Mafia Puppet

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51 | his response

“WHAT DO YOU want me to do?" I asked him as we sat down on the mat.

He was calm and collected unlike me who was rocking back and forth in anxiety.

We both sat on the mat and in thought. I hugged my legs tightly. "Antonio, please answer me."

He finally shrugged. "Give birth," he said the obvious.

I hid my glare. "That's it?"

"That's it," he confirmed.

Our eyes met. There was intensity and then there was lust. He literally left in the middle. I being horny was justified.

"I might not be pregnant," I said.

"I want you to be," he replied.

I gulped before I asked him my next question. "Why?"

He shrugged. "It would ensure my position and bring a heir for the Family."

"Is everything about the Family for you?" I couldn't help but let the bitterness escape. It could never be about us. It could never be him and I with a little family. His job always came in between. I finally thought we were making an improvement.

He sent me a look of warning. "I'm the Don. What do you expect? Of course I need someone to carry the legacy."

"I'll abort it," I snapped thoroughly regretting it the second I said it. I really needed to stop being so rash.

His gaze hardened. He was mad. I could tell, but he didn't react by blowing off. It was shocking at how much control he had over himself. Was that how he killed his mother?

"You wouldn't dare," he warned.

I pursued my lips. "Or else what? You'll kill me." Just like you killed your mother?

But he shook his head and leaned back, his arms supporting his weight on the mat. "No. I'll just find someone else to be the mother of my child."

My heart felt like it froze. I didn't know what to say. Would he actually do it? Who was I kidding? Of course he would.

He continued before I could reply. "Francesca, just because you are my wife does not make me accountable only to you. Getting another woman pregnant may be a stain to the Family but I can always prove you to be infertile. Surely, there won't be any complications after. Isn't that how it's supposed to be?"

"No," I snapped. "You won't do that!"

"Lower your voice, bambola. I'm the Don of the Family you are part of," he said calmly.

"'And I am the Donna of this Family and the woman who handles your house," I retorted. "Don't talk to me like I'm your puppet."

He grabbed my arm and pulled me closer, so close that I could feel the heat on his body and if I tilted my head to the side I could be laying my head on his chest. "But that's where you are wrong. You are my puppet, Francesca," he said, his breath fanning my face.

"And you're the puppet of the mafia, Antonio," I retorted. I wanted to close my eyes and lay my head on his chest but now was not the time. He was pissing me off. Instead, I said, "I don't want to be your puppet. I want to be your wife. I am your wife and I think I deserve to be treated properly, especially from you."

He didn't say anything for a moment. He just gazed into my eyes. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. At all.

"I don't want you submitting to anyone other than me."

I blinked at the random statement. "Wha—?"

"You are the Donna and you should act like it. Francesca, you do not know of your power. You do not know that with a snap you could have anyone killed with no questions asked. You do not know anything yet," he spoke.

My breathing hitched. "Why are you—?"

"Come on, get up," he commanded, moving away and pulling me up with him.

"What are you doing?" I questioned.

He didn't answer my question. He walked toward the benches where all his stuff was and grabbed his shirt before walking toward me.

"Take your sweater off."

I blinked in surprise but didn't question him. I pulled off my sweater and heels off. Moments later I stood in a sports bra and jeans. I wasn't that self conscious. I knew my body was very pretty. I was actually confident in it.

He pulled his white shirt over my head and rolled the sleeves to my elbows. We stood facing each other before he pulled me closer. His arm wrapped around my waist and his thumb ran over my lips as he cupped my jaw with his other hand. I could hear him take a deep breath as I licked his thumb so he would move it away without actually trying to push him. I realized how dumb that was a moment later but he just pressed his lips to my forehead.

I gripped onto his arm. The shirt was skinny and loose. When his arm tightened I could almost feel like he was touching my bare skin. I feared that he would push me away like before. I feared that he'd change his mind. I feared him because of how much control he was starting to have over me.

Antonio stepped back. "You're going to learn how to fight."

"Me?" I questioned pointing towards me.

He raised his brows. "Is there anyone else here?"


"Then use your brain."

"That was mean," I said.

He shrugged, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. "I know."

I chuckled and he looked at me in surprise. "You should laugh more," he said. "It's beautiful."

My smile faded in shock before a blush took over my face. "Thank you." How did he go from being a big prick to nice? Was he okay?

He shrugged. "Show me a fist."

I fisted my hand and his smirk widened. I could see the humour in his eyes.

"That's not a fist, bambola. Your thumb goes over your fingers," he said.

"Why?" I asked, curious but I did what he said.

"You'll break your thumb if you keep it under." That was supposed to be obvious but my brain wasn't functioning currently. I was confused. I seemed to be always confused around him.


He hummed in response as he fixed the leather cut gloves on his hands and showed me a fist.

"What did you do with Fabio?" I asked slowly.

He stared at me with pinched brows. "Made him a solider."

"But that's the lowest rank in the Mafia." I frowned.

"Well, that was the point," he replied with a shrug.

"Don't you have anything better to do than teach me? Don't you have other priorities?" I asked.

He looked at me. The intensity made me want to look away. "I have come to realize that if I leave you alone, you would start entertaining your time with other options—options that I cannot afford, if you may ask—and I do need to manage my time more efficiently."

He didn't trust me.

"You don't trust me anymore," I stated.

He licked his dry lips. "I have never trusted you, bambola. It's not personal."
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