Forced Marriage With the Mafia Boss

Valentina

Five months later

"Mom! I'm off for work," I yelled from the living room, having taken out my converse from the shoe stand by the door, skipping on one foot as I struggled to put it on. I barely heard her response before I dashed out the door.

At eight in the morning, bits of sweat already darted my forehead as expected given how hot it is in La Parra at this time of the year. It is usually on days like this where I'd make denim shorts and crop tops my best friend, and my long black hair, which had long become a bob cut, currently screams for a haircut as it now rests above my shoulders.

After a thorough look at my surroundings and making sure there were no strange faces other than that of my weed and cheap whiskey induced neighbours, I mounted my bike and headed for Tella's. Tella's was a coffee shop located on a ten-minute ride on my bike. Owned by a sweet elderly couple, Tella's has served as a source of income for me and my mom since we fled from Madrid.

It all happened as planned. My mother was already waiting for me at the bus station and as soon as I got there, the bus took off. With my husband now dead and my father lurking around somewhere, probably looking for us, my mother and I started our new life in La Parra. It was rough at first as we didn't have much to eat, but one look at me, Mrs Tella decided I was the granddaughter she never had and decided to offer me a job.

The pay could hardly see us through to the end of the month, but at least, it helped put food on the table and paid for other basic necessities.

Although since moving to La Parra, my life was slowly taking a turn for the better, I would be a coward if I said there weren't days where Kade's face haunts me. On those days, I would be so anxious that I'd end up creating a mess at work. Other times, I would get orders wrong and then clients would create a scene while I stood there, struggling not to have a panic attack. Mrs Tella, being so loving, would lead me to the kitchen and try to calm me down. Of course, I haven't told my mom of those incidents. I couldn't bring myself to take away the light that now shone in her eyes.

"Hola, Mara," I greeted in a thick Spanish accent at the lady outside Tella dressed in faded jeans and rat-visited hoodie. Her hands were calloused with thick dirt gripping her nails.

"Valentina, you're in early today," she beamed, smiling from ear to ear at me.

"Of course, I can't miss out on the very first drop of morning brew," I smiled back at her. On Mondays, I made sure to check in earlier than the Tella's and get started brewing coffee, mostly because I wanted a taste of the early morning brew.

It was abnormally quiet and empty inside Tella's. Normally, Mrs Tella would be in the kitchen, fidgeting with kitchen utensils and would only stop once she heard my voice.

But not today. Still, I call out, just for the sake of habit. "Mrs Tella, are you in there?"

I was met with an even deadlier silence. Shrugging in indifference, I proceeded to walk behind the counter, dropped my cross bag on the chair and picked up my apron before opening the door that leads to the kitchen to get some coffee grounds for brewing.

The sight before me made me stop death in my tracks, a heavy rock over my chest as I struggled to breathe. My hand unconsciously finds the wall and I cling to it, hoping for some stability. My hands gripping the wall as tightly, began to tremble. My eyes opened wide in terror.

There he stood, the man who has been the author of my most traumatic dreams. The man who turned my mother and me into fugitives. A man more ruthless and unforgiving like the devil. He was back from the dead. And he came for me.

His broad shoulders casually rested against the cabinet, a bright, serene smile plastered on his face, the slit over his eye ever present. The tattoo covering his muscled arms was clearly visible. He unfolded his arms and began to approach me in cold, calculated steps.

My breathing picked up. Tears pickled my eyelids, my feet glued to the spot. His signature smirk daunting me as he drew dangerously closer.

He dipped his finger under my chin and forced my gaze to his. "Nice to see you again, my little murderer," he whispered dangerously close to my lips, the smell of mint on his breath and cigarettes, intoxicating me. Then, he leaned in and brushed his lips against mine, his lips colder than the Serbian winter. Any doubts I had about him being real had suddenly been flushed down the drain. He was too, too present to just be a figment of my imagination. And his entire being, his cologne, burned my nostrils.

"Cat got your tongue, my little murderer? You thought you killed me, didn't you?" He mocked, walking back to where Mrs Tella knelt to the ground with a gun pressed against her temple. I was too taken aback by seeing Kade that I'd barely noticed the scared and pleading look she'd been shooting my way.

Unbearable guilt washed over me. It was all my fault. I'd brought my bad luck upon her and now, I couldn't utter a single word that would get her - us - out of this situation. Somehow, Kade had resuscitated from death and that could only mean he was more ruthless than before.

"Please, don't kill her, Kade. She has nothing to do with all this," I managed to say through a strained breath. Frantically, Mrs Tella nodded her head, more tears staining her face.

"Why should I spare her life, Valentina, when you so ruthlessly took mine right after we got married?" Kade seized the gun from one of his men, loaded the cartridge and then positioned the gun on her temple.

"No!" I screamed out in fear. "Kade, no, please. Don't kill her, please," I cried out desperately, looking into his eyes. Fleetingly, I thought I saw consideration lurking in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as I blinked.

Then with a smile plastered on his face, Kade pulled the trigger. I could barely hear the loud bang from the gun over my screams and the irking noise ringing in my head. But I saw Mrs Tella's body drop to the ground, the blood from the side of her head running down her face.