The Mafia’s Obsession

Growling, I unzip and my cock comes out. A moment later, I’m dragging her over to the window and yanking down her shorts, pressing her face against the clear plastic as I fuck her and spank her ass.

“Still fucking mine,” I rasp, holding her neck as I near my climax. “Always fucking mine, collar or not.”

My orgasm explodes through me and I clutch her, groaning in her ear.

***

Ayla

With about an hour to go before we land at the Bover City airport, Alessio finally removes the plug. Other than the cum slowly leaking into my underwear, that’s the last physical reminder of his dominance over me. His ownership.

My head is still reeling from the last couple of days. I can barely process how exhilarating that entire experience was, how freeing itwas to completely let go like that. When Alessio caught me the second time, thatwas true surrender.

And I loved it.

It’s hard to describe. But somehow, in being restrained by him, I felt safe. Cared for. Important. Maybe it’s the sheer amount of attention he showed, the effort he put into finding me, catching me, usingme once I was caught. But right now, I don’t feel like a pawn in the chess game of Mafia politics.

I feel like his wife.

I feel like someone Alessio dotes on, and creates special experiences for her birthday. How much did renting that island cost, much less on short notice? The food stations? The private jet? Not just the expense, but the effort. He set all of this up, did all that thinking, all that planning, and for what?Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

To make me happy.

And it did.

So why do I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop?

Ayla

Three days later

Being back in Bover City is a harsh return to reality. On that island, everything melted away. But now that I’m back in the real world, I have no choice but to take an honest look at my circumstances.

I’m barreling headfirst into this thing, even though I know I shouldn’t.

I wasn’t supposed to have feelings for my husband.

He doesn’t have them for me. I might want to tell myself that, but I know it would be a lie. He likes fucking me. He likes mesubmitting to him. He likes that our marriage has allowed him to take over my father’s crime family.

But I’d be kidding myself if I thought it was more than that. Wouldn’t I? He’s said as much himself. And now I’ve got all the memories of this amazing birthday trip, and all the emotions within that, and they’re fucking with me. I have to keep reminding myself that it isn’t real.

I grew up with Mafia men. I know how they think and how they operate. And because of that, I know exactly what their wives are to them:

Babymakers. Vehicles to secure their legacy. A means to an end.

Not lovers. Not partners.

That amazing trip to Mexico my dad took us on when I was 12, the one I still think about? That was my mom’s consolation prize after she caught him renting a hotel room with a cocktail waitress from his nightclub. She let it slip a few years later, after her seventh glass of wine. It was one of the few unguarded moments where she allowed me to see her as something other than the devoted mob wife, and that peak behind the mask has stayed with me ever since.

Could my situation really be different?

I sit in my car in Alessio’s driveway, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I’ve spent my whole life not wanting to become my mother. Not wanting a life like hers, not wanting a marriage like hers. And yet with every choice I make, the worry grows that I’m on a path that leads to the exact same place.

It’s driving me crazy.

Am I ignoring all the obvious signs? Am I a fool because I’m falling for him? Or am I just worrying myself out of happiness because my own personal baggage won’t let me feel safe?

I brush the hair out of my face and put my car in reverse.

***

It’swith some trepidation that I knock on the door of the house I grew up in. I don’t fully know what I’m expecting. But ever since Alessio and I got back from the island, a part of me has felt lost.

“Ayla,” says my mother, her eyes widening as she opens the door. “Come here.”

She pulls me into a deep hug.

“Hey, mom.”

She breaks the embrace. “Well, well, come on in. I’ll make tea.”

I follow her, a wave of nostalgia hitting me as I walk through the house. It looks just like it did before.

It still feels like home.

“You never responded to my text messages,” she chides me, putting the kettle on.

Yup. Just like before.

“I had you and dad blocked,” I admit.

“Oh.” My mom looks hurt as she fiddles with the kettle, not looking at me. “I guess I can understand. With everything that happened.”

We’re silent as the water boils. Finally, she pours two mugs and we move to the dining room table.

“You know that your father is in jail?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Have you been to visit him?”

I shake my head.

“You should, you know.”

“You even think he would want to see me?”

She shrugs, a hint of annoyance in her expression. “Probably not, after the way you treated him.”

“So why did you just tell me to visit?”

“It’s what a good daughter would do.”

I put my mug down a little too hard. “Well, sorry. I’m done being the good daughter.”

“Yes, I think that’s very clear.”

Anger spills out of me. Does she always have to have this smug, perfect answer for everything? “Mom, what the hell was I supposed to do? First you forced me to marry this guy I didn’t want to be with, then you canceled my college education and ruined my life plans, and then you told me that actually, psych! Now I’m not marrying him! Did you ever consider that maybe, justmaybe, I wanted to make some decisions about my own future, rather than riding this fucking bullshit rollercoaster of Mafia politics?”

My mother looks slightly cowed, and she doesn’t make eye contact. “I am sorry about the whiplash. Things got… sticky at the end.”

My jaw drops. “Things got sticky? You made a stupid decision to have me marry him, and then you made a stupid decision to kill him instead. That’s not sticky, that’s psychopathic. You’re supposed to protect your family, not use them as pawns!”

Instantly, her expression changes back to anger. “Don’t you dare talk about things you don’t understand. You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to protect our family. And we always planned for you to marry Alessio.”

