MidReal Story
Obsession's Escape
Scenario: she is running from mafia boss who is in love with her
Create my version of this story
Elena Martinez
the object of obsession, running from the mafia boss, petite with dark hair and sharp eyes, resilient and cautious.
Sofia Bianchi
Elena's best friend and confidante, unaware of Elena's situation, vibrant with curly blonde hair and a warm smile, loyal and naive.
Marco Santoro
the mafia boss in love, pursuing Elena, tall with slickedback hair and piercing gaze, ruthless yet deeply infatuated.
I was the object of his obsession.
The woman he loved.
The one he’d do anything for…
The one he’d killed for.
To escape a life of loveless servitude, I ran.
But when I realized the Mafia was on my trail, I hung up my running shoes and set up a seductive trap to bring the big bad wolf to his knees.
This is the first part of a two-book series and ends with a cliffhanger.
The second book will be available soon.
I had to get out of here.
I had to get away from him before it was too late.
Before he did something we’d both regret.
I had to get away from Marco Santoro, the man who loved me so much that he would do anything for me…
Including kill for me.
I was already in too deep.
This life was suffocating me, and if I didn’t get out soon, I would drown.
It had been a dangerous game to fall in love with the mafia boss.
But then… wasn’t that what had drawn me to him in the first place?
Marco Santoro was sexy as sin, with thick black hair slicked back from his face, a strong jawline and piercing gray eyes that had captured my attention from day one.
He was tall, dark and handsome, and he knew it.
He was confident, assertive.
His power was a living, breathing thing, which rolled off him in waves no one could ignore.
And I had been no exception.
It had been so easy to be swept up in the magic of this world.
In the heady rush of emotion between us as we’d tumbled into bed together and he’d fucked my brains out.
He’d been so intoxicating, I couldn’t resist him.
Couldn’t pretend I didn’t want him.
But then, as time wore on and we’d gotten closer, I’d come to realize that his love was anything but healthy.
It wasn’t real love at all.
Marco didn’t love me.
He owned me.
And he would do anything to keep me under his thumb.
I had tried to leave him, but he wouldn’t let me.
He’d sent me gifts—beautiful, expensive gifts that forced their way into my life and into my heart no matter how hard I tried to keep them locked out.
And then there were the people he killed.
He killed people who stood between us because he knew it was the one surefire way of getting what he wanted from me: obedience.
The one thing guaranteed to make me crawl back into his bed and let him have his way with me whenever he wanted it—day or night.
And he wanted it a lot.
Just like he wanted me.
But the truth of it was that Marco Santoro was a killer long before I came into his life.
He’d told me as much on our first date, but I’d been young and stupid and I hadn’t believed him.
I hadn’t believed that his love for me could be anything other than real, even though I knew it was wrong to fall for a man who belonged to this world—a man who killed for a living.
Who was responsible for all the pain and suffering and heartache that came along with it.
If only I could go back and change things—if only I could go back and change myself—I wouldn’t be lying here now pretending to sleep, pretending not to care about what might happen if Marco discovered my secret.
Because Marco loved me so much that he wouldn’t let me go without a fight…
And that fight would probably end with someone’s death—mine or his—or maybe even both if I wasn’t careful.
If only I’d been careful before now…
If only I hadn’t let myself fall for the big bad wolf in the first place…
I loved hi but I was in more in danger to love him than to stay
I’d always thought that love was about equals—that it was a partnership between two people, where power dynamics were shared and decisions were made together instead of alone.
I thought that love involved freedom, independence, the chance to be yourself no matter what the cost, without fear of judgement or reprisal.
I’d always thought that love was a choice, not something you were born into or sold into against your will, like some kind of animal at market, to the highest bidder.
But Marco Santoro had proved me wrong.
His kind of love wasn’t about equality or freedom at all.
