Mafia's Devil part 4

Rider King updates tomorrow :)

Left. Right. Left. Right. 

Damn it. These heels were supposed to make me look like a sexy lioness, not a kitten!

My dad is by my side, tense as he walks up the steps toward the luxurious mansion. He’s wearing a simple tuxedo and I’m draped in a white halter-strap dress.

I intertwine our arms to provide emotional support for him and infrastructure support for my wobbling legs.

There’s a red carpet under us. Ironic, since I’ll be spilling some red myself when I break a leg and spurt blood all over the place.

Eyes turn to my father and I — some are curious, some are surprised because they know of the situation between my father and Luciano, and some are concerned by the knocking sound my knees make as they smack against each other.

People mingle in a ballroom past the living room. There’s about one-hundred people here. Some are politicians, others come from shadier trades. I don’t see Luciano anywhere.

Everyone has designated tables, and rows of food align the walls. At the front of the room is a platform and an enormous screen that takes up most of the wall. That’s probably where they’ll display the auction items.

“Kuznetsov?” someone calls for us.

My father faces a man that smiles at us.

Shit, am I supposed to know him?

“Ah, look what the cat dragged in! How are you? This is my daughter, Karine.”

The man smiles at me and then chats with my father. Geez, I know I’m flatter than a wall, but I’m still visible. He could have at least told me his name.

I’m bored out of my mind, so I study my Jimmy Choos. I have a numbing suspicion that my pinky toe died thirty minutes ago from a lack of blood flow.

The only mercy of the night is that our table is near the food.

After excusing myself, I go to examine the appetizers. I judge the food on display like it was a home wrecker. Everything looks expensive and Italian—probably because of Luciano’s orders, but the execution is sad. I could’ve done a way better job than this.

I take a napkin and try the tomato bruschetta. It’s mediocre. The texture is too soft. My curiosity peaks when I see another bite-sized snack I don’t recognize.

I try it, and it tastes so good that I instantly gobble another while telling myself that I’m only judging the taste. Three minutes later, the platter is half-empty.

Whoops.

Well, at least the beautiful, model-figure women didn’t see me stuffing my face like a food dispenser.

“Excuse me.”

I choke and begin coughing all over the food. If suffocation or a broken leg doesn’t kill me, then humiliation sure will.

“Are you alright?” a man with a British accent asks.

I think I manage the words “death. Imminent.” The food comes closer and closer, and I realize it’s because I’m falling toward it.

An arm circles around me and saves me from face-planting on the table, and a hand smacks my back.

“Karine? Karine!” It’s my father.

I gasp for air until I’m returned to the life of the living. There’s so many eyes on me that I consider choking myself all over again.

“I’m good,” I clear my throat. “Sorry.”

A group of servers start removing the food I contaminated with my wet, disgusting, near-death-experience.

“Do you want to go home? To a hospital?” my dad pushes.

I raise a hand as I swallow. “I’m fine.”

“Would you like to rest in a bedroom, ma’am?” a butler offers.

I’m about to decline, but then I remember my plans.

“Yes, please.”

My dad clutches my arm before I walk away and whispers, “are you sure?”

I nod. Luciano can’t kill me in his home. It would be too obvious, since this is the last place I was seen in.

I follow the butler and walk with my head semi-high. Maybe if I look confident, it’ll look like I wasn’t coughing, but speaking fast Russian. According to the rest of the world, Russian sounds like a menacing language.

I’m led away from the crowd and to the nearest bedroom on the second floor. “Where is Luciano? I didn’t see him downstairs.”

The man stops by a door. “He just left his bedroom and has gone down to meet the guests.” Subconsciously, he gestures to the end of the hall where Luciano’s room is.

There’s my target.

I thank him and enter. Instantly, I drop to my knees and eye out of the bottom crack of the door. There are no footsteps or shadows, but I wait to make sure. Five minutes later, I stand on my killer heels and click-clack-wobble to the double doors. With a last look over my shoulder, I sneak in.

It’s plain in here. As empty as Luciano’s soul. How fitting.

I open my clutch, where the itching powder awaits to be sprinkled all over his clothes and sheets. I’ll have that asshole scratching his itchy ass until it’s raw like mine.

I’m so excited that I almost jump and clap my heels together, but instead, I walk to his bed and grin.

Cluttering in the bathroom makes me realize I’m not alone. My heart drops to my stomach, out my lady-bits, and down two stories.

Shit! Luciano is still in here!

I do what any woman with a dead pinky, a sore ass, and apparently a deathwish would do. I dive under the bed of the man whose property I’ve trespassed into. I’m on my back with awkwardly bent legs and staring at the rails of his king bed.

My heart is still in the basement. I haven’t been this terrified since I tried to sleep with my boyfriend. The reminder makes me clench my butt. I will not let another fart from hell blow my cover.

I hear bare footsteps, and then a whoof sound when something drops. The bed doesn’t creak, but I can tell when Luciano sits on it. I can see his feet above my head.

For a few seconds, it’s silent other than for my internal screams.

Thack. Thack. Thack. 

What is that sound? Is he… is he masturbating?!

Good god. The man is jerking off above me, and it’s probably to the vision of when he had me over the hood of his car and spanking me.

Although Luciano is the one fucking himself, I’m the one that’s throughly fucked.

He thacks for a minute, and then two, and then three. It's taking forever. When I was devouring the appetisers, time went way faster than this.

His groans abruptly stop.

“What are you doing?”

Fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuckery.

I knew this was a bad idea! I should’ve stayed in my natural habitat: a kitchen. Wait, that sounds sexist. This is not the kind of self-deprecation I support.

I should have stayed on my couch.

“Tell me,” Luciano says.

He found me. It’s over.

With a trembling lip, I skitter to the edge where his legs are. My forehead is revealed between his legs, and then my eyes.

I realize that Luciano is speaking on his phone too late.

Our eyes connect, and his widen as he stares down at me. Me? I lose my sight because the man’s cock seizes and then shoots semen like a damn sprinkler. The warm semen free-falls right into my poor virgin eyes.