In His Grasp: A Mafia Romance novel Chapter 1

Chapter 1 The First Meeting, He Wanted to Kill Her

Isabella Gould, just off a tiring workday, was hurrying to her stepfather's house.

In a bid to save time, Isabella took a shortcut through an alley she didn't know well, a decision that would soon haunt her. The time was about 6:30 PM, and the streets of Chicago had an eerie, unsettling quiet about them. The alley was poorly lit, damp, and gave off a vibe that made Isabella's skin crawl – she felt like she was being watched from the moment she stepped in.

Suddenly, 'bang, bang', two shots rang out, shattering the night. Isabella's instincts screamed at her to run, but before she could even process the thought, she felt a hot, hard presence against her temple.

"Take the bullet out of my arm," a deep, male voice demanded, the gun's barrel pressed mercilessly against her temple. The man's scent, a heavy mix of blood and the warmth of his body, enveloped her, his presence overpowering, almost suffocating.

Isabella, trembling and not wanting to escalate the situation, stuttered in response, "Sir... I... I don't know how to-"

"Don't play dumb! You smell of antiseptic, you're obviously from a hospital," he growled, his voice rough and strained, his breathing labored. With a forceful motion, he pushed a Swiss army knife into her cold, trembling hands. It was clear – refusal wasn't an option; it was either do as told or face potentially deadly consequences.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Isabella, a medical student who had just started her internship, figured that this man had been observing her since she left the hospital. In a city like Chicago, such brazen use of a gun could only mean one thing – mafia. And though Isabella had always loathed the very idea of the mafia, at that moment, her priority was survival. Nodding, she cautiously used the knife to pry open the man's wound and remove the bullet.

Under normal circumstances, such a procedure would require proper lighting and anesthesia, but there, in the dimly lit alley, with a man whose intentions were unknown, Isabella had to rely on her basic medical training and sheer nerve. Fortunately, the bullet hadn't hit an artery. Working with trembling hands and sweat beading her forehead, she could only hope the man wouldn't lose his cool from the pain and accidentally shoot her.

As she worked, the blood flowed freely, but the man bore it with only grunts, keeping the gun steadily trained on her forehead. Isabella, despite the dire situation, couldn't help but marvel at his endurance. The bullet, finally removed, fell to the ground with a soft clink.

His strength waning, Isabella found herself instinctively supporting him. "Sir, you need to be bandaged. I have some supplies in my bag," she offered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fortunately, Isabella, perhaps due to professional habit, had some first aid items in her backpack. Regardless of who the man was, or his connections to the mafia, her training as a future doctor kicked in – she was compelled to offer aid.

A flicker of something – surprise, perhaps – crossed the man's eyes. He gestured with his gun, a silent order for her to continue.

Isabella worked quickly and efficiently, disinfecting the wound, stitching it up, and finally wrapping it in a bandage. "Done," she announced, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

But as she finished, the cold barrel of the gun was once again pressed against her forehead. "Ah... sir..." Isabella's face turned deathly pale, her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief.

"No one can know about this, especially you," the man stated coldly, his finger slowly tightening on the trigger. There was no trace of gratitude in his eyes, only a ruthless intent to keep his secret safe.

Isabella's mind raced with despair, her throat constricted with fear, making it hard for her to even breathe, let alone scream for help. She desperately needed to escape, but the deserted streets around her offered no solace, no hint of a safe haven.

Then, her eyes caught sight of something that sent a fresh wave of horror through her – a body lying motionless in a nearby shadow, blood pooling ominously around it. He was dead, undoubtedly killed by the man before her.

This realization wrapped Isabella in a cloak of despair. She could almost feel the lingering warmth emanating from the corpse, a stark reminder of the fragility of life.

And now, was she about to meet the same fate?

Just at that moment, the man's phone rang, cutting through the tense silence of the alley. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before pressing the gun harder against her throat, sliding it suggestively down her neck and resting it on her heaving chest. Only then did Isabella realize that her white shirt, damp with sweat, clung tightly to her body, outlining her figure in a way that felt both vulnerable and provocative.

As the phone's ringtone echoed in the silent alley, like a macabre soundtrack to her predicament, the man glanced around and took out his phone. The screen displayed a call from "Father."

"Alright, I'm on my way back," he spoke briefly, his voice a mix of resignation and urgency, before ending the call and turning his attention back to the pale-faced, terrified girl before him.

In the dim light of the alley, Isabella's soft features, her doe-like eyes now shadowed by the specter of death, appeared all the more fragile, like a porcelain doll on the brink of shattering.

He glanced at his injured arm and then, with a cold, almost clinical detachment, tapped her cheek with the gun barrel. "You're lucky there's a celebration today," he said, his tone devoid of any warmth.

Ten minutes after the man had left, Isabella slowly regained her composure, although tears continued to stream uncontrollably down her face, her legs giving way beneath her, her entire being shaking with a mixture of relief and residual terror.

She had encountered a devil today – a real-life devil, a member of the mafia, bold and ruthless enough to commit murder in the streets without a second thought, trampling the very notion of law and justice underfoot.