The Mafia’s Obsession

Ayla

“Well, here’s the cabin,” says the man, using a mittened hand to pass me the key. “There’s a cord of wood stacked in the shed ’round the back. Should last you a good while, but just give me a call if you need more. You got winter clothes? It’s gonna be a snowy one this year.” He glances at my not-warm-enough jacket and bare hands.

“Not yet,” I admit, “but I’ll go to town and buy some tomorrow.”

“My recommendation, get some cans of food, stuff you can heat on the wood stove. Never know when the power might go out, or if you might get snowed in.”

“Thanks,” I say, looking over at the four-wheel-drive truck I just rented. “I did a grocery run on my way here.”

“Well, if that’s everything, I’ll be on my way. Welcome to Alaska, Mrs. Razone.” He climbs into his own truck and drives off.

I stay there for a moment, surveying the snowy landscape. It’s stunning. I’m surrounded by nature, with green trees swaying in the wind and snow-capped mountains behind.

My mind turns to my husband. My heart lurched when I saw the news reports of the killings at the Bover City Carnival. To my relief, his name was not among the reported victims. Was he involved with that? Was Colin Maroney killed by him, or on his orders? For all I know, the danger back home could be over.

Or Alessio could be locked in the middle of a brutal mob war.

If he’s paying attention, he’ll have seen that I used his credit card to buy a plane ticket. But since the ticket was in my name, he won’t be able to find out the destination, even if he calls the airline. That gives me a head start. Now, though, I’ve rented a car and a cabin. Those transactions, he’ll be able to track.

I didn’t want to tip him off like that, but I didn’t have a choice. I’m cut off from my family’s money, and I couldn’t pay for this on my own. He’ll be able to find me, whether I like it or not. I know that.

But that’s assuming he has any interest in getting me back. And as much as I might enjoy the fairytale of him swooping in to apologize and tell me how much he cares about me, I know in my heart that it isn’t realistic. He didn’t even want to marry me in the first place. He said it himself.

Our marriage wasn’t just an arrangement, it was an arrangement he didn’t even ask for. Or want.

It hurts to think about. A lot. Maybe it was foolish, but when things felt real between us, I let myself believe it. I let myself believe in the fantasy of a man actually loving me and wanting me in his life. I thought I was Alessio’s princess in the cute, Disney way, not in thetraded-off-like-livestock-because-it’s-politically-beneficialway.

Still, at least where I am now is more interesting than Boise. I’ve always wanted to see Alaska, and I’m all about the cozy, winter cabin vibe. No matter what happens, it’s a cool experience to have before I start school in the fall.

My fingers are getting cold, and I can see my breath. I let myself into the cabin and turn on the lights, taking in the interior. Lincoln log walls face me from every direction, with a woodstove in the corner. It’s definitely warmer than it was outside, but not by enough.

Time to build a fire.

***

Alessio

I resist the urge to spike my phone into the ground. If one more fucking airport employee tells me that he can’t reveal the destination of the ticket, even though it was purchased with my credit card…

Clenching my fingers, I refresh the page of financial transactions for the millionth time. Finally, something new shows up. Two things, actually. One is a car rental, the other a receipt for”Benson Family Cabins.”It takes very little investigation to put a location to the charges:

Fairbanks, Alaska.

10 minutes later, I’ve purchased a planeticket.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

***

Ayla

It takes me three attempts and a YouTube video before I successfully get a fire going. Apparently, you can’t just light a big log with matches and expect it to burn. That’s the kind of thing you don’t learn growing up in Bover City.

Once the woodstove is burning, the cabin warms up quickly. It’s incredibly cozy. Having Alessio here to cuddle with would be nice. The thought makes me sad, so I turn my attention to the snow falling gently outside in the fading light. Tomorrow, I want to explore the wilderness around me.

I’m definitely going to need some winter clothes.

Thankfully, when I get up the next day, there are enough coals left from my fire that I don’t need to start a whole new one. All I need to do is put a couple of small logs on top, blow some air, and it’s burning again.

Breakfast consists of eggs and toast I bought on my way to the cabin yesterday. I cook the eggs on the wood stove, just for the novelty of it, even though the cabin has a kitchen and electricity. It makes me feel rustic.

Then I drive out to town to buy some winter clothes. I’m not used to driving in the snow, or on rural roads like this, but the truck handles it well.

“I’m looking for cold-weather gear,” I tell the employee who greets me as I enter the sporting goods store.

“I can imagine,” she chuckles, glancing me over. “You must be freezing. Where are you visiting from?”

“Bo-Boise, Idaho,” I tell her, correcting myself quickly from sayingBover City. I’m sure it would be fine either way. But there’s no sense giving more information than is necessary.

When I leave the store, I’m bundled up with a big ski jacket, warm gloves, a scarf, a hat, and a pair of new snow boots.

Alessio wouldn’t even recognize me under all this gear.

I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of it. He isn’t coming, Ayla. Stop trying to convince yourself he cares about you.

And even if he does come, there’s no guarantee his feelings will be any different than they were before.

