The Enraged Mafia Don

Proserpina

When Lucien threw open the passenger door of his large black SUV, one among his fleet of bullet proof vehicles, and which was standing, waiting for us at the door, I tried to turn to him. But he had forcefully thrust me in and slammed the door before I knew what was happening. And then, to my astonishment, he came around and slid into the driver’s seat himself.

’Belt up wh*re,’ he snarled like a man at the end of his tether, and fearfully, I obeyed him and I shrank in the seat.

I had never seen Lucien drive before; had never wondered if he knew how to handle one of these large machines. But then, he turned to me, the blue-grey eyes blazing and I hastily slipped on the seat belt, fingers fumbling. My fingers were suddenly slippery and with an oath, he leaned across and tightened the safety belt, and then, we were away, roaring down the driveway.

I sat, rubbing my tender wrist which was already turning red, the imprints of his fingers deep in my skin.

Blinking rapidly, I gaze