It wasn’t about choices, either—or at least not on my part—because he called all the shots, all the time, without fail, leaving me to follow him blindly wherever he chose to lead, even if it was over the edge of a cliff to our deaths below, because heaven only knew that he had the power to take us there if he wanted to do so…
No, Marco’s love was about control.
About power and possession and everything that came with those things—like fear, anger, pain—blood and tears.
He loved me, but he loved himself more; and he would do whatever it took to make sure that he kept me by his side for as long as possible, including killing those who dared to stand between us or come after us—or even those who dared to get too close to me, because he knew that I had a wandering eye and that when push came to shove—that when he finally pushed me far enough away—I would leave him behind and never look back again…
And he couldn’t have that, now could he?
He wouldn’t let me go—not without a fight—and that fight would probably end with someone’s death, if not mine, then his.
And I didn’t want that, so for now, at least, I stayed.
I stayed by his side, pretending that everything was all right when it wasn’t.
Pretending that I loved him when I didn’t even know what love was any more.
Because this wasn’t love to me, or if it was, then it was something very different from what I’d once believed it would be.
I used to think that love was about giving and taking, about caring for someone else as much as you cared for yourself.
About wanting the best for them and being there for them when they needed you most.
I thought that love was about being patient, kind and compassionate towards others, but Marco Santoro wasn’t any of those things—not towards me; and his love sure as hell wasn’t anything like what I’d always dreamed it would be.
No, Marco’s love was more like an obsession—the kind that wouldn’t let you go, no matter how hard you tried.
Because, despite our differences—despite the fact that one of us was the sheep and the other the wolf—I’d fallen in love with Marco Santoro, and he was my everything now.
I couldn’t escape the truth: I’d fallen in love with a man whose love was not only dangerous but also suffocating and unhealthy.
A man who would do anything for me—even if it meant killing me himself.
But that was the thing about Marco Santoro: he was selfish and ruthless and cruel—and he knew it too.
He was a killer—a monster in disguise—and he wouldn’t let anyone forget that fact, least of all me.
And maybe that was why I’d come to him in the first place—why I’d been drawn to him from the very start—because deep down inside, where no one could see or reach me, I wanted someone to own me and keep me by their side.
I wanted someone to protect me from the rest of the world—someone who could make my fears go away and heal my wounds, no matter where they came from.
Someone who loved me for who I was—or who they wanted me to be—to them.
And Marco Santoro was that person—or at least, he pretended to be.
So every night when I went to bed—and sometimes even during the day when Marco was around—I told myself that everything would be alright in the end; that Marco loved me too much to ever let anything bad happen to me.
That his love was the only thing that could save me from myself—from my own demons—because we all had our own personal demons to fight sometimes.
And we all needed someone to be there for us—even if that someone was a killer and a thief and a monster in disguise.
Because that was what Marco was: a monster, a man who’d killed hundreds—if not thousands—of people over the years just because he could; and now that same man was lying next to me in bed, fast asleep, with his arms wrapped around my body and his breath warm against my forehead.
And no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that everything would be alright in the end—that Marco loved me too much to ever let anything bad happen to me—I couldn’t hide from the truth forever: that Marco’s love was like a prison and that every time we made love—or even touched each other—he tightened the chains around my wrists and ankles just a little more…
But no one could see them—not even him—because they were invisible; and that was the whole point of them really: that because no one could see them, no one would ever know that they were there…
And I didn’t want anyone to know—at least not yet—so I kept quiet and let Marco hold me as tightly as he wanted while I tried to get some sleep myself.
But I couldn’t fall asleep—not yet—because I knew that if I did, then I’d wake up in the morning and everything would be different—everything would have changed—and it would be too late for me to do anything about it anymore…
And that was the last thing that I wanted.
So instead of closing my eyes and letting my mind drift away into the darkness of my dreams, I lay there and thought about the things that mattered most to me—the people that I loved and the people who loved me in return—and I cried because no matter how hard I tried to fight my own demons, they always came back for me eventually…
And now they were here again—and there was nothing that I could do about them except wait and see how things turned out in the end.
