Chapter 3: Mila's Fury on Alexander
Night came as usual. Alexander was once again dealing with his own demons, while Mila found it almost impossible to sleep or adjust to the strange place she had found herself in.
Even though nights had always been terrifying for Alexander Cora since the death of his father, he had learned to endure the strange dreams that haunted him. No one knew about it. Not even Kaine.
Kaine did not know everything about his master. He only knew that Alexander was a discreet man, feared by everyone, including himself.
Mila slowly opened her eyes, the effect of the inhaler Alexander had given her beginning to fade. She blinked hard as she sat up from the bed. Her gaze moved around the room. It was large, beautiful, and fully furnished with everything a bedroom could possibly need.
She exhaled quietly and walked toward the door, carefully checking if any guard was stationed outside.
There was none.
Then she remembered. They had been instructed not to disturb her.
An unknown smile slowly crept onto her lips before she caught herself.
"Focus, Mila," she whispered under her breath.
She stepped out into the long corridor, her heart beating faster with each step. She needed to find somewhere to hide until morning. Somehow, she would escape this place and return to her family.
She passed four rooms. As she approached the fifth, she suddenly heard approaching footsteps. Likely one of the guards.
Panic gripped her.
Without thinking, she quickly slipped into the nearest room and shut the door behind her.
"Oh my goodness," she muttered, turning around.
Her eyes widened.
"Alexander's room?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
But what shocked her even more was what she saw.
Alexander was not lying on a bed like a normal person. He was seated on a large office chair, asleep, a gun still firmly held in his right hand. On the table beside him lay a white shirt stained with blood.
Mila swallowed hard.
"Is he even human?" she murmured.
Then she heard it.
A low, painful groan escaped his lips.
"Ahh... urgh..."
Mila froze.
He was sweating heavily, his body tense, his face twisted in silent pain. His chest rose and fell unevenly, mixed with sweat and faint traces of blood.
Something inside her shifted.
Slowly, cautiously, she stepped closer.
"Hey... calm down," she whispered softly, reaching out.
Her fingers gently wrapped around his left hand.
Almost instantly, his body relaxed.
The tension in his face faded, and his breathing became steady, as if her touch had pulled him out of whatever nightmare he was trapped in.
Mila let out a quiet breath of relief.
But the relief did not last.
She turned slightly.
A gun was now pointed directly at her head.
Her breath hitched.
Alexander's eyes were open, dark and dangerous, yet still clouded with something unreadable, like he had just returned from a place far worse than reality.
"I... I am sorry," Mila stammered, her voice shaking.
She tried to pull her hand away.
He did not let her.
In a swift motion, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap.
Mila gasped, her heart slamming violently against her chest.
She could feel his warmth. His grip. His control.
His eyes lingered on her lips, intense and unsettling.
Before she could react, he closed the distance.
His lips crashed against hers.
Rough. Sudden. Possessive.
Mila's eyes widened in shock.
For a moment, her mind went completely blank.
The faint taste of cigar and coffee filled her senses, unfamiliar yet overwhelming. Her fingers instinctively pressed against his chest, trying to push him away, but her strength felt useless against him.
Her heart was racing, her thoughts scattered, her body frozen between fear and something she did not understand.
When he finally pulled away, her lips burned.
She stared at him, stunned, her breathing uneven.
"I might want you more than I thought," he said, a dangerous smile playing on his lips.
Something snapped inside her.
Anger. Confusion. Fear. All at once.
Her hand moved before she could stop herself, hitting his shoulder weakly.
"You're not human," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound strong. "You're insane."
Her fingers slowly touched her lips, still feeling the sting of what had just happened. Her chest tightened. She did not understand why her heart was still beating this fast. She hated it. She hated him.
But what scared her more was that for a brief second... she had not been able to react at all.
"Kaine," Alexander called out calmly.
Almost immediately, Kaine appeared.
"Take her back to her room. Get someone to dress her up."
"Yes, Don," he replied, bowing slightly before guiding Mila away.
This time, Mila did not resist.
She followed quietly, her mind far away, her emotions tangled and heavy inside her chest.
By the time they got back to her room, she finally spoke.
"And what is his plan?" she asked, her voice low but filled with spite.
She looked at Kaine, her eyes burning with anger.
"Just get ready. Early in the morning, someone will come to take care of what the Don has ordered."
He left without another word.
Mila stood there, speechless.
Her hand slowly returned to her lips.
Her expression hardened.
That man...
She would never forgive him.
