Claimed By The Mafia Don (Ariella and Asher) novel Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Asher stood still, frozen, as seconds ticked by before he turned towards me. He looked at me, and I could see the anger, the fury, the fire burning hot in his eyes, and it made me scared.

I took a step back, and that little movement seemed to be the thing that broke him from his trance because before I could blink an eye, he was already there-right there in front of m

As he looked at me, I tried avoiding eye contact. His gaze was too piercing, too intense, and it made me too scared, so I looked down.

But he gritted out angrily, commanding, “Look at me.”

I raised my head up, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

“Look. At. Me.” He gritted out each syllable, his voice sharp. Then, he asked me, “What did you say?”

I shook my head. I was afraid to speak out, afraid to repeat the words that had already left my mouth. Just moments ago, he had mocked the idea of me having a boyfriend, of being with someone else, of being married. And now, now he was acting so mad because I told him I had a son.

“Repeat what you fucking said!” he shouted, making me whimper.

“I said I have a son,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “He depends on me. I can’t leave him. I’m the only person-the only parent, the only guardian-he has. I can’t leave him. He is just a little boy, please….”

“You have a son?” He asked again as if he hadn’t heard me the last two times.

I nodded. “Yes.”

Before I could grasp what had happened, his fist flew and landed beside my head. On the wall, hard.

I screamed, closing my eyes tightly, and taking a step back, but I realized I had already reached the end of my road-I was already by the wall. Fear gripped me, suffocating. I thought he was going to punch me, that he was going to hit me. But no-his fist landed beside me instead.

I was so scared. Tears streamed down my face as I whimpered, my body trembling. Slowly, cautiously, I opened my eyes, afraid that any sudden movement would set him off.

He was still standing there, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in sharp, angry motions. Fury radiat from him, raw and unfiltered. It was clear as day.

I was terrified.

His eyes snapped shut for a moment as he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to rein himself in. That was when I noticed his hand-the one that had slammed into the wall. Bruises had already formed, and blood smeared his knuckles. But despite the injury, he kept flexing his fingers as if he felt nothing as if pain meant nothing to him.

It must have hurt.

A part of me-one I wished at this moment in time had died-wanted to reach out, take his hand, treat it, pamper it with kisses. But I knew better. Now was not the time. I knew he was trying to check his temper,

fighting a battle within himself.

So, I just stood there, shivering, waiting for what he would do next.

For what felt like hours, he remained silent before finally opening his eyes. But the fire in them hadn’t dimmed. He was still angry-angry and cold.

“So I was right all along,” he said, his voice laced with accusation.

I frowned, confusion clouding my mind. What did he mean?

Then, he laughed.

It wasn’t a laugh of joy. It wasn’t one of amusement. It was cold. Cruel.

But at least he took a step away from me.

Then he turned to look at me again, and his next words shattered me.

“My father was right. You are nothing but a lowly-rank whore.” His voice was sharp, filled with nothing but

contempt.

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