All Chapters of Forced To Marry The Mafia's Son: Chapter 1 - Chapter 4

4 Chapters

THE MENDOZAS

Forced To Marry The Mafia's Son/Koko Joel

AdelaIT WAS NINE pm, and my dad was yet to speak to anyone. He'd arrived home gloomy and distracted, zoning out every second. And no matter how hard mom probed, he wouldn't say what the problem was. I would have tried to inquire of him, what has been eating him up since he returned. But my father is in a very snappy mood and I very much still need my head.A knock on the door downstairs has me taking one of my earpieces out of place. It's nine pm, who visits someone by this time? Probably dad's boss or one of the errands boys he sends over. I mean, I've never seen dad's boss before and mom says he's a ruthless fucker, who'd off anyone who dares to even look at him the wrong way."Go get the door, Adela", I groan with an eye roll at Mom's voice. We most certainly need a helping hand around this house. I get tired from running all the errands for Mom and Dad. He's just a soldier, he probably won't be able to afford another soldier.I shoot out of bed and drag my feet down the stairs

THE MENDOZAS 2

Forced To Marry The Mafia's Son/Koko Joel

ADELATHE HOUSE IS beautiful. And when I say beautiful, I mean it in every sense of the word. The drive to the Mendoza's residence was both fitful and long. The energy in the car was highly combustible. While I sat angry and mind racing with different plots, I'm pretty sure Stephano was both stewing in his anger and little victory. He didn't spare me a glance, just sat straight, tapping his index finger against his thigh.By the time we arrived the house, it was eleven pm. The size of the house was just so vast to be occupied by just father and son. But oh well, they're billion dollar mobsters, so how can they not afford this? Arms crossed under my breast, I trudge after Stephano into the house.Stephano"This house is beautiful", I hear the girl following after me say. I angle my neck to look at her. Her eyes roam over the interior of my home. Black locks of hair frame her petite face and those large doe eyes.Thankfully, she followed and didn't start a ruckus when we arrived the h

FIRST IMPRESSION

Forced To Marry The Mafia's Son/Koko Joel

AdelaSERIOUSLY, DID THAT silly guy do that? I mean walking into the dining room and acting like he didn’t see me. I huff. Not like I’m complaining, but I can actually do without his attention. So, I don’t care. I get done with my breakfast, thank Morris and go to my room.I have the whole of today to stew in my anger. Why these Mendoza men think they can just drag me out of my life, into a black hole and act like this is okay is beyond me. I stay in my room for the whole of the day, with nothing to do, because what will I do?I mean the room is amazing. A queen sized four poster bed, a vast closet and bathroom – that has a shower stall and bathtub – that almost spans the entire width of my room back home. A knock on my new bedroom door startles me back to consciousness. I recognize the man that emerged from behind the door to be one of the soldiers Stephano raided my home with last night.“Mr. Mendoza wants you in his study, now”, he says like a programmed robot. I roll my eyes a

SHOCKER

Forced To Marry The Mafia's Son/Koko Joel

AdelaThree Months Later…MOST HORRIBLE DAYS come and go, last night was one of them. Another altercation. In fact, yesterday in general. It's not just absurd that I have to be engaged to, no scratch that, marry a rude ass dude I’ve know for all of twenty four hours. It’s revolting. Demented.Icing on the disgusting cake, said asshole has been in a mood the last three months, be looking like he was on his period. My fingers involuntarily trace my jaw that still not just hurts, but tingles from when he grabbed it harshly yesterday. Sure a bruise would be forming on the spot. Or, probably formed on the spot already. Hell, it’s been almost twelve hours since the incident, or even more.I sluggishly drag my body off the bed in to a sitting position, trying to tame my hair that’s now flying all around me. My mind is still speeding four hundred kilometers per hour, with the most possible way to either kill Stephano Mendoza or convince his father to call of this shamble. My stupid brain s