mafia don

I wake up in a dark basement, chained up to the wall, and gagged with a handkerchief in my mouth. Suddenly, he comes into the basement, his expression cold and rough.

"I see you're awake.." He speaks in a rough deep tone with a thick Italian accent. "Don't worry, I won't show you mercy or anything. I'm doing all this cause of your fucking father." He sits down on a chair in front of me.

My eyes lock with his, burning with fury. I don't flinch, don't even blink. Even gagged and chained, I find a way to speak with my glare alone: “Do your worst.” A smirk forms on his lips as he lean forward, intrigued by my defiant spirit.

"Oh really? You're quite brave for someone in your position. Most people would be begging by now." I tilt my head slowly, eyes glinting with fire as I glare up at him, unfazed. The gag muffles my words, but the smirk curling on my lips speaks louder than anything. I shift in my chains like i'm lounging in a velvet chair instead of a basement cell. When he finally pulls the gag down-just to hear what the hell i'm so smug about- I speak, voice sharp and laced with venomous calm.

"Begging? Baby, I don’t beg. I watch people like you beg when they realized they've just chained the wrong fucking girl to a wall." I lean forward as much as the chains allow, smiling like the devil’s favourite child. “So go ahead. Torture me. Threaten me. Hell, kill me. But just remember... the second you decided to drag me into this? You made yourself my enemy. And I don’t lose.” His eyes narrow dangerously, but there's a flicker of interest in them as I watch him.

"Watch your mouth, Isabel. You're not in control here." He stands up abruptly, stepping closer to tower over me. I tilt my head back, meeting his gaze without flinching as he towers over me.

"Control? You think you have control?" I let out a short laugh, full of bite and challenge. "You don't even know who you're messing with. Keep stepping closer, though. Might make it easier for me to break you." A dark chuckle escapes his throat as he moves even closer, close enough for me to feel his breath.

"Such spirit. Tell me, how exactly do you plan to break me?" His hand grips my chin roughly. I don’t flinch when his hand grips my chin, just stare up at him with a cold smirk.

"Breaking you? Simple. I’ll do it the same way you’re about to break yourself." I lean in just enough for him to hear the edge in my voice. "By underestimating me. That’s where you’ve already failed, Don. You think you’re the monster here? I’m the one you’ll never see coming." His grip tightens, but he can't help the impressed smirk that plays across his face.

"You're quite something, aren't you? I underestimated you from the start..." He traces his thumb across my lower lip. I don’t blink when his thumb traces my lip. Instead, I smile, slow and dangerous, like I’m in control the entire time.

"Underestimate me all you want, Don. The more you do, the harder you’ll fall when I make you regret it." I let my eyes flicker to his thumb, then back to his face, a challenge hanging in the air. "You think I’m something? You haven’t seen anything yet." A low growl escapes him as he's both irritated and intrigued by my confidence.

"Careful with those words, Isabel. You're in my territory now." He drops his hand but stays close, studying my face intently. I tilt my head slightly, unbothered, staring straight into his eyes with a mix of defiance and calm confidence.

"Your territory?" I laugh softly, my voice steady. "I’ve been in worse places. You’re not the first to try and intimidate me." I met his gaze, unwavering. "So go ahead. Test me. Let’s see who really owns who." His patience is wearing thin, but he maintains his composure as he leans in closer, our faces inches apart.

"You're playing a dangerous game, and you're good at it. But every queen has her king to checkmate her.." I lean forward slightly, eyes locked on his, unafraid, unshaken.

"A king, huh?" I smirk, voice low but full of challenges. "You must be confused. You’re no king. You’re just another pawn in my game." I lean back slightly, a glint of amusement in my eyes. "And trust me, Don, I’ve already planned my checkmate." He grips my throat suddenly, applying just enough pressure to make me gasp.

"Your arrogance is starting to piss me off, Isabel. But I must admit, it's also very... intriguing." His eyes darken with a mix of anger and something else..? I feel his grip on my throat, but I don’t panic. Instead, I stare at him, my eyes smoldering with that same defiant fire.

"You think this intimidates me?" I choke out the words, but my smirk never falters. "You’re a fool if you think you can break me that easily." I lean forward, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Keep squeezing if you want... But know this; the tighter you hold on, the more you’ll lose control." His grip loosens slightly, but He doesn't fully release me, his thumb stroking my throat now.

"Maybe I don't want to break you" He leans even closer, our lips almost touching. "Maybe I want to keep you just like this. A defiant queen in my chains" I don’t blink as his thumb strokes my throat, my breath shallow but my eyes cold and calculating.

