Mafia Obsession

Ellie

I wake on the cold, hard ground. When I shift, the chains cut into my wrists and ankles, opening the already infected wounds. My clothes are tattered and stink so bad I think I’ve got used to the smell.

At first, it made me vomit until I became desensitized to it. God knows how long I’ve been here. I groan as my brain pounds in my skull, feeling too big for the space it’s in.

Dehydration and hunger are getting to me and my body is wracked with exhaustion.

I’ve been kept captive by Bruce in this basement ever since we left the Romano mansion. Being away from Leo has hurt more than I can explain, more than being cut and tortured, and worse.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

Bruce has done unspeakable and disgusting things to me, but none of them hurt me more than being away from the man I’ve inexplicably fallen for.

The bloody wounds on my body will leave more scars than I already had, but I can’t find it in me to care anymore. All I can think about during the long hours trapped here is Leo.

I hold onto the image of his perfect, beautiful face in my mind, longing to see him again. I know he’ll never find me, and I know he probably wouldn’t want to either.

I was his plaything to punish. He has probably long forgotten all about me and that hurts more than I can explain. They’ve taken me away from him-far away.

The journey to this place was long-at least eight hours drive. I try to shift back toward the wall, forcing my aching muscles to move against their will. Every part of me hurts more than I can put into words.

The click of the door opening to the basement makes my stomach twist with sickness. It’s a sound I’ve grown to fear. I push my back harder against the cold stone wall, as if I can disappear into it. The echo of slow steps leading down here make me want to throw up. I know Bruce’s footsteps now, learning to fear them.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, clutching a bottle of water and an energy bar.

Every morning he brings the same things down. He chucks them at me, making sure the bottle hits me. I don’t have the energy to stop it as it clashes into my throat, making me gasp for breath.

If I had any energy I’d kick the guy in the nuts. Lately, I’ve been dreaming about strangling him to death whenever I nod off to sleep. I guess that’s what happens when you’re abused for so long.

“You best eat that.” He nods to the energy bar on the floor. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest. The energy bars make me feel like shit, and I know he’s drugging them. “No thanks.”

He kneels down in front of me and grabs the bar off the floor. I writhe, trying to get away from him. It irritates me at how my body reacts on instinct to his touch. I want him to believe I’m not affected by him or what he has done to me, but it’s impossible.

He unwraps the bar and then grabs hold of my jaw forcefully, opening my mouth. I bite down hard the moment his finger slips into the side of my mouth and he yelps, dropping the bar into my lap.

“You fucking bitch,” he growls, holding onto his bleeding finger. He slaps me hard across the face again and then grabs hold of my neck forcefully.

I struggle to draw in a breath, fighting against him.

“Open your mouth if you want to breathe again,” he snarls.

I open it reluctantly, desperate to draw breath. He shoves half the bar down my throat, blocking my airways. I can’t breathe and I am choking, as he drops me to the floor.

Attempting to swallow it doesn’t work, so I try to spit it out, succeeding after a few attempts. My restraints cutting into me more as I try to pull against them.

“Pathetic little Ellie,” he says, kicking me in the stomach hard.

It knocks the wind from me and makes it impossible to breathe, again. This guy better hope I never slip these fucking restraints or I really will strangle him to death. I’ve never killed anyone, and it’s not something I condone, but for Bruce, I’d bend my fucking morals.

The thought of choking the life out of him fills me with glee. He kicks me again for good measure and then spits on me. The sound of more footsteps descending into the basement makes me freeze. All this time I’ve been here, I’ve only seen Bruce.

“Bruce, boss just rang to say it is time. Get the girl up and presentable,” a man says, I can’t quite see his face where he lurks in the shadows by the stairs.

“With pleasure,” Bruce says, moving toward me. He pulls the chains off the hooks up high from the walls and tugs on them hard, forcing me to my feet. My knees wobble and I collapse under the sudden pressure. I’ve been forced to sit or squat ever since I’ve been here, never once allowed to get to my feet. “Get up,” Bruce spits.

I try to push myself up, despite the pain shooting through my entire body.

“You will probably have to help her since she hasn’t stood for near on two months, Bruce.”

Two months.

That’s how long they’ve kept me in here in worse conditions than an animal. Bruce grabs hold of arm so hard I yelp, as he drags me to my feet. The pain coursing through my legs is ridiculous as he forces me to put weight on them. “Come on.” Bruce drags me toward the stairs and hoists me up them, following the other man.