Wait, is that him?

My eyes land on someone in the distance wearing a dark jacket. His broad shoulders certainly remind me of Alessio. Is he looking at me? It sureseemslike he’s looking at me. I don’t know if I want to go closer, or to run away.

I settle for walking slowly back to my rental truck, giving ample opportunity for the figure to approach me. He doesn’t. Sighing, I throw my bag of purchases into the back seat and search my phone for a coffee shop to hunker down for the afternoon.

***

90 minutes later, the snow is falling harder outside. I realize that if I don’t head back to the cabin soon, it’s going to be dark, and I’ll be driving through thicker snow than I’m comfortable with. So I pack up my stuff, thank the barista, and go back to my truck.

I picked the right time. The weather is getting more intense, and there don’t seem to be many people on the streets now. It feels like a storm is brewing. As Iexit the city proper and get onto the rural road that leads to the cabin, the flurrying snow gets thicker, sticking to the pavement. I slow down, worried about losing traction and spinning out.

By the time I near the cabin, I’m in a full-on snowstorm. I drive as slowly as I can, breathing a sigh of relief as I see the structure getting bigger in the distance. When I park, I take a moment, breathing heavily. That was some sketchy driving. I’m lucky I left Fairbanks when I did.

At least I have snow gear. The way the weather is looking, something tells me I won’t be driving anytime soon.

***

That night, I lie awake in bed, watching the snow fall. I can hear the wind outside, and see the flakes in the moonlight flurrying outside the window. It’s peaceful. The fire has died down, but the cabin is still warm. I probably won’t be able to get to town tomorrow, but I have at least a week’s worth of supplies with me here, maybe more.

Under the covers, my hand slides between my legs. I haven’t come in days, not since my last time with Alessio. As my fingers circle my clit, I can’t help but picture my husband, even though at this point, the memory is more bitter than sweet. His last words to me left such an ache in my stomach. But it’s hard to fully accept that he meant them. There were too many signs, too many looks, too many moments. Too many things that indicated he had feelings.

If I felt what I felt, I can’t believe it only went in one direction.

Right?

My mind flashes to theone scenario that truly does scare me. What if hedoescome to claim me, and there’s no more warmth in his heart? What if he never changes, but he also never lets me go?

Squeezing my eyes shut, I do my best to perish the thought. He feltsomethingfor me, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. Hehadto. And if I’m wrong, well, I’ll escape from him again. I’m good at that. I’ll be prepared next time. Not so easy to catch.

Escape. Our time on the island looms fresh in my mind, especially the utter, deep loss of control he created after he caught me the second time. I was completely under his power then, with no agency of my own.

Fuck, something about that felt so free.

As my orgasm approaches, I imagine asking my husband for permission, and him making me beg. Finally, he grants it, and I tumble headfirst over the edge, pussy throbbing against my fingers.

Sadness hits me as my climax fades. What I just came to, I might never have again. If Alessio can’t show me that I matter to him, I won’t be begging him for anything, whether he tracks me down or not.

I can’t believe how much snow there is on the ground the next day. It has to be at least a foot and a half. It’s so deep that the idea of trying to walk through it would be absurd.

Good thing I used Alessio’s credit card to buy snowshoes. I’m excited as I strap them over my boots, making sure they’re nice and tight. I don’t have a lot of experience with snow. This should be fun.

When I’m all bundled up in my warm jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves, I step outside. My foot sinks into the snow, just slightly, but I’m able to walk. I trudge out to my truck, which is completely covered.

Damn. I amverysnowed in.

Oh well. It’s more of an adventure than a setback. I chose Alaska to enjoy a cozy cabin, right? Well, I sure got it. Time to explore the area, then come back inside and warm up by the fire.

Following what I can see of the road, I go in the other direction from the city. There are trees all around me, draped in white. I think the landscape is even more beautiful like this. There’s such a charm to seeing everything completely blanketed, immaculate.

In the distance, I hear the sound of an engine revving. For a brief moment, adrenaline strikes through me: it brings me right back to being on the island, with Alessio on the quad bike. But that isn’t possible, I remind myself. Not in all this snow.

But what could it be? It’s getting louder. I didn’t think anybody would be able to drive in this weather. Is it a snowplow?

And then asnowmobileappears over the next hill, a man in black winter gear with a matching dark helmet driving. My eyes search for nearby cover, but there’s none to be found in the sea of white. I can’t move quickly enough to reach the trees.

The driver turns his head and looks at me. The snowmobile slows, then changes directions.

Coming right in my direction.

I sprint as fast as I can in my snowshoes, heading into the woods that line the road. Behind me, I hear the snowmobile stop, and the driver’s feet crunch into the snow. I’m not able to move very quickly, but my desperate hope is that he moves even slower without any snowshoes on his feet.

My foot sinks as a shelf of snow collapses underneath it. I work frantically to pull it out, the crunching behind me getting louder. Finally, I work it free, just as a pair of arms wrap around my waist, clutching me firmly.

“Mine,” growls my husband, helmet muffling his voice.