Hidden Secrets: A Screwed Up Love Story.

At one point in my life, I believed I would have settled down and landed my dream job by the time I turned 22. I would have met the man of my dreams, who would wine and dine me and introduce me to new things, allowing me to experience life in a new light.

Instead, here I stand, watching as the door trembles, shattering all my hopes and dreams in one fluid motion, derailing my future completely.

"Mila!" His angry voice booms through the door as he pounds more forcefully against the thick wood, violently shaking it, and I watch as dust falls from the frame.

"I'm sorry, Ace." I sob, my quivering hands encircling my torso.

"You had one job!" Patronisingly, he declares. "One simple job and you couldn't even do that right!!"

The job...

Was to sit there at the table and laugh at his friends jokes even though they were cheap shots at my expense.

After a few hours of sitting there giggling like an airhead, my mind naturally wandered off and I quickly found myself daydreaming about how different my life could have been if I didn't agree to go on a date with Ace all those years ago.

When he realised I had stopped entertaining them with my feminine laughter, he quickly shoved me to the ground sending me toppling over in my chair with a harsh sneer that had my insides churning and I took off running to the bathroom with him hot on my heels as his friends laughed out loud.

Now,

If you find yourself wondering who this Ace person is. Let me give you a brief introduction to the man heavily pounding on the door.

Ace, Ace-Fucking-Russo. An Italian bitch to the Mafia, a dumb fuck who can't think for himself and his most prized possessions that he boasts about when he is outrageously intoxicated...

Are his fists and his needle dick.

He is my constant headache, my walking, breathing fear-infused male vessel who enjoys using me as a verbal and physical punching bag.

As alluring as he was at the start of our relationship, the excitement quickly wore off like a lit candle trying its best to survive a wave of draft crashing into its flickering light.

When he began marking my face with his hands, smearing my complexion with lovely shades of blue, purple, and yellow bruises, I vowed that I would not let him abuse me forever.

However, that vow quickly lost its allure when he threatened to harm my frail father, who had survived a stroke a year ago that left him paralysed on one side of his body and a week ago, I learned that my father had suffered another stroke where he sadly lost his battle to live another day and I never got to say my final goodbyes.

Ace smashes the door open, scattering wood fragments all over the place as he marches directly towards me, his face flushed, his fists clenched, and the devil in his eyes. He grabs me by the hair and drags me through the house as I scream and beg for mercy, my limbs already aching from yesterday's beating.

"Don't grovel; only dogs grovel!" He hisses as he drags me through the living room, where his other mobster buddies are gathered around a large table still playing cards and sipping on whiskey.

As he pushes me onto the sofa, looming over me and forcing my legs open, he turns to face his friends and laughs wildly. "Occasionally, all she needs is a good root to remind her who she belongs to boys. Keep this in mind and your woman will always fall in line." As his gaze fell on mine, he sneers viciously.

His stormy grey eyes make me queasy, and when he turns back to his boys, boasting as if he were the man, I turn my head to the side and notice that the entry door has been left wide open.

I scream and without hesitation, I raise my knee and connect it with his man jewels. He howls, leaning back and cups himself as his face turns bright red and his eyes bulge out of their sockets. I shove him to the ground with all my strength and vault to my feet, stumbling as I attempt to regain my footing in my heels and take off running....

My limbs burn with each stride I take, and the sound of my heels slamming into the concrete transmit a sharp clicking sound through the atmosphere. I clutch at my neck, my fingers wrapping around my throat as I urgently attempt to fill my lungs with the tainted air of dirty money, drugs, blood and unconsented sex.

The feral aroma embedding itself into the Mafia mansion, its repulsive scent lingering down the neighbourhood scaring families away from moving into the street.

I squeeze through a small opening in the massive iron fence designed for a palace, ripping my jacket and grazing my arm in the process. The pain lasts for a millisecond, solely because I'm running on pure adrenaline, it doesn't deter me; I round the corner and I risk it by looking back to see him close behind me.

And, no matter how hard I try to speed up my legs, human biology proves that men are naturally faster, and his hands encircle my waist, dragging me off my feet. I scream bloody murder as I struggle in his embrace.

"You crazy ungrateful Bitch!" As he flings me to the ground, he hisses in my ear.

I rub the dirt off my hands, standing to my feet with fear written all over my face as he advances on me.

"I.. Ace, I can't anymore." I gulp loudly and whimper. "Please... just leave me alone," I plead, casting a glance around our surroundings in the hopes that someone will come to my rescue.

"Do you think this is a check-in/check-out relationship between us?" He shakes his head in displeasure, his mouth seething with a sinister look on his face.

Suddenly his boys join him at his side, bending over and gasping for air. "Bro!" Jacob says, his gaze falling on mine. "If you're going to drag her ass home, I highly suggest you do it right now because Trent just arrived at the house and wants to see you. Now..." His gaze softens as it remains fixed on mine.

"You know what, Mila," Ace huffs, chuckling in front of his friends like everything is under control. "Piss off!" He clutches my upper arm, causing a pinch of pain in the process. "For 48 hours, I'll keep my door open for you, after that, you're on your own, tesoro." He says, shoving me free as he turns around and starts to walk back the way we came.

I don't attempt to reply; instead, I sprint away with two one hundred dollar bills stuffed into the padding of my bra and don't look back until I enter a pub crowded with men in suits. As I make my way towards the women's restroom, I can feel their gazes on me, diminishing the last ounce of my dignity.

'Fuck you, Fuck you all!!' I think to myself, slipping behind the bathroom door.