Rejected By The Mafia Boss, Claimed By His Brother

Her voice sharpened instantly, all softness gone.

“Are you serious right now?” she snapped. “She just walked in here? No knock, no announcement, nothing? That’s insane. Who does she think she is? She has no manners at all. None.”

I stood there holding the soup bowl, my fingers tightening around the ceramic until it almost hurt, my hands shaking a little. Why am I shaking? I didn’t even do anything wrong. But my body didn’t care what I thought.

For a second, I almost forgot what this place used to be. Back then, when Ezekiel was still getting targeted in enemy territories, he used to wake up from nightmares shaking and furious, and the only way he could sleep was if I stayed nearby, so he gave me access and no one questioned it. That was the old rule. But rules didn’t mean anything anymore.

I slowly lowered my head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

My knees bent before I even fully decided to move, and I knelt down. “I know I was wrong for coming in without permission,” I added, still not looking up. “I disturbed the boss and Miss Cassandra.”

Cassandra didn’t stop there.

She leaned closer into Ezekiel like she was performing for an audience, her tone turning sharper, almost disgusted.

“No, no, this isn’t just a mistake,” she said. “She does this on purpose. She’s been around too long, so she thinks she’s above rules. That’s what it is. People like her always act entitled when they get too comfortable.”

She tilted her head toward me.

“And honestly, it’s disgusting. Standing there pretending to be loyal when she clearly doesn’t understand her place.”

My throat felt tight, but I didn’t react. What place? Did I even have one anymore?

Ezekiel looked at me then, not angry, not kind, just… complicated in a way that made my chest feel heavier. But Cassandra didn’t give him space to think.

“She needs to be punished,” she said quickly. “If you don’t correct this now, she’ll keep doing it. Next time she’ll walk in during meetings. Or worse. You can’t just let her off with an apology. That’s not how respect works.”

Silence followed.

Then Ezekiel spoke.

“Since you disrupted her,” he said, eyes still not fully on me, “you’ll handle it yourself.”

I blinked once.

Did he just…

“Slap yourself,” he added.

The room felt smaller after that.

My fingers went numb around the bowl, and for a second I actually looked at him. Really looked. And I saw it. His eyes weren’t fully here, like he was somewhere else I couldn’t reach anymore.

Cassandra smiled, small and satisfied.

My chest dropped.

So this is it, huh?

I slowly set the soup bowl down, my movements distant, almost automatic, like I was watching someone else do it. Then I knelt again, and raised my hand.

The first slap landed hard across my face.

The sound cracked through the room.

Cassandra leaned forward immediately.

“Oh wow,” she said, almost laughing. “That’s it? That’s what you’re doing? Are you even trying? That looked pathetic.”

My cheek burned. I didn’t answer.

Second slap.

Harder.

My vision blurred for a second, but I kept going. Another. And another. I lost count somewhere between pain and silence, my skin stinging, then splitting slightly at the corner of my mouth, warm blood mixing with cold air.

Cassandra kept talking.

“Honestly, if you’re going to do it, at least do it properly,” she said. “Or is this your way of begging for attention? Acting weak so he feels sorry for you?”

I kept slapping. Because what else was I supposed to do? Stop? And then what?

Ezekiel finally spoke again.

“Enough,” he said.

No emotion. Just finality.

Cassandra turned to him instantly.

“Are you stopping it because you feel bad for her?” she asked softly, voice sharp underneath. “Or because you don’t want me upset?”

He didn’t answer that directly. Instead, he pulled her closer.

“I’m not thinking about her,” he said. “I just don’t want my appetite ruined.”

He turned slightly toward me.

“Bring the soup,” he ordered.

So I did.

My face throbbed with every step, but I still walked over and lifted the bowl again.

Cassandra leaned in the moment I placed it down, sniffed it, then smiled.

“Oh,” she said brightly. “This actually smells really good.”

Then she looked at Ezekiel.

“Can I try it?”

“Sure,” he said without hesitation.

She took a spoonful, paused, then smiled wider.

“This is amazing,” she said, voice turning sweet again as she wrapped herself around his arm. “Boss, why don’t you just give her to me? She’s useful. I could use someone like her at my place.”

My hand tightened slightly at my side.

Give me… away?

Like I was a tool?

Ezekiel frowned a little.

“No,” he said. “She’s the only one I rely on for certain things. Pick someone else.”

Cassandra’s face changed instantly, not angry, not upset, just petulant. She leaned closer, voice soft but sharp underneath.

“But I want her,” she said slowly. “Just for one day. Just send her to me for a day. That’s not a big deal, right? You can always take her back.”

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

“Please? Just one day. Don’t you spoil me a little?”

“…Fine,” he said. “Just for a day.”

Something inside me went still.

A day.

That’s all it took.

Cassandra smiled immediately, victorious, then turned to me.

“Get up,” she said. “You’re coming with me.”

I stood slowly. My face still burned, and my mouth still tasted like blood. My body still felt like it didn’t belong to me.

But I moved anyway.

Because I always move when told.

…

The moment we stepped into her place and the door shut behind us, everything changed.

The smile on Cassandra’s face disappeared, completely gone, leaving behind something cold and empty, something real. She didn’t need to speak at first, because one look was enough for the woman beside her to move.

I didn’t even see it coming.

A sharp kick slammed into the back of my knee, forcing my leg to give out instantly, and I dropped hard onto the floor. Pain shot up my spine, and a broken sound slipped from my throat before I could stop it.

Cassandra walked toward me slowly, without any rush or hesitation, her heels clicking softly against the floor, each step controlled and deliberate. Then she crouched down and grabbed my chin, her nails digging into my skin as she forced my head up.

Her eyes were cold.

“So,” she said quietly, her voice calm but carrying something darker underneath, “you’re more useful than I thought.”

Her grip tightened slightly.

“Even he hesitated to give you to me. That’s impressive. For someone like you.”

Someone like me.

I didn’t respond, because there was nothing I could say.

She leaned closer, her gaze sharp and almost curious.

“But don’t misunderstand,” she continued, her voice lowering, “if he actually cared about you, do you think I’d be able to treat you like this right now? Do you think he’d stand there and watch you get humiliated and not stop it?” Her lips curved faintly. “No. If you mattered, you would be untouchable.” Her nails pressed harder into my skin. “So get that into your head. You’re not special. You’re just something he got used to using.”

Something he got used to using.

I lowered my eyes.

“I understand,” I said quietly. “I won’t think beyond my place.”

She studied me for a moment, then let go abruptly and pushed my face to the side.

“That’s good,” she said. “Because if I ever find out you’re still holding onto stupid thoughts, I won’t just embarrass you. I’ll break you properly, slowly, and I won’t stop until you beg for it to end.”

I swallowed, my throat dry.

“I won’t,” I repeated softly.

She stood up and brushed her hands together as if she had touched something dirty.

“Good,” she said. “Then start working.”

And it didn’t stop after that.

She had me in the kitchen first.

“Cook,” she said simply.

So I did. I made what she asked for, careful and precise, following every step the way I knew how. She took one bite, then frowned.

“Too salty,” she said flatly.

Before I could respond, she picked up the bowl and threw it. The hot food hit my arm and chest, burning instantly. I flinched, but I didn’t step back.

“I’ll make another one,” I said.

The second time, she tasted it again.

“This is bland,” she said, her voice colder now. “Do you even know what you’re doing, or are you just pretending to be competent so you can stay close to him?”

The bowl came at me again.

I made it again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, there was something wrong. Too much. Too little. Not right. And each time, it ended the same way.

By the time she was done, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the utensils anymore.