Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

Arabella winced as she awoke, the discomfort piercing through her. Shifting position, a groan escaped her lips as pain flared with the slightest movement. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks before she snapped her eyes open.

Realizing she lay on her stomach, she furrowed her brows once her vision cleared, and, despite the pounding in her head, she sat up on the bed.

“Shit!” she gasped softly, using a pillow to brace herself as she leaned toward the edge of the bed and shut her eyes. After a moment, she opened them again, her gaze wandering around the expansive room decorated entirely in white.

She didn’t need to think twice to identify the infirmary; the scent of bleach and antiseptic that wafted into her nostrils was unmistakable. She gagged slightly and glared at the IV line connected to her vein as memories of what had happened flooded back.

A wave of anger surged within her as she thought about the person responsible. He must be some sort of monster. The lack of remorse he displayed as he relentlessly hit her until she blacked out was horrifying. He hadn’t shown any restraint, and she was convinced he had taken pleasure in his actions. That bastard!

“I see you’re awake,” a voice mumbled, jolting Arabella. She turned to her side, noticing a man with russet hair standing by the doorway. He was lanky, his hands tucked into the pockets of his white lab coat. As he stepped into the room, he tilted his brows and shook his head.

“W-who are you?” Arabella stuttered, her gaze still fixed on him. Perhaps he was here on Alessandro’s orders to eliminate her? Her mind raced, grappling with his presence in the room and wondering if he was the one who had treated her injuries.

“I mean no harm,” he grinned, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture. “There’s no need to be scared.”

“Why should I believe you?” Arabella croaked, clearing her throat with a wince as it throbbed with pain. Observing him closely, she noted a mole just under his right eye, an imperfection that oddly enhanced his attractiveness rather than detracting from it.

He rolled his dark eyes and chuckled. “If I had wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up.”

Arabella’s glare remained fixed, not entirely comforted by his words, but the initial fear began to recede. She recognized that if he had indeed wanted to end her life, he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of treating her injuries while she was unconscious.

“Are you done checking me out?” he asked abruptly, snapping her back to the present.

“I wasn’t checking you out,” Arabella scowled.

“If you say so,” he grinned playfully. “Anyway, I’m Doctor Francis. And you are?”

“Arabella.”

“Ah, a lovely name,” he commented before adopting a more serious tone. “I see you’re recovering well, but I advise you to take it easy and not make any impulsive decisions.”

Arabella nodded. “I’m curious, though. How did I end up here, and who dressed me in this… flowery hospital gown?” She gestured to her attire. “I know he wouldn’t bother with such details. He doesn’t care.”This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

The identity of the ‘he’ was obvious, and Francis didn’t need any clarification. He understood she was talking about Alessandro, and while he knew quite a bit about him, he believed it wasn’t his place to reveal that information to Arabella.

Smiling apologetically, Francis said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have that information. Janice changed your clothes, and someone brought you here…”

“I did.”

Arabella’s eyes widened at the gruff voice, her attention drawn to the doorway where Blaze stood.

“B-Blaze?”

“You two know each other?” Francis interjected, his gaze shifting between Blaze’s stoic expression and Arabella’s surprised one.

As Blaze stepped closer to the bedside and Francis moved towards the door, he said, “I’ll give you some privacy. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

With a wave, Francis exited the room, leaving Arabella alone with Blaze.

“What are you doing here?” Arabella asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Blaze grunted, running a hand through his hair as his gaze held a mixture of irritation and something she couldn’t quite decipher. “I should be asking you the same.”

“Why are you glaring at me?”

“Why the hell did you defy him?!” Blaze’s voice was gruff and mixed with frustration.

Startled by his sudden outburst, Arabella couldn’t help but scoff. “That’s utterly unbelievable. Are you my father to interrogate me like this? And why on earth are you stalking me?”

“I am not stalking you!” Blaze retorted, rising from his seat and pacing from the door to the center of the room.

“Why did you have to disobey his order? You should have damn well followed his instructions.”

“What does my choice have to do with you?” Arabella rolled her eyes. She was perplexed by his anger and didn’t believe he had any place to caution her.

“Alessandro is a dangerous man, and you shouldn’t be tempting him…”

“I’ll say it again: what does that have to do with you? And why the hell are you even here?!”