“Well, you got what you wanted,” I tell her bitterly. “I’m married to him. Only he’s the boss of the family now, not dad. Which means you don’t get a say in my future anymore.”

“Then congratulations,” she snaps. “You got what you wanted, too.”

“This isn’t what I fucking wanted!” I yell, almost knocking over my tea. “I wanted to go to college. To be normal, not married to a fucking gangster at 20 years old!”

The slightest hint of guilt flashes across my mother’s face, but she chooses defensiveness. “I never even saw why you wanted to go to college. It’s not like you’ll ever have to work.”

“I don’t care if you understand it! It was what I wanted for my life, and you took it away from me. I can’t believe you would do that to your daughter.”

“So go get it back,” says my mom, shrugging. “If your new husband is so powerful. Like you said, your father and I don’t get a say.”

***

When Alessio gets home that evening, the first thing I notice are the bruises on his knuckles.

“What happened?” I ask, wincing. I remember my father coming home like that. “Are you okay?

“Fine,” he grunts. “Stopped at a boxing gym today, hit the heavy bag for a while.”

I raise my eyebrows. “No gloves? No hand wraps?”

“Okay, you got me. You want all the gory details, then?”

“I wasn’t trying to pry. Are we in danger?”

He gets an ice pack from the freezer and presses his hand against it. “No.”

It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk, and I get it. But I wish he would let me in. He plops down on the couch. I sit next to him. “You can talk to me, you know. If you ever want to.”

Alessio looks uncomfortable. “Thanks. Noted.”

“You really just keep it all inside, don’t you?”

He shrugs, not looking at me. “Safer that way.”

Safer for me? Or for you?

I decide to change the subject. “I visited my mom today.”

He looks surprised. “Oh? How was that?”

“Fine, I guess. She didn’t start screaming at me the moment I came in the door like I thought she might.”

“Did she say anything about your dad?”

It would be easy to assume that his question was out of interest in my life, but I know better. Any inside information about my father’s circumstances could be helpful to him. The biggest threatto his leadership is whatever power Anthony Gonzalez may or may not be wielding from his jail cell.

I shake my head. “No.”

The distance between us is killing me. I felt so close to him before, when we were exploring our sexual dynamic. But outside the bedroom, it’s like there’s a pane of glass between us. Like he’s playing defense, preventing himself from getting too attached.

“Stand up.”

My body reacts immediately to his tone. He’s using what I call his “dom” voice-it’s low and gravelly, with just enough edge to let me know his words are a command. I’ve become accustomed to it lately, and I obey him instinctively, standing up from the couch.

Alessio watches me with lidded eyes, looking satisfied for the first time since he walked in the door. He doesn’t get up immediately, staying in his seat and watching me as I stand in front of him. I know better than to move, even though I feel awkward and vulnerable.

That would earn me a spanking, at minimum.

“Okay, let’s get your collar,” says my husband, standing up. He walks behind me and puts his hands on my upper arms, gripping them as he guides me forcefully to the bedroom.

I submit to his lead, my mind slipping into a familiar state of blissful surrender. There’s no confusion here, no uncertainty. Just a very clear directive to obey. When Alessio dominates me, when hecollarsme, I know exactly who I am and what my place is. It’s so easy to lose myself in that.

“Down,” he orders, pushing me to my knees next to the bed. He retrieves the collar from the nightstand, and goosebumps prickle down my back as he fastens it around my neck.

“There, that’s better,” he whispers, stroking my face. I gulp as he clips on the leash. “Okay, follow me.”

I try to stand up, but he stops me, a smirk on his face.

“No, you crawl.”

Cheeksburning, I try to stand up again, but he forces me back down and gives my ass a hard smack.

“If I have to tell you again, you’re going to be crawling with a sore ass and the plug inside you.”

A defiant growl wells up in my throat, but I force it back down.

“Good girl,” Alessio praises me. “I saw you surrendering to me there. Keep being good and you’ll get a reward for that.”

I have to swallow my pride as he walks me to the living room, keeping me on a short leash and spanking my ass if I slow down too much. He keeps me at his feet as he pours himself a whiskey, then sits down on the couch, having me kneel in front of him.

I feel like his little pet as he pulls out his phone and starts reading something on it, sipping the whiskey and holding my leash.

“Good girl,” he whispers, sending tingles through my scalp as he strokes my hair. “Very good girl.”

Wow, that feels so good. I sigh, starting to lose myself as warm fuzziness overtakes me.

But eventually, even his stroking fingers can’t stop the real world from intruding into my thoughts.

“Can you help me with something?” I mumble.

His face is so much softer now when he looks at me. It’s as though having me on a leash is bringing him a great sense of ease. “Maybe. What?”

“I told you that my dad got my acceptance to Bover City University canceled, right?”

A grimace. “Yeah, you told me.”

“You think you could get me back in?”

He frowns, but in athinkingway, not in this-isn’t-going-to-workway. He cups my chin as I look up at him. “Yeah, it could be possible.”

“Will you help? For me?”

Alessio pauses, looking down at me, and I’m worried he’s going to refuse. But then he smiles, and his fingers return to stroking my hair. “Sure, Ave. I’ll ask Sal to do some digging tomorrow, find out what leverage your dad pulled at BCU to fuck you over. Figure out whose toes we need to step on.”

“Thanks so much, Alessio!” I try to stand up, to give him a big kiss on the cheek, but he uses the leash to keep me in place. I settle for resting my head on his lap while he continues to stroke me.