Mafia Puppet

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05 | the touch of duty

SOMETHING WAS BOTHERING me. Something was touching me. Something was making me shiver. Not something but rather someone.

Teeth bit my back, shaking me awake. I made a move to get up but a hand pushed me down, making my face flush into the soft pillows. His lips placed kisses on the skin of my shoulder and pulled the baggy shirt down, unbuttoning few of the buttons. A groan threatened to fall from my lips. This was harassment, if I was right.

The skinny white shirt covered my back, yet it still showed plenty of my bare shoulders, and even though he had seen me naked before, I was not the most comfortable. No man had ever touched me in such way and neither had I been hugged by a man before. It was all forbidden because I was his. I was not used to all this. It did not feel normal. How did these men just expect us women to be okay? We had been deprived of the male touch in every way possible and now they just expected us to deal with it.

I felt a familiar knot pool at the base of my stomach. It made me needy for something I did not want. I wanted him and yet I did not, if that made any sense. I was not naive. I knew what my body wanted. But I did not—mentally, I guess I was not ready. However, saying that to him was a nail to my coffin and I was no fool.

I could feel the warmth of his body as his chest grazed against my back, his hand placed on my waist keeping me down. He moved my hair away as he peppered kisses at the back of my neck, his lips abnormally soft. My eyes closed in bliss even though it felt wrong. It wasn't, right? He was my husband. It was his right. Or so that was what I was grown up to believe. Consent was not the norm here.

A breathy moan left my lips making heat crawl up to my cheeks. I did not want him to know how this affected me. I did not need him knowing that I could not control my own body — that I was weak. There was no place for weakness in the Family.

His hand moved and pulled the white shirt more, revealing much more of my skin. The outline of my breasts could be seen. It made me self-conscious and fearful. If he didn't like it, would he hit me? My cousins had told me their experiences. They told me how much pain they had endured every day because their betrothed didn't like their body. They told me about the insults and hits. They told me about how much it hurt on their first time. Some even had to go to the hospital. I didn't want that. I didn't deserve that.

He suddenly stilled but his hand didn't move from my head and waist.

"Francesca, you belong to me." It wasn't anything romantic. He said it purely out of possession that men felt over women and even though I knew that, it still made me long for something more. At least, he wanted me.

I felt him move. I thought he was going to leave me alone for now because it was the morning. I could see the sunshine through the closed curtains. He wouldn't do anything right now, right?

I was wrong.

I was flipped over hastily, making my body twist. Before I could get comfortable his lips were on mine. I didn't have a Ph.D. in kissing but I tried to follow along. If I didn't, he would think I was resisting. I wasn't. At all.

His lips were soft, something I never imagined The kiss at the altar was short and quick. This was more animalistic. His lips molded into mine perfectly and I was too busy trying to learn that I didn't feel his hand creep up to my breast until he gave a small squeeze, earning a moan from me. He took advantage of that and thrust his tongue into my mouth. Tongue was involved in kissing?

I felt stupid. I was stupid.

His kisses started to get rougher before he randomly pulled away and leaned against the headboard. "Go freshen up."

I didn't need to be told twice. He didn't look at me as I quickly got up and ran to the bathroom. The mirror taunted me as I stood before it. It told me that he had tainted me and that I was letting him. It told me how weak I was. Tears welled in my eyes but I refused to cry. There was no point. I couldn't change anything. I wasn't even trying.

You're not weak. You are beautiful. You are the Don's wife. You cannot show any weakness.

But bluffing things was much easier than doing them. My lips were bruised and even a bit blooded. I quickly washed my face but I couldn't get rid of the feeling. Getting touched without consent was making me feel dirty. He was making me dirty. After a few minutes to myself, I walked out. I needed my clothes. I wasn't going to spring around naked although he would much prefer that, probably glorify it even,

My husband was still on the bed, going through his phone. He was bare-chested and the duvet covered his thick thighs, only flashing a bit of his grey sweatpants underneath.

He suddenly glanced at me, making me cast my eyes down, afraid that he'll abuse me for looking him in the eye. It was a sin. Or so, I've been constantly told.

"Come here." I wasn't not aware of my nudity. My legs were barely covered and I knew he could see me from the white shirt. Was this a punishment for wearing his shirt? Why couldn't I have woken up sooner? I should have never touched his things.

I did as I was told and stood beside him. He was still leaning against the headboard. His raven hair was messed up and his lips were still a bit swollen but they were in better condition than mine. They would always be.

"Francesca, who is Sophia?" My heart stopped as I snapped my eyes up before quickly looking back down. I couldn't stop the tremble in my fingers.

"A-A friend from university," I stammered. "I swear, I've stopped meeting her. She doesn't know about anything."

He was silent and that made me even more scared because there was always silence before a storm.

"Do you want to still meet her?" His voice was hard, dominating. It made me think of my answer wisely but I guess I took too much time because he grabbed my wrist tightly.

My breathing laboured as I quickly nodded. I didn't want him to rape me. "Yes."

He let go of my hand but I knew he was unsatisfied. Why wouldn't he be? Men like him preferred to keep their women in the shadows. He wasn't anything different. He was the boss of it. He made the rules and he wouldn't care less if I wanted or didn't want something.

"Go make some breakfast." He placed my phone in my palm. "And change. Your bags are in the closet."

Surprise clouded my judgment because for one, he brought my bags up and two, he gave me my phone back. But I wasn't going to complain. He was being nice. Too nice and it wasn't comforting at all. It was scary. Nice was not normal, but I decided to bask in it. If he was being complimentary then I had no reason to cavil against it.

Why hadn't he hit me yet though?

Why was he not normal?

"Go make some breakfast." He placed my phone in my palm. "And change. Your bags are in the closet."

Surprise clouded my judgment because for one, he brought my bags up and two, he gave me my phone back. But I wasn't going to complain. He was being nice. Too nice and it wasn't comforting at all. It was scary.

Why hadn't he hit me yet though?

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