His Mafia Princess

Kayla Santino.

(Trigger warning: mention of rp and abuse)

I carefully adjust the blonde wig in my car's mirror to make sure everything is in position.

I want this mission to go as accurately as possible. My green lens goes well with the wig, and with the heavy make-up added to my face, I look completely different.

He won't recognize me. I painted my lips a deep red to add to my made-up look, and no doubt it's eye-catching.

My red little dress is long enough to cover the holster holding my gun and my switchblade knives securely.

The cold night air hits me with force, making goosebumps appear on my soft skin as I exit the comfort of my car.

Adjusting my black long coat, I make my way to 'Moreno's Den', a club known for VIPs from the mafia and other famous business moguls.

It's no place for the less fortunate, perfect for doing dirty because no one gives a f*ck.

I majestically step into the club with slow, calculated steps, making sure to add a sway to my hips as I examine the environment.

My heels click noisily on the floor, but the sound is absorbed by the loud music blaring through the speakers, making this place more suitable for what I am here to do tonight.

I ignore the eyes trailing after me because tonight, only one person will be honored to have my company.

And according to my informant, he's probably already here or yet to arrive. Today it's just him, and I have all the time in the world to wait for that particular someone.

Travis fckng Santiago.

I ease myself onto the high bar stool and order a whiskey, keeping my eyes on the entrance so as not to lose my target, who is yet to arrive.

I don't want to miss out on him whatsoever.

I swirl the brown liquid on my tongue, loving how it burns my taste buds and down to my throat.

To think this liquid could save me, I was highly mistaken because it did nothing but give me horrendous hangovers and headaches every morning.

Yet, the horrible feelings still came back doubled. I hope tonight will make me feel better.

I'm here to feel better.

In our world, we live by the notion of killing or being killed. It's a matter of survival to the fittest, and being my father's only daughter am not an exception.

It's a world they don't give a f*ck if you are a woman or a child provided their twisted starvation is satisfied.

6 months ago, a man named Grayson Scott, my father's rival, kidnapped me to get back at him.

I mark his words, ' The best way to hurt someone is by hurting the person closer to their heart.' To my father, I am his only family, and he doesn't neglect to show how much I am closer to his heart.

The man, Grayson, also an American mafia boss, wanted an alliance with my father, but he rejected his offer because the man is pure evil.

He does every kind of sick sh*t. From trafficking women and forcing them into prostitution also raping them is no big deal to him.

My dad didn't want that kind of business because he only specializes in guns and drugs.

So the old fckr started stealing my dad's shipments, and when he retaliated, he got mad and kidnapped me, tortured me, and had his men take rounds at me, after taking my innocence himself.

Just so to hurt my dad, and I can attest he did. But he hurt me more than one can ever imagine.

I was hopelessly tied to a metal chair in a wet, cold cell, crying and begging while they had their fun. It was the hardest two weeks of my life.

I thought I could die, and at that time, I begged them to kill me, but they laughed at my tears instead.

They kept me hungry for days; that cell was awful. It still makes my skin crawl when I think about it. It smelled of dried blood, and it was foul.

Anytime I tried sleeping, they would wake me up with d*mn cold water. My body was buttered and weak.

Did they care? No

Instead, it amused them. I would watch them take photos and videos every time they abused me. Do you know what they did with them? They sent them to my father.

Sick fuckers.

After they had had enough of my body, they decided to get rid of me by selling me. Yes, they're that twisted.

By good luck, I was rescued by my future husband, whom I haven't met yet.

I was exhausted and passed out, so when I woke up in the hospital bed, I was told he was the one who saved me, a story for another day.

I have been to therapy after therapy, but none of it worked.

I spend most of my time training to keep my mind off things but to no avail.

Every time I close my eyes, I see them ripping my clothes, and I hear their obnoxious laughter in my head.

Fckng maniacs.

I turned to sleep pills, but they make it worse because they still haunt my dreams. I always wake up screaming with a sweaty body and severe headaches.

They fckd me up.

