Caring for the Mafia Son

Rachel POV

I didn't know how long I had been running.

Hours, maybe.

My feet throbbed. My lungs burned. The sun had already slipped from afternoon gold into the soft grey of evening by the time I burst out of the forest and stumbled onto a cracked highway road.

When I looked up, I saw it:

Lights.

Cars.

People.

A city.

My knees almost buckled.

I hugged myself and forced my tired body forward. My clothes were dirty from climbing the wall, my hair tangled, and my palms still stung from where the vines had cut me.

But I was free.

For the first time in weeks, I could choose where I went.

I wiped my cheeks and stepped into the noise of the street. Neon signs buzzed above me. Cars honked. Strangers brushed past without a second glance.

It felt unreal.

Almost like a dream.

I just need a phone, I told myself.

I just need to call Dad. Or Marcus. Anyone. Then I can leave this country and disappear.

I kept walking, head lowered, trying to blend into the crowd.

Everything felt so unfamiliar, so loud, so overwhelming.

Then I heard it.

A low whistle.

"Damn," a voice drawled. "Look what we have here."

My heart jumped. I looked up.

A group of men leaned against motorcycles outside a shop, their eyes locked on me. Rough-looking, older than me, and clearly amused.

One of them pushed off his bike and approached.

"Got anything for us?" he asked, tone mocking.

I froze. "I... I don't have anything. Sorry."

He scoffed, stepping closer. He looked like their leader-better dressed, sharper eyes.

"No one walks into this part of town alone, princess," he said, breath reeking of smoke. "Why don't you tell us what you're doing here?"

"I... I'm just passing through. I don't want trouble," I whispered.

But his eyes suddenly dropped.

Not to my face.

To the necklace.

The red jewel Damien forced on me.

"Is that...?" another man said, stepping closer, eyes widening.

"Montrel's mark?"

Panic exploded inside my chest.

I grabbed the necklace instinctively, taking a step back.

The leader's eyes sharpened. "A girl like you wearing the Montrel emblem? That doesn't happen by accident."

The men behind him laughed.

"I bet she's some kind of toy for the empire," one said, grinning.

"Didn't know the mafia kept their jewellery this pretty," another added.

Heat rose to my cheeks; shame, fear, anger all at once.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, voice shaking. "I don't- I'm not-"

"Don't lie," the leader snapped, suddenly serious. "No one wears that symbol unless they're tied to the Montrels."

He stepped even closer, and I flinched.

"She's important," one of the men muttered darkly. "Boss is gonna want to see her."

The leader's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

Before I could react, his hand shot out and closed around my wrist.

"Wait-!" I yelped, stumbling as he yanked me forward.

"Quiet," he snapped.

Another man grabbed my other arm, fingers digging painfully into my skin.

My breath hitched. Panic shot through my chest.

"Please let go! I didn't do anything!"

They ignored me completely.

The leader shoved me toward the alley beside the shop, his grip tightening like a cuff around my wrist.

"She's shaking," one of the men laughed. "Scared little thing."

"She should be," the leader muttered. "Montrel's mark is worth a lot. And the boss will want answers. Pain makes people talk."

My blood ran cold.

"No- no, please," I cried, trying to pull back. "I swear, I don't know anything! I'm not- I'm not who you think-"

"Save it."

They forced me deeper into the alley until my back hit the cold brick wall. The noise of the street faded. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

The leader leaned close, breath hot and bitter.

"You ran from Montrel, didn't you? Why else would you be out here alone?"

I shook my head desperately. "Please don't hurt me. Please- I just want to go home."

The youngest man stepped forward, reaching for my necklace.

"Take it off her. Boss will want proof."

"No!" I jerked sideways along the wall, panic exploding. "Don't touch me!"

He scoffed. "Shut her up."

A rough hand slapped over my mouth from the side, pinning my cheek to the wall.

I screamed into his palm; muffled, terrified, kicking, twisting, fighting with everything I had.

But they were stronger.

"Stop struggling," the leader grunted. "We're not going to kill you. Not if you're smart. But you make this difficult-your face won't stay so pretty."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as another man grabbed both my wrists, lifting them above my head and pinning them to the wall.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think.

Damien POV

A gunshot cracked through the alley.

One of the men near Rachel dropped instantly, hitting the ground hard.

Everything froze.

The remaining men spun around-and saw me.

Black coat. Gloves. Rage burning in my eyes.

Vance and five men behind me, guns raised.

Their faces drained of colour.

Rachel pressed herself against the wall, shaking, makeup streaked from tears, a smear of dust across her cheek. She looked terrified-small.

My jaw tightened.

"Take them," I said coldly.

Gunfire exploded. Screams. Footsteps scrambling in panic.

I walked forward through the storm, watching each man fall one by one.

Until only one remained.

He grabbed Rachel by the neck, hauling her up against his chest. A knife glinted against her neck desperate.

"Step closer and I'll kill her!" he shouted, voice cracking.

Rachel's eyes widened, her breath wheezing in panic. She clawed at his arm helplessly.

I stopped.

Not because I feared him.

But because I saw the terror in her eyes.

Her fear of dying.

Her fear of him.

Her fear... of me.

The man trembled but held her tight.

"Don't move-don't you fucking move!"

A slow laugh slipped from my chest.

Cold. Deadly. Wrong.

The man stiffened. "S-stop laughing."

My smile widened.

"You think you can bargain with me... using her?"

"Stop-STOP LAUGHING!"

BANG.

His skull snapped sideways as a sniper round tore through it from above.

Rachel screamed as blood sprayed across her face and neck-hot, thick, horrifying.

I stepped forward to take her.

But, she recoiled like I was the danger.

"D-don't touch me!" she cried. "Please-don't hurt me-I'm sorry-"

I froze.

Like someone had slammed a fist into my chest.

Hurt her?

I would never lay my hand on a woman; an action I will never take from my late bastard father.

For a moment, I felt...

Something broke inside me.

Ashamed that I made her feel that way.

Slowly and carefully. I removed my glove, letting it fall to the blood-stained ground.

My voice softened, low and steady.

"Rachel... look at me."

She shook her head violently, sliding down the wall, crying harder.

I crouched slowly, keeping distance, palms open.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I whispered.

Her lip trembled. "Please... please don't..."

My jaw tightened, not in anger at her but at myself.

I reached into my coat and pulled out a white handkerchief.

Gently, not touching her skin.

I lifted her chin with only my fingertips and wiped the blood from her face. Soft. Careful. Slow.

She flinched, but didn't pull away.

"You're safe now," I murmured. "No one will touch you again."

My thumb brushed a final streak of blood from her cheek.

"Please... come with me."

Her breath hitched, her eyes glassy with shock and fear.

But she didn't resist when I slid my coat around her shoulders and lifted her into my arms.

I held her tightly.

Protectively.

And she reluctantly relaxed on my chest, still shaking in adrenaline.

The rage was still there-but now it was focused entirely on anyone who would dare threaten her again.

"Let's go home," I whispered.

And I carried her out of the alley.