velvet curtains that gave the room an eerie sense of intimacy and isolation. A cold breeze slipped in from an open window, causing her body to shiver beneath the heavy, silk comforter
Though Sherry told the man in front of her that she was feeling better, both of them knew the truth. Her shivering body and unsteady movements betrayed her. She wasn’t better—she was far from it. The sickness clawed at her insides, but the cold dread of being trapped here in this gilded cage kept her standing, barely. When she heard his demand, she stopped, unable to help herself. She turned to look at him. Dallion Cross. The man looking at her blankly was a devil disguised as a mafia kingpin, Sherry silently thought . No matter what he called himself—Master, Don, boss, or whatever title he assumed—he was nothing more than a demon in a suit, feeding off from the misery of others. “What are you waiting for?” Dallion taunted, his voice rough and unrelenting, like sandpaper scraping her nerves. He leaned back, the dim light casting shadows over his sharp features. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, the kind that made her skin crawl. "It's hot. A good bath would make me feel better.
After she was done with her meal,Sherry hesitated, her breath catching in her throat as she peered into the dimly lit bathroom. The absence of a proper door sent a shiver of apprehension coursing through her. This was no ordinary sanctuary; it was a place that could easily become a stage for shame if the master of the house chose to enter unannounced. She still bore the vivid memories of her previous days—stripped bare, exposed alongside other Captives, all subjected to the whims of those who viewed them as mere possessions.The water was an inviting temptation, a promise of solace against the grime that clung to her after the fall. As it flowed over her skin, the dirt and sweat surrendered, swirling away in murky tendrils until the tub transformed into a murky brown pool. She lost herself in the sensation, pouring fresh water over her head, allowing it to trickle through her tangled hair, loosening the knots that mirrored her chaotic thoughts.But a shiv
Sherry, who had earlier in the master bedroom felt a flicker of excitement when instructed to wear the elegant dress draped across the bed, now appeared dull and faded like a crushed flower in a world of violence. The thick fabric clung to her, a constant reminder of her lowly status in the presence of the five figures seated around the imposing mahogany table, their gazes heavy with judgment before shifting to Dallion. There was a girl at the dining table, who seemed to be of her age but steeped in the cruel elegance of pureblooded mafiosos, broke the silence. “I can’t believe you brought a mere servant into our home, Dallion,” she sneered, her eyes narrowing at Sherry as if she were a rat that had dared to invade their territory. The woman beside the man at the head of the table spoke next, her voice laced with authority. “We don’t allow strays in here, Dallion.” Sherry recognized her as Rose, their mother’s younger sister, a woman molded in the same
When an unintended sigh slipped past her lips, it only seemed to fuel the fire already burning in Dallion’s touch. His grip on her tightened, his heart beating steadily, his eyes alive with something dark and dangerous. His control was slipping, and he knew it. Without another word, his teeth extended, sharp and eager. "I need a taste," he murmured, his voice rough with hunger. Before Sherryl could react, Dallion sank his teeth into the side of her neck. Her skin was —warm, rich, intoxicating, it was sweeter than anything he had ever tasted. It made him wonder if it was because of who she was, something about her making it more potent, more addictive. It was like drinking from something rare, something otherworldly. Dallion never cared for attachments, never let himself be bound to anyone. He had always been clear about that. Women came and went, serving a purpose but never staying long enough to matter. But ever since he had laid eyes on
Sherryl stared at him. Was she imagining things, or was Dallion actually jealous? The thought alone sent an odd, fluttery feeling through her stomach, one she didn’t quite understand. "I don’t share, little mouse," Dallion said smoothly, as if reading her thoughts. "Did you really think I’d be fine with you standing on a stage, under bright lights, with hundreds of eyes fixated on you?" His tone was calm, but the possessiveness in it was unmistakable. He leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers. "Do you want to know when and how I fell for you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "I think it’s time I told you properly." Sherryl’s heart pounded. "I think it’s okay if you don’t," she blurted out, already anticipating the embarrassment that would follow. Dallion clicked his tongue. As she raised her hands to push him away, he caught them effortlessly, pinning them against the bed with a smirk.