Mila stood frozen in the middle of the room long after Kaine left.
The silence felt heavier than before.
Her fingers slowly pressed against her lips again, as if trying to erase the memory. But it refused to leave. The feeling lingered, burning, confusing, infuriating.
"What was that…" she whispered to herself.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly. She walked slowly toward the mirror and stopped in front of it.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Disheveled hair. Wide eyes. Lips slightly swollen.
She looked like someone who had just been shaken to her core.
Anger quickly replaced the confusion.
"He had no right," she muttered, her voice tightening. "No right at all."
Her hand clenched into a fist.
First, he took her from her home like she was nothing.
Now this?
Her jaw tightened as her thoughts ran wild.
"Who does he think he is…"
She turned away from the mirror, pacing the room restlessly.
"I am not one of his toys. I am not one of those women who fall at his feet."
Her voice was low but filled with determination.
But no matter how much she tried to focus on her anger, her mind betrayed her.
That moment.
The way his grip tightened.
The intensity in his eyes.
The strange calm that came over him when she touched him.
Mila stopped abruptly.
Her brows furrowed.
"That… wasn't normal."
She remembered clearly. The way he had been struggling in his sleep. The pain in his voice. The way his body had relaxed the moment she held his hand.
It was as if…
She shook her head quickly.
"No. That's not my concern."
She refused to feel anything close to sympathy for him.
Not after what he had done.
Not after what he continued to do.
After few minutes, she stumbled to the bed and slept off
In the morning...
A knock came at the door, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Before she could respond, the door opened and two maids stepped in quietly, carrying clothes.
"Miss, we were asked to prepare you," one of them said respectfully.
Mila stared at them for a moment, her expression cold.
"Prepare me for what?"
The maids exchanged glances but said nothing.
That alone irritated her even more.
"Of course," she scoffed. "No one tells me anything in this place."
She allowed them to dress her, but her mind was far from calm.
Every movement felt forced.
Every second felt like she was losing control.
By the time they were done, Mila looked completely different.
Elegant. Composed. Almost like she belonged in this world.
But inside, she was burning.
As soon as the maids left, she moved toward the window.
Outside was cold and still.
Her reflection appeared on the glass again.
This time, her eyes were different.
Colder.
Stronger.
"I will not stay here," she said firmly.
"I don't care who he is."
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I will escape."
Meanwhile, in another part of the mansion, Alexander sat alone.
A glass of whiskey rested in his hand.
Untouched.
His mind was not on the drink.
It was on her.
His fingers tapped lightly against the glass as his eyes darkened.
Mila Karper.
He could still feel it.
The warmth of her touch.
The way his body had responded without hesitation.
It annoyed him.
It intrigued him.
It unsettled him.
Alexander let out a quiet breath and leaned back in his chair.
"That girl…" he muttered under his breath.
Something about her was different.
Not weak.
Not submissive.
And definitely not afraid enough.
A faint smirk appeared on his lips.
"That will change."
But even as he said it, his mind betrayed him again.
The memory of her eyes.
The way she looked at him.
Not with fear alone.
But defiance.
His grip tightened slightly around the glass.
For the first time in a long while…
Something felt unpredictable.
And Alexander Cora did not like unpredictability.
Yet…
He did not stop thinking about her.
That same day
The Karper's family had once planned to visit The Mafia Don, Alexander Cora, to plead for their daughter's release and to check up on her welfare.
Just as Alexander was in his own thoughts, he was disturbed by Kaine's presence, informing him of The Karper's visit.
"Make them leave immediately, if they only come here for plead and not to pay back their debt".
He said smoking his Cigar.
He had changed into a tailored Suit of high prestige, looking like one without mercy.
Kaine bowed and left to deliver his boss order.
"The Don make a declare for you to leave right now, since you are here to plead and not to payback the money".
"Guards, do your work"
He shouted as othe guards in the Empire walked up to the Karper's couple.
"No, leave me alone, I want to see my daughter". Rosell screamed on top of her voice in tears, while Orlando was dragged from where he knelt down.
"Leave my wife alone, just deal with me alone". He cried out, not minding the pain he was getting.
Just as they were both dragged out, Rosell dropped down on the ground, lacking breath.
"Rosell! "Rosell! Wake up".
He quickly put her into his car and to the hospital straight.
At the hospital ...
"Doctor, what is wrong with my wife?". He asked weakly.
"She's suffering from cancer of the heart".
"What?"
"How come?"
"That was what the result conducted brought out. We need to operate on her immediately, by getting a new heart transplant". The doctor said looking pity for Orlando.
