Owning the Mafia Don

He was winded.

I probably have a mild concussion too, he thought as he stood, swaying, tasting blood in his mouth from a cut on the inside of his cheek.

At first, they had tested each other, Denizen the Destroyer and he, making jabs and blocks. Once the Destroyer feinted and landed a good blow on Lucien’s ribs, but the follow-up, a hook to Lucien’s jaw, caught air as Lucien had astutely pulled his head back, just on time.

He had smiled a thin smile that had enraged the younger man who had made a mistake. The Destroyed had been winded. That was when Lucien had punched him in the face, squarely, landing a blow just above his eye.

But he was still putting up a fight and Lucien was near to dropping onto the mats, about to give up.

And then he heard her.

A voice that seemed to penetrate through to his fuzzy brain.

A woman’s voice.Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

Not Dana/ Catalina who had been screaming, running around the edge of the ring despite having been warned by Lawson many times. She had been responding to the catcalls, climbing on the ropes and generally making an exhibition of herself in between the match.

Distracting.

But this was not her screechy voice. No, it was a voice that he knew, the voice that whispered his name again and again as he took her body savagely never able to get enough of her.

His woman.

Proserpina’s voice?

Am I hallucinating, he thought even as he saw Denizen turn around, lips drawn back in a snarl, his voice seeming to be roaring from a great distance.

Proserpina’s voice came again, beseeching him.

“Lucien!’

He turned and looked to the ropes where his friends had been standing and saw her. He saw her face. It was white with strain, the tears flowing as she gripped the lower ropes standing on her toes. Because she was too tiny to reach the top, he thought ludicrously.

And his Woman was trying to get to him.

He could not hear her clearly but her lips moved and he knew what she was saying,

“I love you.’

He moved as though in a trance. She had come; she had actually come to see him inspite of her revulsion to the sport.

Suddenly all he wanted was to hold her in his arms, to hug her, to kiss her and tell her that he loved her.

He began to weave his way to her across the mats. He ignored the approach of the fighter in the ring who swung his arm at Lucien.

It was a wide hit and Lucien was too weary to react, to defend himself. He could not care. He was too preoccupied with getting to his woman.

He felt nothing. The blow failed to connect as Denizen was exhausted, and the sight of his opponent moving as though he could not give a damn, made him feel like a loser. Lucien kept walking, his only goal was to get to his woman and scoop her up into his arms.

Making one final, desperate attempt to knock his opponent out, The Destroyer tried to intercept him, grabbing him around the waist but Lucien roared.

“Get the f*ck off me, you…’ and shoved him off with incredible violence.

Denizen the Destroyer staggered, taken completely by surprise. The older man had seemed to be on the verge of giving up; now he was trying to get to the edge of the ring. Denizen landed on his knees and howled in pain as his tired body revolted.

The Destroyer made another lunge, but this time, the enraged Lucien’s fist connected with his head, hard. The sound of bone crunching and then Lucien was leaning against the ropes, trying to reach his wife who was weeping, her hands on her cheeks, looking up at him, Schwartz who was holding her protectively was shouting with joy, a wide, astonished grin splitting his face.

“Mate, you did it, man! You won! You WON!!!’, he was bellowing.

Danielle was pumping the air with her fist and shouting, Grace beside her, laughing, tears in her eyes, a red-haired young girl -a server, judging by her uniform, was leaping up and down with excitement.

Lucien was dimly aware that the medical team had already taken out the Destroyer’s mouthguard. They were starting to stuff cotton up his nose to stem the bleeding.

He turned to his woman when suddenly, with an ear-splitting scream, Catalina launched herself on him, gripping him around the waist with her strong legs, pressing her body to his, squashing her mouth on his. She simulated the act of riding him, moving wildly, her large, hard breasts pressing into his chest, squashing her breasts into his face.

He had made the mistake of involuntarily grabbing her; he had gripped her buttocks with one strong arm to prevent her from dropping onto the floor even as he felt Lawson raise his hand and loudly pronounce him the winner.

But she was not done yet.

Catalina whipped off her bra and screamed, thrusting her botoxed breasts in his face,

“YES, BABY! HERE I AM AT YOUR SERVICE.’

And waving her bra at the crowd, she went on hollering,

“THIS IS THE MAN WHO GETS CATALINA THE C*NT TONIGHT!!!”

The sounds in the auditorium were deafening, but when she shouted, her words were loud enough for everyone to hear.

He was able to glimpse his wife’s face. She was furious. And overwhelmingly hurt.

The cheering and hooting reached a crescendo as Catalina screamed and announced her plans for the night with the winner of the fight.

Someone yelled ‘The Boss has got his fu*kmate for the night!’

Lucien desperately turned to look for his wife, lowering Catalina to the ground, but it was too late. Proserpina was being hustled away by Schwartz, who was hell-bent on protecting her. Lucien staggered as he saw them leave, a whoosh of pain in his chest at knowing how it had looked. The roaring around them was reaching a crescendo but he was only aware of how he had jeopardized his happiness and that of his Woman by the hurt he had caused her.

Lucien swore. He had seen the stricken expression and the rage on her face when Catalina had climbed on him and kissed him so publicly.

Proserpina had come to watch him because she loved him… and what had he given her in return?