Sherryl, still quietly eating her apples, wished she could finish quickly and leave as well. Every meal in this house felt like a battlefield, tension thick in the air. She continued eating as discreetly as possible. Then, his father spoke. "You should stop spoiling the girl, Dallion. Your sister is right. We don’t want you being manipulated." His cold gaze flickered toward Sherryl, and she felt a lump form in her throat. "There have been plenty of cases where a simple girl like this has twisted her owner into doing unspeakable things—even wiping out their own family just at her word. And we both know you’ve already had your fair share of experience with betrayal." Dallion’s smirk didn’t falter. "Don’t worry, Father. I care about my family too much to kill them. Well… at least you and Grace. The rest? I can’t make any promises." His eyes drifted toward his younger half-sister. Rose’s expression darkened,
Here’s the revised version with the name changes.In the grand estate of the Cross family, the evening air was thick with the promise of an impending storm. The sky remained overcast, and a biting wind whispered through the halls. With winter creeping closer, the temperature had plummeted to an unforgiving low. If not for the warmth provided by the mansion’s insulated walls and flickering fireplaces, those unaccustomed to such cold would have perished.For the staff working in the Cross estate, survival was a luxury they didn’t take for granted. The grand halls and well-kept quarters provided a stark contrast to the bleak streets they might have otherwise called home.As the evening descended into dinner time, Dallion Cross and Sherryl Rain made their way into the dining room. Plates were brought out by silent staff, each movement practiced and precise. Sherryl, however, found herself staring at what was placed before her—a thick slab of raw meat, still red wit
Dallion studied her intently, his sharp eyes reading every flicker of doubt on her face. But he still answered, "You said you walked there because riots had blocked the main road. You took a different route and eventually found him. Later, you mentioned bringing him back, but by then, it was too late. Your mother’s condition had already worsened. What’s going on, Sherryl? Speak." His voice was firm, demanding. There was an unsettling confusion in Sherryl’s eyes as she tried to piece together the past. Then, out of nowhere, she asked, "If my mom could still be alive… does that mean she would allow me to look for him?" Dallion exhaled deeply, his expression unreadable. "Yes."He didn't want to give her false hopes, he knew her father left them and he was sure her mother wouldn't have allowed her to look for him. Sherryl nodded slowly, but she wasn’t convinced. If her father had left only to return years later, what
Dallion held her closer, his grip softer now, unlike before. His hands weren’t restraining her wrists anymore—they were holding all of her, as if anchoring her. It wasn’t just his touch that had changed, but his voice too. It was calm, quieter than usual when he spoke. “Tell me, Sherryl. Do you find it difficult to trust someone with your feelings?” His words were firm yet patient. “You do realize I’m not letting you go until you tell me what’s going on?” Something had shifted in her. He had noticed the change immediately. Moments ago, she had been fine—her pupils had been dilated, her breathing slightly unsteady—but then, suddenly, she had gone still. Her heartbeat had steadied unnaturally fast, and her eyes had turned hollow, like she was somewhere else entirely. There was only one conclusion Dallion could come to. Had someone touched her before? Her voice was low when she finally answered. “It’s nothing serious.” Slowly, Dallion loosened his hold but didn’t let her mo
Sherry barely had time to process the overwhelming sensations before her legs gave out. With a strangled yelp, she toppled sideways, arms flailing—only to land in an ungraceful heap on the floor.Dallion stared down at her, blinking. Then, slowly, a smirk curled his lips. “Well, that’s one way to show appreciation.”Sherry groaned, hiding her burning face in her hands. “I hate you.”“I know.” He crouched beside her, entirely too amused. “But if you were going to throw yourself at my feet, you could’ve at least done it with some dignity.”Bluebeard Lady chuckled from her corner. “She’s a fast learner. Even her falls are dramatic.”Sherry shot them both a murderous glare as Dallion effortlessly scooped her up. “Put me down!”“Not a chance,” he said, carrying her outside like she weighed nothing.The drive back to the Cross’s mansion was filled with Dallion’s teasing remarks—each one met with Sherry’s grumbled threats. But
The tent’s lanterns flickered softly, casting golden light over velvet drapes and aged artifacts. The scent of incense thickened the air, mingling with something more primal—the slow hum of anticipation.Sherry sat in the center of the room, wrists bound in silk, the smooth fabric a whisper against her skin. The ties weren’t meant for struggle, but for awareness—of herself, of the watchful presence behind her, and of the woman before her.Bluebeard Lady circled her like a patient instructor, a delicate silver chain swaying between her fingers. “Restraint,” she murmured, “isn’t about holding back. It’s about extending sensation, drawing it out until it becomes something unforgettable.”Sherry swallowed hard, feeling the heat of Dallion’s gaze from his seat across the room. He had yet to speak, but his presence was a force in itself—a quiet command.The woman knelt before Sherry, her fingers ghosting over her skin, feather-light. Even with
Sherryl Rain kept her head low, focusing on the lesson, even though she knew how rare it was for someone of Grace’s status to take the time to educate a mere servant. Most high-ranking figures in the Cross Empire saw little value in teaching those beneath them. Grace glanced at the worn parchment in front of her before turning her cold gaze to Sherryl, the little mouse that belonged to Dallion. “We’ll stop here for today,” Grace decided, stretching as she closed the book. “I need to take my mother and sister out to the Valley. Would you like to come?” The offer sounded casual, but Sherryl could hear the subtle test in it. “Ever been there before?” Sherryl gave a slight nod. “Master Dallion is taking me somewhere today.” A truthful excuse, but also a way to avoid the suffocating tension she’d have to endure with Grace and her ever-judgmental sister. Without pushing for details, Grace dismissed her, and Sherryl exhaled a brea