"So how much will the surgery cost?". He couldn't cry, sadness creeped over him.
"About a 80million"
"What? 80 million?"
"Mr Karper, I will urge you to look for away to get the money, so we can begin the surgey immediately".
Orlando looked frustrated, he was confused on where to get such amount of money.
Immediately.
He left for Russell Cartel, the only option at hand.
Whereas in another part of Atlanta.
Russell Cartel had been keeping a eye watch on The Karper's family, since they had denied giving him their daughter.
He couldn't care less of anything than having Mila.
And rumour got to him that Mila had been captured by Alexander Cora and recently, Mila's parents were chased away by him at his house entrance.
So Russell thought about a new opportunity to strike Orlando.
He knew Orlando would come back to him for help and right there, was his time to strike.
Orlando did not waste time.
From the hospital, he drove straight to Russell Cartel's mansion, his hands trembling on the steering wheel, his mind clouded with desperation.
This was his last option.
The large gates opened slowly as his car approached, as if they had been expecting him.
That alone made his chest tighten.
He stepped out of the car, his legs weak, his eyes tired and filled with fear.
Before he could even speak, the guards moved aside.
"Mr. Cartel is expecting you."
Orlando froze for a second.
Then he walked in.
Russell sat comfortably in his living room, a glass of wine resting in his hand, his posture relaxed, his presence dominating the entire space.
Orlando did not hesitate.
He fell to his knees immediately.
"Please…" his voice broke. "Please help me save my wife."
Russell raised a brow slightly, then placed his glass down.
"You shouldn't be kneeling, Mr. Karper," he said calmly.
He stood up and walked toward him, helping him to his feet.
The gesture felt… kind.
Too kind.
"My wife is dying," Orlando continued, his voice shaking badly. "She needs surgery immediately. I need eighty million. I have no one else to turn to."
Russell sighed softly, his expression shifting into one of sympathy.
"I heard about what happened," he said quietly.
Orlando looked at him, surprised.
Russell shook his head slightly.
"I must admit… I was harsh before. I wanted your daughter, and I pushed too far."
His voice carried a tone of regret.
"For that, I apologize."
Orlando's eyes widened slightly.
He did not expect this.
"I never wanted things to get this far," Russell continued. "I never intended to destroy your family."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Then Russell looked at him again.
"You need eighty million?"
Orlando nodded quickly.
"Yes… please…"
Russell gave a small smile.
"You came to the right place."
He snapped his fingers.
One of his men stepped forward, holding a black bag.
Russell took it and handed it directly to Orlando.
"Eighty million. Cash."
Orlando stared at the bag like it was his last hope.
"I… I don't know how to repay you…"
Russell placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Save your wife first," he said softly. "That is what matters."
Tears filled Orlando's eyes.
"Thank you… thank you so much…"
He held the bag tightly and rushed out without wasting another second.
The moment the door closed behind him, the warmth in Russell's expression disappeared.
Cold.
Empty.
Dangerous.
"Follow him," he said calmly, picking up his wine again.
One of his men nodded and left immediately.
Russell took a slow sip, his lips curling slightly.
Orlando drove as fast as he could.
For the first time in hours, hope filled his chest.
His wife would live.
Everything would be fine.
He tightened his grip on the bag beside him.
"Hold on, Rosell…" he whispered. "I'm coming…"
A black car appeared behind him.
Quiet.
Steady.
Following.
Orlando did not notice.
His mind was too far gone in relief and desperation.
The road ahead was almost empty.
Too empty.
Then—
A sharp sound pierced the air.
A gunshot.
The windshield cracked instantly.
Orlando's body jerked violently.
Blood spread across his chest as his grip on the steering wheel loosened.
The car swerved off the road and came to a sudden stop.
Silence.
Heavy.
Final.
Orlando struggled to breathe, his vision blurring.
His hands moved weakly, reaching for the bag.
His lips parted slightly.
"Mila…"
His voice was barely a whisper.
"I'm… sorry…"
His head dropped.
Still.
Gone.
The black car stopped behind him.
An assassin stepped out calmly, his expression blank.
He walked to Orlando's car, opened the door, and checked his pulse.
Nothing.
Without a word, he reached for the bag and took it.
Clean. Simple. Professional.
He stepped back and pulled out his phone.
"It's done," he said.
A pause.
Then a calm voice responded from the other end.
"Good."
The call ended.
The assassin returned to his car and drove off, leaving behind nothing but silence…
…and a lifeless body.