All Chapters of The Mafia's Lycan Slave: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I expect all eyes would be on us, but not for this reason. I want everyone to look at me with respect and pride as the future Main Alpha’s bride. Instead, everyone stares at me with either mockery or pity as the future Main Alpha’s rejected mate. As the term ‘rejected mate’ roars in my head, a rage of anger continues to boil in my chest. It’s so strong that I’m unable to stop it from exploding. “What’s wrong with you?!” My voice rumbles off the entire garden. It silences all except the dangerously irregular beats of my heart. Humiliation, amplified by anger, suffocates me. I gasp, trying my best to mitigate the undesirable heat in my body. Thankfully, the more I glare at Alpha Allen, the more I realize one thing that I didn’t earlier - lingering behind his brown eyes is regret. My glare loosens up and so do my clenched fists. I can’t be wrong about that. But,... what is he regretting about? For making me believe that he loves me? Or for waiting today just to reject me in front

My clothes and other needed things are packed and ready. I swing my bag to my back, sidle my way through the hallway, then stop at my parents’ bedroom door. I wanna see their faces before I go, but my hand twitches before it can even nudge the doorknob. If I enter their room, they will question why I’m wearing a coat and a pair of boots with a bag on my back in the middle of the night. And if they’re asleep, I may wake them up. I don’t have the heart to tell them what Alpha Allen and I are planning to do. It’ll hurt them and I don’t wanna witness that pain. I’m sure they’ll understand why. And I’m sure they’ll forgive me. They’ll support me, like they always do. My desire to see my parents for probably the last time surrenders against my wimpiness. I move away from their shut bedroom door and head down the stairs. Then, I tread out of our house with both the guilt of not saying goodbye to my parents and the determination to start a better life with Alpha Allen hovering all over me.

My brow knits as confusion pelts me. Entertainer? What kind of entertainment does this guy want? For a few seconds, he’s quiet. He's only giving me nothing but his widening cocky smirk. “We’re not on the same boat here. I don’t have any talent to entertain you. I’m here to apply as Mr. Alessandro Ocampo’s maid.” “Dad isn’t here. I am. He wouldn’t mind if I’ll hire you in his stead.” My knitted brow deepens and I don’t make any effort to conceal my bafflement. It works. This time, he doesn’t give silence a chance to unfurl. He says, “You look great. You’re my type.” My eyes widen and my chest thuds when bafflement is shoved aside by panic. Now I get it. An ‘entertainer’ to him is a s.ex slave. “Mr. Davide,” I say, trying my best to lull my growing undesirable emotion. “I don’t want the job you’re offering me. If your father isn’t available to speak with, I’ll come back some other day.” “I don’t think you understand our family culture here,” he says. “We can turn our employe

MACKENZIE’S POV: The hairs on my arms and on the nape of my neck erect while cold, pearls of sweat smear my skin. I could feel my body tensing up as agitation squirms through me. The dangerous reality of my mission starts now. It penetrates through and scrapes all the tiny bravery I’ve struggled collecting before coming here. I swallow when one of the men in a suit walks forward and stands in front of the screen projector. “Let me introduce myself to our visitor, Ms. Mackenzie. My name is Errol Martinez and I’m the family adviser.” It’s funny how they all concealed the word ‘gang’ with the word ‘family’. According to the papers given to me by Bato and Conrad, Errol Martinez isn’t a relative to Mr. Alessandro, but he’s one of his most trusted men. He’s The Manila Mafia’s consiglieres - The Boss’ advisor who resolves disputes within the gang. If I find the word ‘family’ funny, I find the word ‘visitor’ eerie. Why do I have the feeling that they’re expecting my arrival? Why

Mr. Davide smirks, then he ironically laughs. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?” he teases. Why would I believe what he said? Well, even if what he said is true, if that’s one of the ways I could get a hold of the pieces of their so-called evidence about my race, then why not? I fix my posture as I try my best to ease my nerves, then I say in the most tantalizing tone I can pull off, “Fine. Do what you gotta do, but make sure you’ll help me do what I gotta do.” The sexiness in his stare doesn’t diffuse, but his smirk does. Not long after, his expression turns serious, he responds, “If you’re that desperate to earn millions, so be it. Focus on your research. I won’t force you to entertain me tonight,” he says as he takes the first bite of his steak. Now he is quite nice again. He’s confusing me! And I hate it! It’s either he has a dual personality disorder or I’m just misreading his personality at all. “I can’t believe that you can be that considerate,” I say.