THE MAFIA’S MISTAKEN BRIDE

Jasmine’s POV

Despair fills me even in my dreams, making me wake up with a start and a frustrated cry for help.

Unfortunately, when my eyes open up, I still find myself in the room, the prison he has locked me in since we got to New York.

I have tried. Tried to think of a solution. Every problem has a solution, doesn’t it? That’s what I was made to believe but not anymore. This problem before me seems to have no solution. I am stuck here for life.

I have cried too. And I am tired of crying.

My head is still banging from the series of crying sessions I had in his car before he sent me home and even after we got to his mansion.

I sit upright, noticing that I am still in my dress. My eyes scan the room until it falls on the meal on the stool before my bed. The maid had brought me dinner before I fell asleep.

I am not hungry. I just want to leave this place. I want to go back to Chicago. I want to go back to my previous life. This life is definitely not one I have envisioned for myself.

A princess in a castle.

This is a castle but I am not a princess.

A loud sound makes me lurch to my feet instantly, making me alert as I look around, wondering where the hell the sound is coming from.

Another crashing sound follows and I run to the other side of the bed, squatting to hide my petite figure, my imagination running wild.

I’ve always been a girl with wild imagination but being here with this devil is more than enough to make my imagination go wilder than ever before. He is enigmatic and strange. He wears black all the time, the same with his guards. It makes me wonder what type of job he does.

Hearing this sound now is making me have a feeling that there is trouble knocking and I might end up getting kidnapped for real now.

Is there a burglar in the house?

Growing up in the slums of Chicago must have made me this way. Always be alert for any sudden loud sound if it is a burglar, an assassin or a kidnapper.

That was how I lived all through the 24 years of my life, forcing me to move from one neighborhood to another, for safety and survival.

My heart continues to thump wildly, even though I can no longer hear any sound. For a second, I feel relieved that it was just a mere imagination.

But when I stand back on my feet, a loud grunt pierces the air followed by loud ordering from a familiar voice.

A voice I would recognize even in my dreams.

The devil’s voice.

The sound comes again, but this time filled with pain, resounding nearby and forcing me to drag my long shiny black dress up to go out to satisfy my curiosity.

There are thousands of bodyguards here so this will rule out the thought of a burglar or kidnapper coming in here. The security is indeed tight and for the very first time in my life, I feel safe.

But this sound is disturbing so I need to know what it means and where it is coming from.

Surprisingly, the door opens.

I thought it would be locked just like how prison cells are locked but the amazing part is that there are no guards outside the door like I was thinking when the door opened.

Pushing down the tide of panic building up, I don’t bother to think about why the guards aren’t outside my door. My curiosity is at its peak now as I stroll steadily out of the room, trying to trace where the noise is coming from.

I begin to tiptoe when an idea suddenly struck me.

Escape.

What if this is a chance for me to escape?

First, my door wasn’t locked and secondly, there were no guards around unlike how they were swarming around like bees when I came back to the mansion tonight.

What about outside? Are they outside? Having a meeting? A fight? Is that why I heard those noises?

Can I still escape?

If I succeed in escaping, where will I go? How can I get back to Chicago?

I don’t have any money or phone so how will I make it out of New York safely? If I run off, won’t he find me again?

I don’t know how long it took me to stand there thinking of the idea of escaping but it was enough for me to get caught.

The sound of feet approaching startles me back to life but before I can move an inch, a voice stops me.

“Where the hell are you going?!” his voice reaches my ears, sending cold shivers down my spine. His voice is cracked, unlike how fluently and confidently he speaks, making me summon up the courage to look up at him.

The light from the nearby chandelier shining brightly makes me see his face clearly and take note of something different.

Did he just wince?

“I said where the hell….”, he trails off and suddenly falls to the ground. A shriek escapes my mouth and more feet run towards him.

“Boss,” they call out as they help him.

My eyes drift to the stain on his arm. His suit is off, revealing the first shirt inside stained with bloody red color.

I gasp out of shock.

Is this what I am thinking?

“Where the hell is the doctor?” His voice comes out in a whisper as he closes his eyes, looking vulnerable and in pain. The authority that comes with his loud barking isn’t there.

“Where is he?” The well-built guy who brought me back to the mansion questions the other man who only shrugs.

There was fear in their eyes as well.

The devil tries to stand up but falls back and groans in pain, making me rush at him.

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His eyes flutter open at my voice. Behind the clouds of pain lies anger. I don’t know if it is anger towards me or the person who did this to him.

Who did this? Where did he go after sending me back to the mansion?

When he isn’t answering, I look up at the two men above, watching me with curiosity.

“Can you get me the first aid box? I can help stop the bleeding until the doctor arrives”, I try to hide the fear clawing at my belly as I begin to take off his shirt with shaky hands.

“No!” he grabs my hand with his eyes shut. I have a feeling he wants to say more but his body isn’t giving way.

“Let me help”, I take his hand away and continue to take his shirt out. He seems heavier than he looks so I look above me to see the two guys still watching. “Help me, will you?”

They help him up and I tell them to lay him on one of the sofas. Without me asking, one of them runs to get the first aid box.

He is bleeding a lot and it seems he wasn’t shot once. Fear consumes me instantly, overshadowing my concern and filling me up with the bad thought that he might die.

While trying to stop the bleeding as his eyes go off and on like a fluctuating light, my fear increases tenfold.

“Is the doctor still coming?” I ask no one in particular, my mouth quivering.

If something happens to him, I might be blamed. Why did I help him? I hate him, don’t I? What if he does, will I go to prison for real this time?

“He is almost here”, one of them answers and I nod without looking up. I don’t want to see the judgment on their faces. I don’t want to read any meaning into their expressions. I just need to pray that this man survives this so I don’t have to pay for a sin I didn’t commit for the second time.

When the bleeding stops, a sigh of relief leaves my mouth and I slump to my back on the sofa.

With my eyes closed.

Within me, I pray silently for God to save him. Before I can open my eyes back, the door is thrown open and I flutter my eyes open to see a middle-aged man in a white coat and a box approaching with two of the devil’s guards behind him.

Another wave of relief surges through me.

I don’t need a soothsayer to tell me this is definitely the doctor.