Jilted Mistress? I Am The Mafia Queen

Lily POV

Ryan burst into the bathroom, the door kicked open with such force it splintered the frame and slammed against the wall.

He looked down at me with anxious, frantic eyes, his gaze sweeping over my trembling form, a cold assessment to confirm his task was complete.

I had collapsed where the pain left me, my body weak and unresponsive. The toes of his heavy boots scraped against the grout as he crouched, his shadow swallowing the bathroom light. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and wrenched it open with a single brutal motion, inspecting my condition.

I made weak, futile attempts to cover my exposed skin, but my hands trembled too severely to offer any real resistance.

Ryan pulled his phone from his pocket and held it high above me. He started recording, documenting my broken state to report back to Victoria that the threat was neutralized.

Victoria's voice, thin and sharp as a shard of glass, suddenly echoed from the phone's speaker.

"Send the footage to my associates immediately," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument, wanting to ensure I wasn't faking it to extort the Family later.

Panic surged through my chest, overriding the physical pain. I struggled weakly and reached up, my arm leaden, to snatch the phone from his grip. Ryan laughed and took a casual step backward, easily moving out of my reach. He continued filming from a better angle, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, devoid of any warmth.

I looked up at him through blurred vision, hot tears tracing paths through the grime on my cheeks.

"What happened to us?" I desperately asked him, my voice a raw crack in the silence. "What happened to the years of loyalty and love we shared?"

Ryan stared at me with a mask of detachment, the muscles around his eyes perfectly still.

"I begged Victoria for months to let you remain as my hidden mistress," he said. "I've already shown you enough mercy by letting you live this long," he claimed, dismissing my agony with a flick of his wrist.

Another wave of pain seized my body, sharp and unrelenting.

I cried out in raw, unfiltered agony.

The stark fluorescent bathroom light spun above me before my vision dimmed at the edges and I collapsed into the wetness spreading beneath me.

Victoria chuckled over the speakerphone, a sound so devoid of warmth it seemed to lower the temperature of the room.

"She looks exactly like a stray dog you took in off the street," she told Ryan, her tone lacquered with disdain. She praised her own generosity, adding with a pretense of magnanimity, "I truly am merciful for allowing her to exist in your shadow for so long."

Ryan nudged my leg with the toe of his expensive leather shoe, as if I were a pile of rags.

"Thank Victoria for her mercy," he demanded.

I clamped my lips shut, tasting copper as I remained silent.

Ryan seized my shoulders and hauled me halfway off the floor. He shook me so hard my teeth rattled against my skull.

"Say it right now," he growled, his fingers digging into my bruising flesh.

Through the blinding, suffocating pain, I forced my mouth to open. I whispered the words, "Thank you."

Satisfied, Ryan dropped me back onto the hard floor, my head striking the ceramic with a dull crack. He turned his back and walked out of the bathroom, leaving me where I lay.

I wept alone, the empty sound of my own sobs echoing off the cramped walls.

I remembered my childhood in the abusive foster care system, a lifetime spent fighting for scraps of survival. I remembered how Ryan used to be a low-level Soldier who stood between me and the street thugs who wanted to hurt me. I realized the man who once protected me had completely corrupted his loyalty for a taste of real power.

A profound, weakening despair washed over me, draining the last of my strength.

And then, I thought of the biological parents I had just found—the bloodline I hadn't even met yet.

My survival instinct flared to life like a dying ember catching a draught. I dragged my heavy arm across the floor, every inch a battle against the encroaching darkness, and struggled to reach my phone to dial for an emergency medic.

My fingertips just brushed the smooth glass of the screen.

A heavy boot descended upon my hand, the weight of it grinding the small bones of my fingers into the tile. He reached down and confiscated my phone.

He hadn't left after all. He had been waiting. Watching.

The pressure ignited a silent scream in my throat as the edges of my vision dissolved into blackness.