Tired of Being Second in My Mafia's Boyfriend Heart

As the car sped toward the restaurant, I tapped out a quick message to my boyfriend Lewis: On my way. Can’t wait to see you! I love you.

But he didn’t reply. My excitement simmered with a hint of worry as I stared at the blank screen. Usually, he was quick to respond, especially on nights like this. I tried to reassure myself, brushing it off as pre-proposal nerves. After all, I’d overheard his men talking about the ring he bought last week. After three years together, tonight had to be the night.

I smoothed my dress again, feeling like I was balancing between excitement and the unknown. The restaurant he’d picked was where we’d celebrated our first anniversary—a place brimming with memories. I could already picture him waiting there, his sharp suit perfectly tailored, a glint of anticipation in his eyes as he prepared for the big moment. I’d rehearsed my reaction a hundred times: the gasp, the teary-eyed yes. I could hardly sit still as I imagined it.

But as we turned down a narrow street, the car suddenly jolted, breaking my reverie. “What’s going on?” I asked, gripping the edge of the seat as Marcus slammed the brakes. We had stopped in the middle of a dark, empty street, the only light coming from a dim streetlamp overhead.

Marcus frowned, his gaze shifting to the rearview mirror. “Please stay here, Miss Stephanie.”

Before I could respond, two figures emerged from the shadows—men dressed in black, their faces hidden by masks. My pulse raced as I leaned forward. “Marcus, don’t go out there!” I whispered urgently, my stomach churning with fear.

Ignoring my plea, he tried to throw the car in reverse, but it was too late. One of the men pounded on the hood while the other wrenched Marcus’ door open. I screamed, watching helplessly as they dragged him out, throwing him to the ground with brutal force.

My hands fumbled for the door lock, but the passenger door flew open before I could secure it. Gloved hands grabbed me, pulling me out of the car. I screamed, struggling wildly, but his grip was like iron, unyielding. I kicked, scratched, and twisted, desperate to break free, but it was no use.

“Let go of me!” I screamed, my voice echoing down the empty street. “What do you need? Why are you doing this to me?”

One of the men scoffed, tightening his grip. “Quit fighting, princess. You’re just making it harder on yourself.”

“No! I will not come with you!” I yelled. “My boyfriend is waiting for me. Let me go! Help! I need help!”

I spotted an opening—a brief second where his grip loosened—and I wrenched free, stumbling toward an alley. My heart thundered as I ran, hoping I could make it to safety. But I barely managed a few steps before a heavy force slammed into me from behind, sending me crashing to the ground. Pain shot through my palms as they scraped against the rough pavement.

Before I could get up, they were on me again, iron grips hauling me back to my feet. I thrashed, kicking and screaming, but it was like fighting against a wall.

“Get her in the car already,” one of them barked.

A fist drove into my stomach, and I doubled over, gasping for air, my vision blurring.

One last blow struck the side of my head, pain exploding behind my eyes as the world tilted. I hit the ground, darkness closing in, and the last thing I heard was the dull echo of my body hitting the pavement as everything went black.