Everything just didn't work out. F*ck, I almost did drugs and contemplated suicide but my dad was always around to stop it.

I fckng hated anything male, they made my body irk, and I always kept my distance.

Words can't explain the trauma and depression I suffered.

My father and his boys were ready to rip them apart, but I told him no.

I only believe that unless I see them beg me to stop until I hear them howling in pain, to look in my eyes and tell me sorry, until I see their tears and watch them suffer, I will never be good again.

Taking them to hell one by one is the only cure I have to be sane again. I want them to taste the venom they created.

Only then, my life will be back to normal. Even though I will never get back what I lost.

I have spent the last 3 months learning everything about them. From their families to their mistresses.

I learned their schedules and every single detail of their pathetic lives. I know where their warehouses are located, their mansions, and the clubs they attend, and when they do attend.

The three fuckers who are much older to be my dads think they got their victory because nothing has happened to them so far. Too bad it is always calm before the storm.

And today will be stormy for Travis Santiago,40 years old. 3rd in command to Grayson Scott, never married, no kids. Lives alone in a penthouse in LA.

The fckr loves anything in a skirt; he has multiple sexual relations that I can't even count.

Of course, he's into younger women. My advantage is that it makes him an easy target.

That brings us here. To taste the sweetness of revenge and hopefully my cure.

Twisted? I don't give a f*ck.

They messed me up, and I am going to return the favor by messing them up too.

Speaking of the devil, he walks in accompanied by his guards, who sadly won't save his *ss tonight. I fix my cleavage to make it more noticeable.

The sucker will undoubtedly fall.

He comes towards the bar, and I pretend I wasn't even aware he's here. Time to test my acting skills.

I take a slow sip from my glass and revel in its taste. The good thing is that I'm not a lightweight, and I cut my alcohol intake three months ago.

It's just that I have to blend in this place, and I will look out of place taking water in a fckng club.

I feel his presence beside me and his eyes on my ample cleavage. Bingo.

"Hey, beautiful," the familiar voice announces. I can tell that voice from anywhere because I spent two weeks of my life hearing it.

Begging in my mind not to hear it again, but I heard it over and over anyway.

"Hey there," I act interested

"Do you mind if I sit here?" No, I need you closer and not in front of all these people.

" Not at all, help yourself," I take another sip, giving him a side glance. He motions for his guards to get away, and I secretly smirk.

First mistake.

He sits on the chair next to mine, scooting so fckng closer, he's repelling, but I give him what looks like a charming smile regardless.

I had to rehearse this smile for 10 minutes before I left my house, and from the looks of it, I got it right. He slyly smiles at me, and I feel like puking

" So what's a beautiful thing like you doing here alone ?" Thing? Of course, they always see women as objects they can use however they want.

Sick bastards.

But this 'beautiful thing' is here to make sure you arrive in hell safely.

"Oh, you know, to have some fun, just looking for a good time," I lead him on.

He smirks victoriously, "I am here for a good time too, I hope we can help each other on that," he suggests, and I pretend to check him out, and nothing on his pathetic old body impresses me, but I smile seductively anyhow

" Not bad, at all" Geez, everything about his wrinkly f*ck is awful.

"What's your name, beautiful?" Oh! You know my name, you know both of my names, and my father's, too. " I am Layla," I lie smoothly.

He nods, checking me out, his eyes lingering on my tities longer. Power of push-up bras " What's yours" I ask to distract his horny eyes from my body because it brings me sick memories.

" Oh! it's Travis" Of course fuckface, I knew that already.

"How about we get out of here? There are rooms upstairs ?" he suggests, the corner of his lips stretching in a wide smirk.

Fckng finally.

Always so easy when they think with their fckd *p horny dicks.

I drown the remaining liquor in my glass in one gulp, which he insists on paying for as he looks at me with amused eyes.

Yes, fckr, this face is the last you are going to see, so you better not forget it.

"Ready?" I fakely chirp and he smiles, leading the way upstairs.

I smirk, following him closely,

Blindly walking to your death because of what? a p*ssy?

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