“What the fuck is going on?” I yell, trying to break away from him, despite knowing he is literally the only thing holding me up right now.

“Shut it, or I’ll gag you.”

He drags me up a flight of stairs into a dilapidated shack that he has been living in. It stinks of weed and is dingy as hell. All the windows are covered with dark black curtains, so there’s no light at all. There’s dirt and mold everywhere, growing out of old food containers left on every available work space. It’s worse than his place back in Philly, which I used to clean constantly.

Bruce continues up the stairs, forcing me ahead of him. The temptation to try to pull him down them with me is strong, but he’s holding the chains too tightly for me to make any sudden moves.

The cold metal cutting into the already deep, infected wounds. He yanks me to a stop with them, making me yelp in pain. “Open the door,” he says.

I reach for it and open the door, revealing a bathroom. Bruce forces me inside and then shuts the door, locking it. He steps forward and grabs hold of the restraints on my wrists, placing a key in one of them. “I will unlock you so you can wash, but no funny business.” He glares at me.

I shudder at the thought of getting undressed in front of Bruce. “Strip,” he commands.

The warning in his eyes is clear, and I’ve had enough pain for now. My shoulders slump as I unbutton the bloody, tattered dress barely clothing me. I wince as I peel it from my bloody skin, hating what this man has done to me.

The bloody clothes fall to a heap on the floor, and Bruce steps forward, running his fingers across the open, infected cuts on my body. His eyes light up with a sick hunger, and I know he’s turned on. It makes me want to throw-up.

He steps toward the bath and runs the taps, leaving me shivering in my filth. I must smell awful, but I’m so used to it I can’t tell. The way he has forced me to live for however long it has been horrendous, beyond anything I could have imagined.

“Get in,” he commands.

I step toward the bath, swallowing hard as I wonder if it’s warm or cold. He’s such a sick son of a bitch it will be too hot and scold my skin or so cold I’ll go into shock. I dip my toe in first and I’m surprised to find it’s warm. There’s something off about it though. Bruce always likes to inflict pain, and I expect it whenever he is involved.

“I said, get in,” he repeats.

Slowly, I lower myself into the water, wincing as it covers my stinging wounds. Despite the pain, my muscles relax in the heat. A sensation I haven’t felt ever since Bruce took me. I flinch as Bruce’s hands land on my shoulders, squeezing tightly.

Damn it.

The fact my body reacts with fear to him annoys me. I know he loves the control he has over me and the way I’m scared of him. He grabs hold of a bottle of shampoo and squeezes it out into his palm. The fact he intends to wash my hair makes me sick. Everything this man does makes me sick.

“I can do it,” I say, trying to grab the bottle from his hand.

He pulls away and grabs a knife from his pocket, setting it on the side of the bath. “Don’t defy me, Ellie.”

I swallow hard, recognizing the knife he has been using on me ever since he captured me. He grabs a bucket of water and pours it onto my hair, before working his fingers into my scalp. Tears prickle at my eyes as he slowly lathers up my hair with shampoo. The gentleness of his touch only makes my skin crawl more.

Despite not wanting to cry, the tears fall down my cheeks as he lathers my hair. There’s no use fighting him. All that I get is pain when I fight, but I won’t let him break me down completely. I can’t let him wear me down as I’ll be nothing but broken.

He washes me slowly, torturing me with every caress of his hands. Finally, he finishes and steps back, allowing me a moment to breathe. “Get out,” he barks.

I find the edge with my hands and hoist myself out, wincing as it hurts even more to move now. Bruce holds out a towel and passes it to me. I dry myself without instruction and he walks out, returning a few moments later with a new plain black dress.

“Put this on quickly,” he says, passing it to me.

I step into the dress and pull it on, wincing as it rubs against my sore wounds. Bruce grabs my wrist the moment it’s on and drags me out of the bathroom, heading down the stairs. This is the first time he’s washed me since he captured me.

What the hell is going on?

He doesn’t stop at the basement, pulling me toward the front door of the run-down house, instead. Before he opens the door, he turns around and grabs a dark black bag out of his pocket, shoving it over my head.

“What the hell?”

He slaps me hard. “I told you to keep your mouth shut and do as I say.” With that, he pulls me out of the house. A strong, but warm breeze hits my skin, making me shudder. A car door opens, and he shoves me inside, shutting the door behind me.