Chereads / Mafia Captured / Chapter 13 - 13.Three Little Monsters

Chapter 13 - 13.Three Little Monsters

Arsalan's hand shot out, grabbing Sahira's wrist before she could take another step back.

"You think you can leave me and walk away as if I never existed?" His voice was a growl, low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling across a darkened sky. His grip was tight—too tight—his fingers digging into her skin, reflecting the storm raging within him.

Sahira gasped at the sudden contact but bit her lip, refusing to cry out. His presence felt suffocating, an overwhelming shadow swallowing the air around her.

"You left me," Arsalan spat, his voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. Outside, the rain hammered against the windows, each drop pounding in time with his heartbeat. "You were everything to me, and you left without a word. You let me believe you were dead."

She pulled at her wrist, her heart pounding wildly, the mix of fear and sorrow tightening in her chest.

Arsalan let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "I lived through hell every single day without you," he said, his voice raw, scraped bare by the weight of his pain. "And now you return, after all these years, and still... you ignore me."

His hand tightened, the grip becoming painful. Sahira squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation. She took a deep breath, focusing on staying calm.

But just as quickly, he released her, his fingers trembling as if they couldn't decide between holding on or letting go. He stepped back, frustration and desperation flickering in his eyes.

When she opened her eyes, she found Arsalan standing motionless, his hands clenched tightly by his sides. The anger was still there—anger born of heartbreak and confusion. But beneath it, she saw something else.

Pain.

Real, unguarded pain.

"I just need to know," Arsalan said, softer now, as though the rain outside had sapped his strength. "Did you ever think of me? Even once? Or was I the only one who felt lost without you?"

Sahira exhaled slowly, her heart heavy. She knew this was all a pretense. She had seen this act before—Arsalan's carefully crafted facade of indifference, designed to shield himself from vulnerability.

Her gaze flickered to the room behind him, where their son lay peacefully asleep. Arsalan's voice dropped to a whisper as he followed her gaze, his expression softening for a brief moment. "Our boy won't wake up until morning—the medication is strong," he murmured, almost to himself. Then he turned back to her, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned closer.

"Which means," he murmured, his voice trailing off, "we have plenty of time... just for us."

Sahira stiffened, her body recoiling instinctively. She pushed him back with a sudden jolt of disgust, but Arsalan didn't flinch. His expression darkened, his jaw tightening.

He stepped forward again, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Do you even know what it felt like?" His jaw clenched, his hands trembling with barely restrained fury. For a moment, it seemed like his anger might explode, but instead, he dropped his hand limply to his side. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of his words was too much to bear. "Every day, I suffered. I thought you were dead..." His voice cracked, the mask of anger slipping to reveal something raw and broken beneath. "I lost myself. Without you, I lost everything."

For a fleeting second, Sahira's heart ached at the sight of him—the man she once knew, buried beneath layers of pain and anger. But then, the memory of what he had done, of what he had become, steeled her resolve. He deserved this. Every ounce of it.

Arsalan shook his head, frustration hardening his features. "I hate you for what you did," he said bitterly, his voice rough. "But I hate myself even more for still wanting you."

Sahira's breath hitched at his words, but she kept her face expressionless. This wasn't the man she had left behind all those years ago. This Arsalan was scarred, twisted by betrayal and regret. Yet beneath the bitterness, beneath the fury, she saw a flicker of the man she had once loved—or still loved.

His hand moved to her shawl, pulling it down from her shoulders—not with tenderness, but with the desperation of a man who had lost his way. The shawl fell to the floor, the fragile barrier between them broken.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time in years. His eyes were a storm of emotion—rage, regret, longing—but none of it felt real to her anymore.

"You think you can hide from me, Sahira?" His voice was barely a whisper, rough and raw. "Not even this..." He gestured toward the discarded shawl. "Not even your silence can keep me away."

Sahira stood still, her heart racing in her chest. She didn't dare move, didn't dare meet his gaze. She knew this storm—had lived through it once before. And she knew that no amount of fury could mask the deep hurt behind his hardened eyes.

