Ensnared by Mafia, Days and Nights

July in Brooklyn, New York, was oppressively hot and sticky.

“Grandma, you need to keep up with your treatments. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Giselle had been at the hospital all day, her skin soaked with the scent of disinfectant.

When she returned to her neighborhood, she was puzzled to see a luxury car parked in her rundown old district.

Upon entering her home, two men in black seized her, one on each side.

“What are you doing!” Giselle screamed, “Help—”

Before she could finish, a hood was slipped over her head, silencing her.

After the roar of a helicopter and a dizzying journey, Giselle was pushed off the aircraft, her hood yanked off, making her squint in the bright light.

She found herself under a massive gold-leaf dome, surrounded by Raphael’s masterful paintings and pure white wool carpets, the epitome of opulence.

A man of striking and fierce beauty sat on a genuine leather sofa, watching her intently. His shirt collar open, revealing well-defined, tanned muscles, he radiated the power of a predatory leopard.

“Come here,” he commanded, tapping on his marble table with his index finger.

Giselle remained stationary, eyeing the man warily, like a startled deer.

Noticing her shivering, Henry Jefferson chuckled dryly and turned up the thermostat.

“Too delicate. How have you survived these months on the run?”

“Do I need to physically bring you here?” he asked impatiently as she stood frozen.

Slowly, Giselle approached him, her throat tight, avoiding his gaze.

The tension in the air was palpable, ready to snap at any moment.

Giselle licked her dry lips, “I will not go back with you.”

Henry’s patience snapped; he grabbed her wrist, pulling her onto his lap, his large hand clasping her neck, the other tilting her chin up to force her to meet his eyes.

“Say that again.” His voice was laced with a threat.

“I won’t—”

Before she could complete her refusal, Henry tightened his grip, pinning her down on the sofa, his body pressing against hers.

The air conditioning blasted cold air, but Giselle’s ears and neck felt like they were on fire.

Henry’s gaze traced the delicate features of her face, his hand feeling the softness of her neck.

Unable to resist, he pecked at her lips, relishing the long-missed softness that brought him both relaxation and satisfaction.

He leaned in to kiss her, but Giselle desperately turned her head away; the kiss landed on her neck instead.

This action enraged Henry, and he forcefully captured her lips, leaving Giselle struggling for breath.

“Don’t do this... ,” Giselle, unable to free herself, resorted to stalling, “Let’s talk.”

“Talk?” Henry sneered, “About your next attempt to flee?”

“Giselle, why not discuss your grandmother’s illness? The medical bills are over a million; can you afford that?”

“You! You’ve been monitoring me!”

Her mother had died early, leaving her grandmother as her only family.

Her grandmother’s heart condition had worsened over the years, requiring expensive surgeries almost like buying extra time.

This time the situation was dire; she hadn’t yet gathered the funds for the upcoming surgery. If missing the optimal surgery time, even gods couldn’t save her.

“Marry me, and the medical bills will be paid immediately. I’ll arrange for you to move to the Upper East Side.”

“I don’t need it!”

Without a second thought, Giselle rejected him outright.

Rejected again, Henry suddenly calmed, sitting up to inquire, “What’s the success rate of the surgery?”

At a regular hospital, the success rate was a mere 10%.

Meaning, her grandmother was likely not to survive the surgery.

Giselle remained silent; Henry continued, “At the NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, the success rate is 90%.”

Giselle clenched her fists.

“I’ll arrange the top specialists and facilities,” Henry offered, dangling even more tempting conditions.

Giselle trembled slightly, her large doe eyes filled with despair.

Unfortunately for her, Henry’s hand began to wander restlessly along her side.

The calloused thumb grazed her soft skin, sending a shiver through her.

Without a reply from her, Henry lost patience, lifting her shirt slightly, his warm, dry hand moving upwards along her side.

Giselle’s body shook uncontrollably, although this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, she was still terrified, “Let me go, this is rape!”

Henry pinned her down, his lips on hers muffling her protests, his deep eyes full of possessive desire: “Then go ahead and sue me.”

A crafty smirk played at the corners of his lips, utterly unfazed by her threats.

As he unfastened the row of buttons down her back, his palm grazed sensitive spots, coaxing an involuntary moan from Giselle.

For Henry Jefferson, the sound was intoxicating. He was delighted with her body’s response, his actions becoming increasingly unrestrained.

“Scoundrel! Get off me!” Giselle fought back with hands and feet, but he held her down firmly.

Henry seized her flailing ankles, his grip easily encircling her delicate, pale wrists.

Lifting her legs onto his forearm, he cautioned, “Don’t move; I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t touch me! Get away, I don’t like you!”

Henry gazed down at Giselle, his expression unusually serene yet his actions brutal.

He tore open his shirt, sending buttons scattering in all directions.

Discarding the shirt, Henry pinned her down with an almost obsessive force, demanding, “Why don’t you like me?”

Learning of Giselle’s escape had driven him to fury. As the youngest mafia boss ever, countless women vied to be his bride. He could gift her the entirety of Sicily if he chose — yet she had fled?

His breaths were low and hurried, his kisses fervent as they landed on her. Her eyes turned red with anger. Overcome by irritation, she spitefully snapped at him: “You’re not big enough, and you’re terrible at it.”