"You think keeping me in chains is some kind of victory?" I whisper the words, lips barely grazing his, daring him to test just how far I’ll go. "You’re not the one in control here, Don. You’re just the one who’s too afraid to truly break me." His press my lips against mine firmly, then he pulls back with a dark chuckle.

"Afraid? Hardly. I just enjoy watching you struggle against your restraints... and yourself." His hand slides down to my necklace, examining it. I don’t flinch when his lips press against mine. When he pulls away, I meet his dark gaze with one of my own, cool and unbroken.

"Struggling? Please." I let out a soft, almost mocking laugh. "You’ve seen nothing yet. I’m just getting started." I glance at his hand on my necklace, then back to his eyes, a subtle challenge in my gaze. "But tell me, Don, what exactly do you think you’re trying to claim by playing this game?" His fingers toy with the necklace, tracing its chain.

"I'm not playing a game, Isabel. I'm just interested in how far this little rebellious streak of yours will take you... before you realize you're completely at my mercy." I'm about to respond, but suddenly his phone rings, he stands up and answers it, speaking Italian which i don't understand. His voice slowly rises as the call continues, I watch quietly, intrueged by it. He abruptly hangs up and walks out, slamming the door behind him, i sit there confused. The door slams, echoing through the basement like a gunshot. The second he’s gone, my whole body sags, the strength I clung to slipping through my fingers. My breathing turns shaky. My wrists sting. My throat still burns faintly from his grip. I stare at the door, heart pounding. That call—whatever it was—it rattled him. And that scares me more than anything he’s said or done. I blink fast, trying to hold back tears. Because the truth is… I’m terrified. And all the fire, the defiance—it was just armour. He’s dangerous. Unpredictable. And I’m still chained to a wall, completely alone.

“What the hell are you doing, Isabel…” I whisper to myself, the walls finally closing in. The basement is too quiet now. No taunts. No footsteps. Just the faint hum of a light bulb overhead and the echo of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I shift against the cold wall, the metal of the cuffs biting into my skin. I wince, trying to reposition, but there's nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. My jaw trembles and I clench it tight, willing the tears not to fall. I can't break. Not yet. Not when he could walk back in any second. But a small sob escapes anyway. Just one. Soft. Quick. The kind you pretend didn’t happen. I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood. My head falls back against the wall with a quiet thud, and I close my eyes. I was never supposed to end up here.Not in chains. Not in his world.And definitely not feeling this twisted pull toward the very man who might destroy me.I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, shakily. “Get it together,” I whisper to the dark. “You’ve survived worse. You can survive him.” The silence is thick. Too thick. And with nothing left to say—no audience to wear the mask for—my thoughts start to drift. Not forward. Backward. To the screaming. To the nights I used to press my pillow over my ears so I wouldn’t hear my parents fighting again. To the way I used to count the seconds between shouts, like if I timed them right, I could predict the next explosion. I shift against the wall again, jaw clenched tight, but the memories come anyway. Twelve seconds. That’s how long it usually took my dad to go from yelling to breaking something. Fourteen, if he was drunk. He always said I was just like my mother. Cold. Smart-mouthed. Unbreakable. But I learned early on that being unbreakable wasn’t a personality—it was survival. That’s when I started building walls. Throwing up fire. Learning to fight with words, with silence, with the sharp edge of my stare. I wasn’t born a bitch. I became one. Because when you grow up in a house where love is loud and pain is louder, you either learn how to dominate the room—or disappear in it. My eyes flutter open, fixed on the ceiling, but I’m not really here anymore. I’m fifteen again. Back in that tiny kitchen with the flickering light and the wine stains on the linoleum floor. My mother’s hands are shaking. She’s trying to light a cigarette, but the lighter keeps slipping. She used to be so steady. So sharp. But years of broken promises and bruised ribs had worn her down to something... brittle.

I let out a slow breath, eyes still locked on the ceiling, but his voice echoes in my head like it never left the room.

"Maybe I want to keep you just like this."

"A defiant queen in my chains."

The words crawl under my skin. He’s dangerous. Unpredictable. He speaks like he owns everything he touches. Moves like the world owes him something, and he’s already taken payment in blood. But it’s not just the violence. It’s the control. That quiet rage just beneath the surface. The way his eyes stay cold even when his hands are gentle. Like he learned, too, that softness is a liability. And that’s what unsettles me the most. Because I know that kind of man. I grew up watching one destroy everything he claimed to love. And I promised myself I’d never, ever fall for that kind of power again. But this one… he’s not sloppy like my father was. He’s calculated. Composed. He doesn’t just want to control me—He wants to understand me. And somehow… That’s worse. Because if he understands me—if he really sees me beneath all the armour— He could burn me down from the inside out. just like my past tried to.