His fingers brushed against something cold—the gold chain around her neck, engraved with his name. His grip tightened around it, a slow, dark satisfaction flickering in his eyes. This chain was his mark on her, his claim. A reminder that she had once belonged to him.

When they were first married, he had wanted something more permanent than a chain—he had wanted his name inked into her skin, forever. The thought had filled him with a twisted sense of pride. But Sahira had resisted. She had cried, pleaded, begged him to abandon the idea. She had called it haram, a sin.

Back then, Arsalan hadn't cared about things like sin or virtue. Her tears had only annoyed him. But in the end, he had relented—not out of love, but to silence her protests. Instead, he had given her the gold chain, a symbol of ownership disguised as affection.

"Never take it off," he had warned her, his voice cold and final. "Or next time, I won't care about your sins. I'll mark you like I intended—everywhere."

And she had worn it. Year after year, she had worn the chain, grateful for even that small reprieve.

Now, seeing it still around her neck, Arsalan's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. The fact that she had obeyed him all these years stirred something dark within him.

"You remembered," he murmured, leaning in, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck, the cool metal of the chain brushing his skin. "Good. I was hoping you wouldn't forget."

Sahira stood rigid, her body tense as stone. Her silence was a fortress, impenetrable, and it only fueled the fire inside him. His jaw clenched, his frustration boiling over. He hated her silence, hated how calm she was. How untouchable.

"Say something," he whispered harshly, his voice thick with frustration.

But she didn't move. Didn't speak. It was as though the weight of the chain itself was keeping her grounded.

Arsalan's breath quickened, his anger fraying at the edges. Her silence—it burned more than defiance ever could.

"Do you think you can ignore me now?" His voice rose, sharp and filled with bitterness. "Do you think you can hide behind that silence?"

He gripped the chain harder, as if sheer force could pull a reaction from her. But she said nothing. The silence between them thickened, heavy and suffocating like the air before a storm.

He had expected her to break—expected her to cry, scream, fight. But instead, she stood tall. Unshaken. Unbroken. Her indifference left him feeling powerless, a sensation he couldn't stand.

"I don't believe you," he hissed. "I'm starting to doubt if those children are even mine." The words were poison, a lie he knew even as he spoke them. But he wanted to hurt her, to wound her as deeply as he had been wounded.

Sahira's response was immediate and indifferent. "You can do a paternity test if you want."

Her disregard for his accusation only fanned the flames of his rage. His smug smile vanished, replaced by a bitter scowl. Just days ago, she had been begging him to save their child, desperate and pleading. And now? Now, she stood there, as though he no longer mattered.

Her gaze drifted past him, fixed on something far beyond his reach. The walls seemed to close in on him, the air growing thick and oppressive. His fists clenched and unclenched, but no matter what he said, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't touch her. His power over her was gone.

"You'll regret this," he growled, his voice low with frustration. "Very soon, you'll beg me for forgiveness."

Sahira didn't even blink. "That won't be necessary," she said softly.

There was no fear in her voice. No anger. Just emptiness. As though all the pain had drained her dry. Arsalan felt something twist inside him—something sharp, something that felt too much like guilt.

Her calmness unsettled him. Something was wrong, and deep down, he knew it.

He stormed out of the room, her words trailing behind him, gnawing at his mind, leaving him restless.

In the car, Arsalan's frustration only grew. He regretted leaving her alone, but what choice did he have? His men had failed the simplest of tasks. He rubbed his temples, tossing his hair back in frustration.

Beside him, Bob tapped away on his tablet, trying to organize the mess of Arsalan's schedule—surgeries, meetings, deals—but nothing seemed to ease the tension in the air.

The car pulled up to the mansion, and Arsalan stepped out, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him.

Kevin stood outside, looking like he had been through a war. His clothes were drenched, spattered with flour and streaks of color. Two others stood beside him, heads bowed in defeat.

"What happened?" Arsalan demanded, his voice sharp and cold. "Why do you all look like you've been through a circus? Was it too much to ask for you to pick up three kids?"

Kevin shuddered, his face pale. "Sir... those brats... they're not kids... they're monsters."