Blaze’s gaze remained fixed on her. He shook his head and clenched his teeth. She was stubborn, the first woman he had ever met who displayed such defiance. It was worrying; this kind of behavior could get her killed. And he wasn’t about to let that happen. He couldn’t.

“Because I am a part of the gang, and I understand how ruthless…”

“You’re a part of the gang?!” Arabella interrupted him, her eyes widening as she caught the hesitation on his face.

“Yes.” He rasped, pointing to a tattoo on the back of his arm. “This is the De Luca family symbol.”

Arabella had seen the same symbol on Sandro’s neck and even on her father’s arm. It depicted a tiger and three dots arranged in triangles. She wasn’t aware of its meaning, nor did she have the desire to find out.

Taking a shaky breath, Arabella murmured, “Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?”

She scrutinized Blaze once more and recoiled as he took a step closer. Appearances could be deceiving. When she had first laid eyes on him, she had assumed he projected a bad-boy image for amusement, never suspecting he was an actual gangster-a damn gangster in Alessandro’s family.

Blaze came to a sudden halt, observing the fear in her eyes. He furrowed his brow and tilted his head, “Are you frightened of me?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Arabella retorted, her voice laced with skepticism. “For all I know, you could be here on orders to separate my head from my body, courtesy of your almighty boss.”

Blaze rolled his eyes, managing a grin despite the seriousness of the situation.

“I had no idea you were involved in all this. I probably should have heeded my boss’s advice; she tends to be right. It seems everyone in this town harbors some kind of secret.” Arabella said, recalling Claire’s warning word.

“Perhaps these secrets exist for a reason,” Blaze mumbled as he returned to the chair and settled into it.

Before he could stop himself, he clasped her hands, feeling a surge of electricity shoot through him. He reveled in the warmth that swept over him her intoxicating scent, her eyes, her lips and most importantly, how she looked at him. It was absurd; he shouldn’t be feeling anything, but he couldn’t help it. His stomach fluttered, and he grimaced at his reaction.

Arabella glanced at her hand, then at Blaze as he gently traced her palm. Her cheeks flushed, and she attempted to withdraw her hands, but his grip was firm.

“Blaze?”

“Oh, my apologies!” He quickly released her hand and stood, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m just relieved you’re alright.”

“You needn’t worry; we’re not friends,” Arabella blurted out, wincing as the words came across harsher than she intended. “I mean, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You’re correct, we aren’t friends, and I shouldn’t be concerned about your well-being,” Blaze replied, striding to the door and out of the room.

“Look who’s awake,” Sandro’s voice interrupted as he entered the room.

Arabella winced at Sandro’s presence. “What do you want, Sandro? Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?”

She flinched as he approached her, his finger lightly tracing her cheek as he leaned in. “My dear Bella, so defiant yet so captivating,” Sandro murmured, his grip tightening on her neck. “I did warn you not to raise your voice or talk back to me.”

“S-Sandro!” Arabella choked out, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Consider yourself lucky that I’m in a better mood today,” Sandro remarked coldly. He pushed her onto the bed and grabbed a wipe from a box on the nearby table. After cleaning his hand, he discarded the wipe onto her bed.

Arabella bit her lip as she watched him. He was undeniably a monster. How could anyone find pleasure in torturing another human being? It was beyond understanding.

“Why don’t you recover quickly? I have an overload of experiences I’d like to introduce you to,” he said, his grin widening.

“I’d prefer death over complying with your wishes,” Arabella retorted defiantly.

“Did you say something?” Sandro cocked his head to the side.

Arabella shook her head, her heart pounding.

“Odd. I thought I caught a mention of death,” Sandro continued, approaching her.

He leaned in, gripping a handful of her hair. His breath brushed against her neck, and he whispered into her ear, “You should understand that death thrills me. Your father should have taught you that, and I am utterly merciless.”

Arabella gasped for air as soon as he released her hair. Trembling, she blinked back tears, her father’s image flooding her mind.

“Have you no compassion at all? How can you be so heartless?”

“Your tears hold no significance for me. The sooner you realize that, the better for you.”

Arabella angrily wiped at the tears on her cheeks, but they continued to flow, unstoppable.

“I despise you, Alessandro. I detest your very existence.”

“You should understand that I share the sentiment, Tesoro. Do you expect me to have affection for the daughter of my enemy?”

“You are too cruel to be human!”

“Indeed. Because, my dear, I am a damn monster.” Sandro chuckled darkly, his eyes blackening with intensity.