The Mafia Don's Temptation

ARIA

Flashback

"You bi**h!" Jacob's voice thundered through the room just before he slammed my head against the wall.

A sharp, blinding pain shot through my skull as I crumpled to the ground. Black spots clouded my vision, and a warm trickle ran down my forehead. Blood. My body felt like dead weight. My limbs felt weak and unresponsive as I struggled to push myself up from the cold floor.

"You can't run from me," he snarled. "Never!"

Tears burned my eyes as I caught sight of my packed bag, lying just a few feet away, and the sound of his expensive Armani shoes clicking against the floor as he approached me made my pulse hammer against my ribs.

"I'll kill you today," he growled.

My stepfather never joked. I knew he had every intention of making good on that promise.

Panic surged through me as I frantically searched for anything I could use to defend myself. My breath hitched when his grimy fingers clamped around my ankle, and a terrified scream tore from my throat as he began dragging me back toward him.

Instinct took over. My hand shot out to grab the jagged remains of a broken lamp beside me. Without thinking, I twisted onto my back and drove the sharp edge straight into his leg.

"F*ck!" Jacob groaned in pain before collapsing onto the floor.

Adrenaline surged through my veins as I scrambled on top of him, straddled his hips, and with every ounce of strength I had left, I plunged the glass into the side of his head. His agonized scream filled the room as blood gushed out of his wound.

I staggered back, panting. My hands trembled as I grabbed my bag, and without waiting to see what happened next, I rushed towards the front door.

As I pushed through the front door, Jacob's voice rang out behind me, his words sending a shiver down my spine.

"It's not f*cking over, Aria!"

End of Flashback

The house before me was smaller than I expected. The windows were dark, the wooden front door seemed to have been worn by time, and there were thin vines curling up the side of the house. The air was crisp with the scent of rain-soaked grass. A dim glow from an old street lamp cast shadows over the building. That only made the house look more eerie than it already was. 

It was the house my mother grew up in.

I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat as my fingers curled into trembling fists. The paper I'd stolen from Jacob's office, the paper containing my mother's home address, was already soaked from my sweaty palms. I didn't care anymore. I was home.

Even though I hadn't seen my mother's family before and they had never seen me, I knew they would take me in. They had to.

I marched forward and knocked my fists against the door. I waited for a few seconds and was about to knock again before I heard footsteps shuffling on the other side.

And then, the door swung open.

The young woman who stood before me had a striking resemblance to my mother. They had the same high cheekbones, full lips and hazel eyes. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. 

Her eyes widened in shock, and a strangled gasp left her lips.

I forced a smile. "Hi, I'm-"

"I know who you are," she whispered in a voice laced with disbelief.

"Evita! Who's at the door?" an older female voice called from inside. "You know better than to open the door for strangers at this time!"

Evita, my mother's only sister from what I heard, didn't respond. She just stood there, staring at me like she'd seen a ghost. A moment later, an old woman appeared in the doorway.

The instant she saw me, a bloodcurdling scream ripped from her throat. Before I could even react, she rushed forward and slammed the door in my face.

I blinked in surprise. 

Wow. This wasn't exactly the warm welcome I envisioned.

I exhaled sharply and knocked again, harder this time.

"Leave us alone!" The woman's voice trembled from the other side. "Don't come back here. Please."

A sharp pain twisted in my chest at the blatant rejection. I traveled a long distance just to get here. I had nowhere else to go. They had to let me in.

Desperation clawed at my throat as I pounded on the door with both fists.

After a long silence, the door creaked open just enough for Evita to glare at me through the gap.

"Why exactly are you here?" 

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," she snapped. "Why are you in Milan? You're supposed to be in America."

"I'm on the run," I said on a tense exhale.

She scoffed. "And what does that have to do with us?"

The sharpness of her words stung.

I frowned. "I don't understand why you're acting this way. I thought-"

"You thought we'd welcome you with open arms?" she interrupted with a hard stare.

"Actually, yeah," I bit out. "You're my family. The only family I have."

For a split second, a soft emotion flickered in her eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

"My stepfather used me as his personal punching bag." My throat tightened. "The moment my mom died, it was like a switch flipped in his head. I tried to endure it, but it only got worse. I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran away."

Evita remained silent.

"Please. I have nowhere else to go." My voice cracked a bit, and I hoped my story would earn me her sympathy.

A heavy sigh slipped past her lips. "I was little when your mother left Italy with you," she said finally, her voice quiet. "I don't know much about her life after that."

My heart sank.

"She used to be a dancer before she met your father," she added.

"Evita! Shut that door!" the older woman screeched from inside.

Evita's lips pressed into a thin line.

"I'm sorry, but you can't stay here," she said with a tight expression on her face.

My stomach dropped. "Yeah, I've heard that a million times since I got here. I want to know why."

She hesitated. "The people who killed your father are after us too."

A harsh breath rushed out of my lungs.

"What-?"

"You being here puts us in danger," she said, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear in her eyes.

Tears burned my vision as I whispered, "This is my home too. Please, don't do this to me."

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. Before she closed the door completely, she stared at me with a certain chill in her eyes. "Go back to America. That is your home. But if you must stay here, lay low. And for your own sake, stay away from Mafia men."

I wanted to ask her who the mafia men were, how I would know one if I met one, but she had already slammed the door shut. 

The ache in my chest felt unbearable. I had come all this way, only to find more questions instead of  answers. I had wanted to reunite with my family and learn more about my parents. Instead, I found out my only remaining family was wanted by the mafia and my life could be in danger.

I gripped the handle of my suitcase and turned away. The wind bit through my thin dress. I had been too focused on escaping to remember to bring a coat.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I walked down the dimly lit street as my mind drifted into endless thoughts. The city was quiet, except for the occasional distant sounds of tires against wet gravel.

And that was when I felt it. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran down my spine. At first, I brushed it off as the lingering fear from what Evita had told me, but when I turned my head slightly, just enough to glance behind me, I saw a tall man dressed in black following me.

Without thinking, I abandoned my suitcase and broke into a run, my suitcase thudding against the pavement. My breath came out in sharp gasps as I twisted through the unfamiliar streets of Milan with his heavy footsteps pounding behind me. My lungs burned, my legs ached. 

But he was faster. 

I yelped as he grabbed me and shoved me against the wet wall of a dark alleyway.

"You just made me f*cking run," he growled in a thick Italian accent.

A cold metal pressed against my stomach and made my breath hitch. I glanced down.

A gun.

"Give me all your money," he spat.

My entire body shook as I stammered. "I-I don't have any."

He chuckled darkly. "Then you'll have to pay me some other way."

His greedy gaze roamed my body, making bile rise in my throat. 

I opened my mouth to scream, but his rough hand clamped over my lips.

"You keep managing to piss me off, puttana," he snarled.

I struggled wildly as his grip tightened around my thigh, his hands shoving under my dress.

A choked sob ripped from my throat as I tried to elbow him in the gut.

No. No. No!

Then, out of nowhere, a deep, gravelly voice sliced through the night.

"Leave her alone."