His Queen: A Dark Forbidden Mafia Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 5)
His Queen: Chapter 21

The first thing I feel as I drift awake is the chill wrapped around my legs like a snake squeezing the life from my limbs. A sharp pain slices through my skull, my mouth dry, and my tongue sticky. Everything hurts, from my fingers to my toes, my body heavy and weak.

I fist my hand and hear the crunch of leaves sounding like bones breaking in my palm, and my eyes snap open, staring across an open field, the grass tips gleaming under the moonlight.

There’s a second that I’m showered with relief because I’m no longer in that room, which means there’s new hope. Maybe I have a better chance of being saved now that I’m no longer locked up. But new surroundings mean new threats, and uncertainty turns to fear.

A gust of wind sweeps up, and I’m aware of the nightdress I’m wearing as the fabric blows up my legs. Tears prick my eyes when I realize I’m no longer naked. I’m covered, and it gives me an odd sense of protection, as if clothing could make me less vulnerable, instilling a new sense of strength in me.

But as I look around, that strength wanes, replaced by a growing sense of dread. There’s something unsettling about this place. Maybe it’s the way the wind seems to whisper warnings in my ear or how the moonlight casts haunting shadows across the field. There’s something disturbing, as if the peace is drifting through the air with silent deception.

I try to stand up but fail miserably; my legs are weighed down by what feels like lead weights fastened around them. Instead, I crawl toward an old tree nearby for support and manage to get myself on my feet, leaning against it while I catch my breath.

I squint into the darkness as my eyes take their time to adjust. Every shadow hints at movement. There’s no way to know whether it’s real or not. But when a figure emerges from the trees and into the open field, it’s clear it’s not just a shadow.

My heart races as I try to make out who it is, and I clench my fists as my palms begin to sweat. Is it one of Nunzio’s men? Is it Nunzio? Or is it someone coming to rescue me?

But as the person steps out onto the open field, I realize that it’s neither. I don’t recognize the man in front of me, dressed in a pair of Kalahari cargo pants and a matching shirt with buttons straining as it hugs his chest tight. His hair is closely cropped to his scalp, his eyes so blue the moon dances off its color. For a moment, I’m reminded of Nicoli’s sapphire irises I live to drown in. But the life in this man’s eyes is not the same. It’s dark and menacing, an air of danger surrounding him.

He approaches me with a confident swagger, his steps echoing in the silence of the night. My body tenses, and I back up more against the tree.

“Who are you?” My voice is weak and shaky, but I’ve become used to sounding that way.

He stops a few feet away from me, his lips curling into a smirk as his gaze rakes over my body as if he’s assessing what I’m worth. My nightdress no longer makes me feel less vulnerable, as it did a few moments ago. Instead, under his scrutiny, I feel like I’m not wearing anything at all.

“Nunzio has outdone himself this time,” the man says, his French accent thick and smooth like liquid poison. “You are…exquisite.”

His deep, resonant voice has the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My heart thuds faster in my chest, this man’s presence making my skin prickle with unease. Please, God, I won’t survive another monster. I won’t.

“Please, just let me go,” I plead, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

He chuckles darkly, taking a step closer to me, and I press my back hard against the tree bark. “I can’t do that,” he answers simply.

“I’m begging you. I just want to go home.”

My throat tightens, fear coursing through me like electric shockwaves. This man is not here to save me. His eyes hold the same evil desire as Nunzio’s—the same hunger and cruelty. This man is here to hurt me in ways that make me shiver with fear. My instincts are fiery hot as they go into overdrive, my gaze scanning the area, my ears hyperaware of every noise, and my breathing accelerates while I try to replace an escape.

I stoop and grasp a thick branch half-buried under dead leaves and dirt, the texture rough against my palms as I tighten my grip.

The man starts to laugh with amusement. “Nunzio said you’re a fighter.” Then he pulls out his knife, spinning and flipping it, showcasing his skill with unnerving ease. Moonlight dances off the blade, and I tense, settling my feet deeper into the ground. But I know deep down that I don’t stand a chance. I’m weak, scared, with nothing but a branch to defend myself.

“Come here, little one,” he taunts before launching at me with speed that seems almost unnatural.

I let out a primal scream as I swing, the branch whistling through the air. But he just stands there unperturbed, his mouth twisted in a sinister smirk, and chuckles darkly.

There’s no chance I’ll be able to fight him and win. So I do the next best thing. I run. With my heart pounding in my chest, I use every ounce of strength left within me to bolt in the opposite direction. Adrenaline propels me forward, but he’s faster than I am, his heavy footsteps closing in as I sprint as fast as I can, my legs burning with the effort.

Just when I think he’s about to grab me, my ankle twists painfully, and I stumble to the ground, getting a mouthful of dirt as I gasp. The man launches himself on top of me, knocking the wind out of my chest and crushing me with his weight. I’m scratching and clawing, kicking as hard as possible, ignoring the blazing pain throbbing in my ankle.

His hand clenches my wrist, and the other comes down hard across my face, a sharp pain searing my cheekbone. But it’s not enough to get me to stop fighting.

“You’re wasting your energy, little one. You won’t win,” he sneers, his breath hot on my face, eyes flashing with something dark and primal like he’s an animal about to rip into his prey.

I grimace, screaming, tears spilling down my face. He lodges his leg between my legs, and it feels like my stomach is torn open. His hand bunches the fabric of my nightdress up my side.

“Stop!” No, this can’t be happening. Not again. Please, not again.

His grip on me tightens, cutting off the air in my chest as I scream and fight against his hold. His hand moves over my left breast, and then he tugs the neckline of my nightdress down, exposing my nipple. I sob loudly between my screams, shaking my head wildly, tears blurring my vision while I’m desperately wrenching my body in an effort to get away from him.

Through the flailing and clawing, I manage to clasp my fingers around his wrist, the one holding the knife, and with all my might, with every ounce of strength I have in me, I attempt to push it away, trying to keep the blade from coming closer to my face, my throat.

A gunshot sounds in the distance, and my attacker’s attention shifts for only a split-second, and it’s all I need to grab the knife and yank it out of his hand. His eyes reflect his confusion, which morphs into horror when he realizes what’s about to happen.

I don’t hesitate. I don’t think it through. I act. And with a steady hand and quick motion, I cut the blade across his throat, and time slows as I watch a line of red quickly open, blood gushing from the wound. His jaw drops, and his hands fly up to his neck while a sickening wet gurgle emanates from his throat.

Blood floods down from him and onto me, the hot liquid seeping through my nightdress. My vision blurs as more blood sprays across my face, drenching me in its sticky warmth. The putrid metallic stench rushes up my nostrils, and I gasp for air—that’s when I taste the coppery tinge on my tongue, and with it comes a hard crack inside my head as locked memories burst free.