Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

“I won’t let you have your way, Sandro,” Orga snarled, his face contorted in anger as he glared at Sandro, whom he believed should have fled after their displacement.

Aware that he was the one after Arabella, Orga tried to shield her, but Alessia’s involvement was also a significant factor in his motivations. Surveying his surroundings, he realized Alessia was no longer amidst the ruins; she must have escaped.

Sandro’s scoff snapped Orga’s attention back to him. His eyes glinted with amusement. “And just what are you planning to do about it? Star in a cosplay?” Sandro chuckled though irritation laced his voice.

The air crackled with tension between the two men as Orga assumed an offensive stance. Before he could launch himself at Sandro, Arabella stepped forward, obstructing his path.

“My Queen, you need to step aside. This man must pay for what he’s done to you,” Orga growled, his fists still clenched.

Arabella raised a brow, certain she hadn’t disclosed much about herself except her status as a phoenix. She wondered how Orga knew about Sandro’s actions.

Though tempted to question him, she realized now wasn’t the appropriate time. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she halted him in his tracks. “I’ll handle him,” Arabella asserted, her voice brooking no argument.

Caught off guard, Orga protested. “What? You can’t possibly fight him. Look at you; you’re utterly exhausted.”

Arabella’s expression hardened with resolve. “I must do this, Orga,” she insisted. “I need to be the one to bring him down. I require the satisfaction of being the one who defeats him.” She shot a glare at Sandro.

Orga hesitated, torn between his protective instincts and his faith in Arabella’s capabilities. He didn’t want to abandon her to face the potentially advantaged Sandro alone. However, deep down, he recognized her point. She needed to confront this final battle alone.

“Okay,” he finally relented, though his voice carried a note of caution. “But please, be careful.” Orga unfurled his wings and readied himself to take flight.

Turning to him, Arabella offered a faint smile. “Goodbye, Orga,” she murmured softly. Her gaze followed him as he ascended into the sky, growing smaller and smaller until he vanished from sight.

Arabella redirected her attention from Orga and stepped towards Sandro. Her heart raced within her chest as she confronted him, his cold smirk on full display.

Weeks of training had led to this moment, sharpening her skills and mastering new techniques, all to bring down the monster who had inflicted so much pain.

Approaching him, Arabella understood the gravity of taking down Sandro and was determined not to succumb to her fear. She longed for Blaze to witness her fight, though comforted by the knowledge that he was safe and distant from harm’s reach.

When their gazes locked, her pulse surged. Arabella battled a wave of uncertainty. Was she truly prepared for the looming conflict, or would Sandro prove an insurmountable challenge?

Recalling the injuries he’d inflicted and the chaos he’d sown, her resolve solidified. His intention to take her away couldn’t be allowed. The prospect of submitting to him kindled a fierce rage.

Inhaling deeply, Arabella shut her eyes, concentrating on summoning her wings from her back. A tingling spread through her as her energy concentrated, and she pushed herself, attempting to muster the strength to reveal her wings.

A bead of sweat traced her forehead as fatigue pressed down. Despite her waning energy, Arabella refused to betray vulnerability.

At last, she felt them the mystical flaps emerging from her back. Gritting her teeth, Arabella pushed herself further, focusing all her concentration on the emergence of her wings. As the wings sprouted from her back, Sandro stood nearby, completely enraptured by the sight.

With growing apprehension, Arabella watched as he approached her, his movements fluid and graceful, resembling a predator closing in on its prey. He loomed over her, his presence imposing and overwhelming. She fought to remain still, suppressing any flinching, determined to stand tall and meet his gaze with equal intensity.

“Oh, your coven granted you wings, huh?” Sandro’s voice dripped with malice, and his smirk exuded both evil and intimidation. “They’re pretty,” he remarked, his gaze fixed on her wings. “But I’m certain they’ll be even prettier when hanging on the wall in my room.”

His lips curled into a smirk, revealing an evil gleam in his eyes.

Arabella’s spine stiffened, her heart racing as she sensed the dangerous energy emanating from him.

“Moreover, I was right about you, sweetheart,” Sandro drawled, his tone laden with condescension.

The word ‘sweetheart’ felt like a dagger aimed at her chest, designed to undermine her confidence and strength. Arabella refused to let it affect her.

“My name is Arabella Collins,” she declared, locking eyes with him. “And I will never be anything to you. You have no right to call me ‘sweetheart’ or any other endearing name. I am not your possession.”

Sandro’s smirk wavered momentarily at the strength of her voice, and he scoffed. “Whatever,” he waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not here for pleasantries either. I have another purpose. To claim what is rightfully mine. And you, Bella, are mine.”

“I don’t belong to you!” Arabella growled, her voice charged with anger. The force she spoke with made everything in the room tremble, including Sandro.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

He staggered back a few steps, taken aback by the intensity of her power. Arabella held her ground, her wings extending to their full length as she readied herself for a confrontation.

Sandro’s steps stirred up dust as he paused in front of Arabella. The sly grin on his face widened as he spoke. “Well, well, well. Arabella, the great and mighty, always ready with a sharp retort.”

Her wings instinctively fanned out behind her as she bristled at his words. “Stay back, Sandro,” she warned, her voice low and threatening. “I won’t hesitate to attack if you come any closer.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sandro simply disregarded her warning and moved even closer, encroaching upon her personal space with his presence. Despite her best efforts, Arabella could feel her perseverance faltering. Her muscles trembled with the effort of holding herself back as she struggled to contain the anger rapidly boiling within her.

As Sandro closed in on her, she recognized the necessity to take action. Gathering every ounce of her strength, she charged towards him, her clenched fist surrounded by a red aura pulsating with power. She directed the punch straight at his face, aiming to incapacitate him with a single blow. However, as the strike drew nearer, Arabella was hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion. The previous battle with Alessia had depleted her energy reserves, leaving her drained and empty.

The punch landed weakly on Sandro’s shoulder, causing Arabella to stumble forward, her body faltering under the weight of fatigue. Her wings fluttered feebly, and she struggled to remain upright. Blurriness invaded her vision, and her knees weakened she knew a collapse was imminent. Yet, just before she hit the ground, a large pair of hands caught her, and she looked up to find Sandro’s face illuminated by a gleam of satisfaction.

“Sandro…stay away…” Her murmurs of incoherent warnings were disregarded as Sandro seemed to derive amusement from her distress, smirking down at her.

She strained to break free from his grip. Observing his surroundings, Sandro noticed the absence of Alessia and Janice. Looking back at Arabella, who had ceased struggling, he remarked, “Seems your witchery couldn’t rescue you this time.” His grip on her arms remained unyielding. Arabella’s heart raced, a cold shiver of fear coursing down her spine. She comprehended that she was now at Sandro’s mercy how had circumstances spiraled to this point?

Sandro’s gaze remained fixed on Arabella’s once-vibrant red and gold wings, now deflated and faded on her back. The sight satisfied him, and he relished how they diminished her appearance, making her seem weak.

“Leave me… alone,” Arabella murmured weakly, her voice barely audible above a whisper. But Sandro’s laughter only grew louder, as he savored her vulnerability.

He harbored no intention of releasing her. In one swift movement, he hoisted Arabella over his broad shoulder, prompting her to cry out in agony. Sandro was spiriting her away to a destination unknown. Despite her weakened state, Arabella remained conscious, unable to put up a fight, helpless to halt his actions. She could only observe in panic as the world around her spun.