1-man in black
a/n; This is book 2 ofInferno Kings. It can be read as a stand-alone. But if you haven’t read book 1,Mafia Lord’s Fake Escort, you can definitely check it out. remember, you don’t have to read book one first in order to read this; each story can be read on its own. Thank you and enjoy...
------
Alina Jones
___
I stood quietly by the window, my usual spot, gazing out into the empty driveway. I couldn’t see a car leaving the mansion, and I felt the knot in my stomach tighten for a moment. It had become a daily ritual for me to watch my husband leave for work, just a moment that assured me a few hours of relative freedom—freedom as long as I stayed away from his family.
It always takes him only a short time to leave. His driver always had the car ready, waiting just outside the door. But from my angle today, I couldn’t even tell if the car was out there yet.
Mark was always on time for work. He was punctual, efficient, and controlled. So, when twenty minutes passed, and he still hadn’t left, I felt that familiar surge of dread creep up my spine. Something wasn’t right.
A cold, old fear stirred inside me, a fear I’d buried for months. They could be plotting something. The last time I felt this way, I walked down the stairs, and by sheer accident, I overheard his conversation with his mother, Rita, and sister, Lucy. They were planning something.
I was always cautious and always prepared. I kept a stash of cash hidden in my bra, just in case I ever needed to run. It had been a month since I overheard that conversation, and nothing had happened, but I couldn’t afford to let my guard down.
The baby growing inside me was a constant reminder of the stakes. If I didn’t eat, I would starve—not just for myself, but for the little one inside me.
I rubbed my two-month-old belly, sighing softly. Ever since I found out I was pregnant, I’d done everything I could to avoid confrontation with Mark. Our marriage was a shell, a hollow thing, but I told myself that at least the baby would have a roof over its head, and maybe—just maybe—Mark would soften toward me because of the child. Maybe his family would finally accept me.
I picked out a long cardigan, something loose enough to hide my pregnancy for now. It was cold outside—the first snow of the season had started to fall—but the warmth was tolerable inside the house. Still, I couldn’t trust Rita. She enjoyed making me suffer, sending me out on errands without giving me a moment to grab a sweater. I had to be ready.
Opening the door to our room, I paused, scanning the hallway to ensure no one was around. The house was too quiet.
Three maids had been fired, and only one remained. I was supposed to help with the chores, but that never bothered me. But now, with the house so still, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
As I descended the stairs, my mind drifted to Lucy’s room. Mark’s younger sister was mostly away at college, but it was impossible to ignore her loud music when she was home. Today, though, there was silence. That meant she wasn’t home.
I continued my journey to the kitchen, but as I neared it, I heard voices from Mark’s office. I froze, my heart pounding. It was a hint that he was still home.
Ignoring the voices, I entered the kitchen. On the fridge was a note from Beth, the last remaining maid. She had gone grocery shopping with Rita. That meant Mark’s mother wasn’t home.
But the voices from Mark’s office grew louder, and my curiosity got the better of me. Mark had warned me never to enter his office, but that hadn’t stopped me. It was the only way to gather information and stay ahead of whatever they were scheming. I learned to listen and to observe. That’s how I stayed safe.
It all started a few months after I married Mark. I overheard Lucy telling her driver to hide the car keys in my handbag so Mark would blame me. I thought it was just a joke. I thought Mark would trust me if I explained. But that night, Mark assaulted me for the first time. That was when I realized his family was a well-oiled machine of betrayal, and I had no voice in it.
I learned to gather information and act before Mark could make his next move. That’s why I found myself at his office door. Fortunately, the door was next to a washroom, giving me a quick escape if necessary.
I approached with caution, noticing the door was slightly ajar. A small gap was all I needed to see what was happening inside. My hands trembled as I prayed that nothing bad would come of this.
Inside, Mark stood, his hands held in front of him, his posture respectful but not the familiar monster I was used to. He looked smaller, more fragile, in the presence of the man he was facing.
The man was tall, well over six feet, dressed in a black shirt and trousers that exuded power. His voice was low, edged with anger, carrying a dangerous undertone. “Didn’t you think this was a hiding place? That I couldn’t fucking find you?”
Mark’s response came with a bow, his eyes downcast. “I’m working on it fi—”
The man cut him off, frustratedly throwing a bottle across the room. “Working on it?” he seethed, his voice dripping with menace. “So what am I supposed to do? Sit and fucking wait?”
“No, sir, by tonight, you’ll have everything ready,” Mark responded, his voice shaking with fear, the same fear that he made me feel for so long.
The man scoffed. “I’m not a fucking kid.” His tone was harsh. “I explained how I work. Your fucking job was simple.”
Suddenly, Mark dropped to his knees, and I gasped, instinctively stepping back. My heart pounded as I tried to process what I was witnessing. This was new. Mark—my husband—was groveling at another man’s feet, just as I had once been forced to do for his family.
“Please, give me three hours. Three hours,” Mark pleaded, his voice filled with desperation.
The man chuckled darkly. “Two hours,” he declared before turning to leave.
I rushed to the washroom, my mind racing. I heard the man’s heavy footsteps leaving, and a car engine revving as he drove off came a few minutes later. But Mark stayed behind, still in his office.
Then, the silence was shattered by a loud crash. I could hear Mark smashing things. His anger was uncontrollable. My heart lurched as I breathed, praying he wouldn’t come toward the washroom.
Minutes passed before the noise stopped, and Mark made a phone call, his voice growing closer. “We take the next step immediately!” he barked into the phone. His tone was sharp, commanding, and full of authority. His footsteps echoed down the hall, fading as he walked away, leaving me in a brief moment of relief.
I waited in the washroom, still shaken by what I just witnessed. I needed to process everything I had just heard, but my thoughts were a blur.
When the coast seemed clear, I slowly crept toward the back door. But as I stepped outside, I froze. Mark was standing in the hallway, his posture rigid, his hands tucked into his pockets.
I stopped in my tracks, my heart sinking. My legs trembled as he slowly approached me, his eyes dark with rage.
I clutched the cardigan to my chest, silently praying, though I knew my prayers never reached the heavens. Still, I prayed—for my baby, if not for myself.
Mark’s footsteps were like thunder in the quiet hallway, each step sending waves of dread through my body. “I was going to have breakfast,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady.
His lips curled into a cruel smile. “You think I’m stupid?” he chuckled, the sound chilling my spine. “How much did you hear?”
“I didn’t—” Before I could finish my words, his hand struck across my face, the force of it sending me stumbling. “I didn’t hear anything,” I whispered through the pain, tears stinging my eyes.
But it wasn’t over. He grabbed my hair, yanking me toward the office. “I’ll kill you today.” His voice was a deep growl, promising nothing but violence.
He shoved me onto the floor, and the pain was instant. I cried out as I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to protect the baby inside me. “Mark, please,” I begged, my voice trembling.
His response was a brutal kick to my thighs. I crawled away, trying to escape the storm of pain. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t care about my apologies. He didn’t care about anything but his rage.
He continued to strike me. The blows were relentless, each one more punishing than the last. I curled into a ball, protecting my stomach as best as I could, hoping the baby would be okay.
Blow after blow, I collapsed, my body giving in to the assault.