Henry’s response was a laugh, his hand rubbing her lips vigorously, charmed by her defiance. He leaned close, whispering maliciously into her ear, “Don’t worry, a few more times, and you’ll be begging for more.”

“I don’t want this!”

Even now, Giselle couldn’t understand what Henry saw in her. She was just an ordinary girl, without wealth or status, bewildered by his fixation. From the moment he first saw her in university, he had pursued her incessantly.

Losing patience, Henry pinned down her struggling arms, taking her crossed wrists in one hand and wrapping his belt around them roughly.

The action left her wrists reddened.

“Tch.” Henry’s gaze darkened at the sight of the red marks, murmuring, “So delicate.”

He loosened the belt, his presence crushing her like a mountain. Giselle’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, and she fiercely resisted crying out, continuously cursing him as a jerk.

“Behave.” Henry’s lips sealed hers, stifling her cries.

Night enveloped Laroc Estate in silence.

Waking with a foggy mind and a body screaming in pain, Giselle struggled to sit up.

Henry’s brute strength seemed limitless, and after having exhausted her, he had no choice but to carry her to bathe.

The room was disturbingly quiet, illuminated only by a soft yellow desk lamp.

Months after escaping, she was caught again, back in this prison.

Giselle grabbed the clothes beside the bed, dressing quickly. Her legs weakened as she stood, but she bit back the pain and moved towards the door.

The door was slightly ajar. As she pushed it open, she collided with something solid.

Startled, Giselle froze.

Henry looked down at her, his eyes stormy with a threatening presence.

Without speaking, Giselle attempted to sidestep him.

“Dare to run under my watch, Giselle Lambert,” Henry enunciated her name, seizing her wrist and pulling her back into the room.

“Release me!”

Her voice was hoarse from the ordeal, her shouts strained.

“Release you?” Henry scoffed coldly. “The Sicilian mafia doesn’t do divorces. I’m taking you back to Sicily.”

“Why must you treat me this way…”

“Because you’re mine. Dare to escape again, and I will make sure you pay the price.”

His grip on Giselle was iron-tight, as if to bind her to him forever.

Giselle’s delicate skin reddened from the pain, and she raised her eyes to Henry, filled with revulsion and rejection.

“Henry Jefferson, I hate you.”

“I will never like you, nor will I ever marry you.”

“Never.”

A flicker of emotion crossed Henry’s eyes, but it was swiftly concealed.

The bedroom was deathly silent; suddenly, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a thunderous roar.

The rain began to pour heavily.

Henry’s hand trembled slightly as he forced Giselle against the wall, lifting her chin to make her face him.

“I don’t care. I will never let you leave me, even if it means tying you down. Understand?”

“Insane!” Giselle gritted her teeth in anger.

Knock, knock, knock—

“Mr. Jefferson, your porridge is ready,” nanny announced, standing at the doorway holding a tray.

“Bring it over.” Henry Jefferson pulled Giselle toward the sofa and firmly seated her on his lap.

Nanny set the porridge on a side table and placed two adhesive bandages next to it. “Mr. Jefferson, you really should tend to that earlier cut.”

Henry’s index finger throbbed painfully, reminiscent of ant bites.

He had accidentally sliced it while chopping vegetables earlier, distracted by thoughts of her potentially escaping.

He looked at the bandages and chuckled ruefully, knowing well that she would delight in his discomfort.

She despised him, after all.

The porridge was steaming hot. Henry scooped up a spoonful, cooled it with a gentle blow, and brought it to Giselle’s lips.

She defiantly turned her face away.

Henry set the bowl down, grasped her chin, and forcefully turned her face back to him.

His grip was strong, causing Giselle pain and forcing her to open her mouth, into which he fed the porridge.

He let go of her chin, picked up the bowl again, and cautioned, “Don’t force my hand further than necessary.”

After they finished the porridge, Henry led Giselle to the bathroom.

Giselle pushed him slightly, saying with unexpected politeness, “I prefer to wash up alone.”

Henry didn’t argue and let her enter.

Outside the bathroom, overlooking the front yard, Giselle eyed the slightly ajar window, a daring plan forming in her mind.

She turned on the shower, cranked up the water to its maximum, and placed a small stool beneath the window.

Balancing on the stool, she could just reach the window sill.

Nervous, Giselle’s hands slipped once, causing her to fall to the ground, her knees bruising to a blue and purple hue.

Fearful that the sound of her fall might be heard, her heart nearly burst with fright, but thankfully, the noise was drowned out by the pounding rain and the shower.

In the relentless downpour, it took Giselle over an hour to flag down a cab.

She hurried back to her rental, only to be greeted at the door by a group of stern-faced men in the hallway.

“Miss Lambert, you’re finally back,”

The leader, a man with a scar slicing across his face, said menacingly.

Giselle stopped dead, instinctively wanting to flee, but she couldn’t remember offending anyone.

Then it hit her—the loans!

Desperate for money to cover her grandmother’s surgeries, she had taken out several high-interest loans.

These men were here to collect the debt.

“Seize her!” commanded the scar-faced man.

Two men darted forward, capturing Giselle from both sides.