Ruthless Mafia Innocent Love

“Girl, have you completely lost your mind? Do you even realize what you’ve done?” Priyank’s voice crackled with agitation as he approached her, his eyes fixated on the smeared cake now decorating Priya’s thighs.

“It was still packaged! And who in their right mind wastes food anyway? You know how many people are struggling with hunger,” Priya attempted to reason, her voice tinged with frustration and disbelief.

He was in the wrong here.

She couldn’t tell if he had discarded the cake himself or if someone else had, but the wastefulness of it all weighed heavily on her conscience.

Whoever was responsible, was out of sight for now. What mattered was that she hadn’t wasted it, she had eaten it. Yet, here he was, angry at her.

“Are you starving?” Priyank’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he seized Priya by the throat, his frustration boiling over.

He had reached his limit with her, with her idealistic notions of food wastage and hunger.

To him, it was all just cliché, irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. He was a Mafia, after all, his hands stained with the blood of countless others. A simple cake meant nothing in comparison.

He kills people, so this is the least of his care for those who are dying of hunger.

But to Priya, it meant everything. She could feel the weight of his fingers pressing into her throat, panic rising within her.

“What are you doing?” Her voice trembled with fear as he shoved her backwards, her body colliding with the sofa, his grip tightening around her neck.

His eyes bore into hers, filled with a menacing intensity. “I asked you a question. Answer me,” he demanded, his words punctuated by the assertion of dominance.

“I’m not starving. Wasn’t this cake meant for me? I ordered it before,” Priya stammered, her body breaking out into a cold sweat, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Did anyone give it to you? No, right? So how can you claim it’s for you?” Priyank questioned.

Of course, the cake was meant for her, but that was before it got thrown into the trash. It’s ridiculous to even consider retrieving it from there.

His eyes scrutinized her bandaged feet, noticing they were slightly red, indicating she had just walked out of the office.

He wasn’t sure how far she had gone or if she had just retrieved the cake and returned. It was questionable, since she didn’t even know about the cake or its disposal.

“Where were you going with those injured feet? Didn’t I tell you to rest? How do you think you can just walk around?” Priyank’s eyes flashed with anger, though his voice remained eerily calm compared to before, carrying a more menacing tone.

“I was bored, so I left the office, but I didn’t go any further. When I saw the cake in the trash, I decided to retrieve it,” Priya explained tearfully, struggling to catch her breath.

Feeling suffocated, she lost her composure, focusing solely on trying to breathe.

“So you’re a beggar now? Is it because you’re an orphan, so you’re used to picking up random things? And who gave you the right to walk around as you please?”

Priya felt wounded. Though she often brushed off many things and didn’t understand others, being called an orphan struck a deep chord within her.

She had a family, even if they weren’t blood-related, and being labeled a beggar solely because of her orphan status cut deep.

“Don’t call me that,” Priya’s voice trembled with pain. “I’m not a beggar, and even if I were, I wouldn’t ask anything from you.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what homeless people or people without a home do?” Priyank’s words cut through the air like a knife. “And about you asking me anything, it’s not something you’re worth, you’re here because I want you, not the other way around.”

His thumb pressed against the center of Priya’s throat, sending shivers down her spine.

“Remove your hands from my throat, you’re going to kill me,” she pleaded, fearfully, lacing her words.

“What if I want to kill you ?” Priyank’s voice dripped with malice. “You’re an orphan and a beggar too, who cares if you die? Nobody even cared when you were kidnapped, did they?”

“I am not a beggar,” Priya’s voice cracked as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I have my own home, the orphanage.”

“That’s just a hypothetical situation, sweetheart,” Priyank remarked. “Legally, you’re 18, so they should be throwing you out, but it seems like everyone needs a clown around, so you’ve survived.”

His words cut deep, delivered with a callousness that seemed to satisfy him. He didn’t care about the toxicity of his remarks; he simply did as he pleased, using them to assert his dominance over her.

“Why do you even care? I’m not a clown. You’re the clown here, living a joke of a life. You’re sick, you’re not even human,” Priya retorted, her voice filled with anguish.

She trembled with a mixture of fear and rage, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

“Is that so?” Priyank’s eyes narrowed as he withdrew his hand from her throat.

Priya breathed a sigh of relief and placed a hand over her chest, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat.

Feeling sick and nauseous, a combination of fear and anger coursing through her veins.

“Yes, you are bad,” Priya trembled, her voice faltering.

She had never intentionally hurt anyone, not even a fly. Despite her inner turmoil, she resisted the urge to lash out with harsh words; it wasn’t how she was raised.

‘Bad people get their karma, sooner or later,’ Priya thought to herself.

In her eyes, she felt he was worse and would face consequences for hurting her. She didn’t want to be a part of that retribution.

“You know what, Priya?” Priyank’s tone was sinister. “You get bored, right? So how about we do what clowns do? Since you think I’m a clown, and I believe you’re the real clown here, how about we play a little game to decide?”

“I don’t want to play anything,” Priya refused.

“I’m not asking, I’m suggesting, sweetheart,” Priyank asserted. “And when I suggest something, that means we’re doing it.”

Priya looked at him, her breathing returning to normal, though tears still streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t understand his obsession with coming up with random activities, and she didn’t see why she had to be a part of it.

Who just randomly suggests playing games like this?Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“We’re not athletes. I don’t enjoy playing games.”