The Devil's Claim... His little mouse.
Dark Mafia Scene
âWho laid a hand on you? Dallion's voice was low, cold, and dangerous. His dark gaze bore into her, daring her to stay silent. When she didnât respond, the tension snapped like a whip, his voice booming through the room, âWho?â
The butler, standing rigid against the wall, swallowed hard before stammering out the words, âIt... it was Mr. Rivers, sir.â The atmosphere turned deadly as Dallion's jaw clenched, fury igniting in his eyes.
âBring him to me.â
The butlerâs eyes widened in fear. âN-now, sir? Itâs... itâs late.â
Dallion's hand, once braced against the wall near her head, slowly curled into a fist. His eyes never left her face, his possessiveness was palpable. Without looking at the butler, his voice dropped to a lethal calm, âDo you need a better time? Or shall I break your legs to teach you urgency?â
The butler didnât need any more encouragement. He fled the room, returning twenty minutes later with a trembling Mr. Rivers.
âDallion, my friend, whatâs all this about?â Rivers began, his voice casual as if nothing was amiss. But Dallion wasn'tât here for pleasantries. His eyes slid to the knife stabbed into the apple on the table, and in one fluid motion, he yanked it free, the blade glinting in the dim light.
Without a word, Dallion grabbed Rivers outstretched hand, slamming it onto the table. The sharp scream that followed echoed in the room as Dallion, with one swift movement, sliced through the manâs fingers. Blood splattered across the polished wood as Rivers screamed in agony, clutching his mutilated hand.
âNo one touches what belongs to me,â Dallion's voice was eerily calm, his expression devoid of any sympathy.
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