All Chapters of TRAPPED BY THE MAFIA: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

Mariana’s Pov“Why are you doing this to me?” My voice cracks, the weight of exhaustion and despair laced through every word. The room feels suffocating, the air heavy with an unspoken menace. My hands tremble as they rest on the table between us, my gaze locked onto his with a desperation I can’t suppress.Radimr cocks his head, his expression maddeningly calm. “What?” he asks, as if the question is absurd.“Why me?” I press, my voice rising with raw emotion. “From the moment you met me, you’ve put me down, messed with me, hurt me. . .why?” My breaths come out shallow, my chest tightening with the weight of every memory he’s etched into my mind.A cold smile tugs at his lips, one devoid of any humanity. “Because you’re the type of woman I hate,” he spits, his tone sharp and cutting. His gaze narrows, dissecting me. “You’re the type who brings men to their knees, the intense type, the type that confuses powerful men like me and bends us to your will! I needed to tame you, to conquer

Mariana’s PovOne month later.I’m sitting under the care of a nurse once again. It’s a pain I've become accustomed to. Enduring five months of torture will do that to even the strongest of soldiers.Get drugged, get beaten, get tortured. . .I’ve held on to whatever last string of hope I had until this moment, enduring the unending torture, begging for death to come and take me to wherever it has taken Alejandro. Still, here I am, with multiple broken ribs, maybe even internal bleeding, but alive.It’s laughable, the irony of life.For some odd reason, this nurse is holding my eyes, not looking away. There’s pity in her eyes, and there’s a subtle familiarity there.I open my mouth to speak, to ask her why she’s looking at me. But she beats me to it.“If you look out the window tonight, you’ll rediscover the beauty of the sunset, my green.”The words fall through her lips through smooth whispers, drawing a gasp from my throat. I blink and blink again, my throat coming dry. I blink agai

Mariana’s Pov Doors slam open and I am carried inside. Frantic hands roam, tearing my clothes apart, wincing, cursing. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m simply breathing hard and fast, inhaling and exhaling erratic breaths through my mouth.“Pulse!” A voice screams, the tone commanding. “Fifty two! Fuck!” I hear another voice, frustrated, enraged. “Fuck they’ll have our heads if something happens to her.”The commanding voice booms again. “Stop fucking whining and check her blood preesure!”Something wraps around my arm and squeezes painfully hard. I wince, shifting. Then it’s no longer squeezing. I hear a grumble. “She’s holding up but this doesn’t look good! We need to drip her up and pray to God that nothing happens to her!”I feel it. A needle piercing through me. I can only manage a small cry. My mouth opens, throat dry, but I manage to whisper, “Alejandro. . .” It’s barely a sound, more a breath, but it escapes me again. “Alejandro. . .”“What?” The commanding voice snaps, s

Alejandro’s PovThe space still echo with the sound of her sobs and whimpers. It’s so loud and so taunting. I hold her closer, hug her tighter, hold myself back from falling apart as well.She fights to get out of my embrace, but I hold her tighter. I don’t want to leave her alone.Her sobs louden, tearing through the silence, echoing over and over and over. It’s deafening, relentless, like they’re reverberating inside my chest, shaking the fragile hold I have on myself. And I can’t tell if she’s crying from the physical pain, or because she’s relieved, or because she hates me, yet I hold her tighter, my arms like steel bands around her trembling frame, and bury my face in her hair. I look back to see if her parents are still standing behind us. They’re not. They’ve given us the much needed privacy.“Please,” I whisper, though I don’t even know what I’m asking for. For her to stop crying? For her to keep holding on? For the pain clawing at us both to somehow end? She squirms in m

Alejandro’s PovOne month later.And a few days more.The soft scrape of the sponge against her skin feels louder in the silence of the room. I squeeze it over the bowl, watching the water drip, clear and warm, before I run it along her arm. Her skin feels cold, so much colder than it should, and it makes something sharp twist in my chest. Thirty-four days. That’s how long it’s been since she closed her eyes and never opened them again. That’s how long it has been since her body went into shock. That’s how long it’s been since the doctors blabbered about the drugs in her system, the ones her husband tortured her with, the ones capable of rendering a human being to nothing.It’s laughable how it’s the same torture drugs her mother produces that was used to torture her.So, here we are, thirty four days later.Thirty-four days of waiting, hoping, praying, cursing the heavens and everything in between. I keep my hands steady, moving the sponge gently over her wrist. She’s lost weight