Two ' A man Called Diego

Rays of faint sunlight flashed into Claria's eyes as she opened them, groaning loudly. She rolled over the bed, finally facing the opposite direction.

"You're awake?" a feminine voice asked.

As her vision cleared, she found herself surrounded by about a dozen ladies, led by a woman in a black gown with white collars and pockets.

"Where am I? What am I doing here? Why am I here?" She asked, struggling to sit up.

The woman in black, likely in her late 30s, replied, "It's time for your bath. The master demands your presence the moment you wake."

Her memory was still hazy. "What master?" she asked.

The woman smiled. "Our master saved you. From this moment on, you are a possession of the Don."

"Who is your Don? If I'm not being too curious, I hope you don't mean Diego?" She asked.

The woman's expression turned stern. "Do not call him by his name!" she yelled, sending a jolt of fear through Claria's veins.

She yelped, her mind racing with anger and resentment. "I swear, the moment I'm permitted to arrest this entire clan, I'll shove a knife into her throat first," she thought, clenching her fist.

The long hand struck twelve, echoing through the silence.

"I need to get the hell out of here!" She forced a smile, attempting to escape, but the maids swiftly overpowered her, bundling her into the bathroom.

Their strength and agility was mind blowing- perhaps they were ex-soldiers or former CIA agents?

[𝐶𝐿𝐴𝑅𝐼𝐴'𝑆 𝑃.𝑂.𝑉..]

They stripped me bare and submerged me in the scorching hot spring. The maids scrubbed my back with brute force, their rough hands scraping against my skin until it gleamed like polished marble.

After the scorching hot bath, a hair dryer was used to dry my hair. I was then dressed in a stunning black evening gown, adorned with delicate red rose patterns at the hem.

The maids meticulously styled my brown hair, adding a touch of elegance to my appearance. A subtle makeover completed the transformation, molding me into the perfect companion for their Don.

"We're almost done!" The head maid exclaimed, before spritzing me with a luxurious body spray and perfume.

They gently seated me, placing a plush pillow under my feet, and proceeded to give me a meticulous pedicure. Finally, they slid my feet into a pair of dazzling red stilettos.

«What a glorious life»

"Wait, where's my heel?" I asked.

"The master kept your old heels," the woman replied matter-of-factly.

"Why?!" I scoffed. "I bought those with my six months' earnings!"

Her expression turned icy. "I'm not authorized to answer that, unless you want me dead."

I raised an eyebrow, angry. "Is he really that intimidating?"

She remained silent, her eyes fixed on some point beyond me.

"She's ready!" she announced, and the door swung open.

Several men clad in black suits entered, their imposing presence unmistakable - they were bodyguards, tasked with escorting me to their master's chambers.

The head maid grasped my hands, positioning them together, with my palms resting against each other just below my abdomen.

"Maintain your posture," she instructed, her voice firm but measured.

One of the bodyguards stepped forward, his eyes locked on mine. "We'll leave now, Master has been waiting for us for hours," he said, executing a slight bow.

The head maid forced a strict smile, her eyes glinting with a hint of warning. "You may leave now."

I couldn't help but wonder what he looked like, that everyone trembled at the mere mention of his name.

"It's ridiculous," I scoffed to myself. After all, no one in the force had ever seen his true face...

"Follow me, ma'am," one of the bodyguards instructed, leading the way while the others fell into step behind me, sandwiching me between them.

As we approached the end of the corridor, the air grew thick with the sounds of anguish. Screams and wails echoed through the hallway, accompanied by a menacing, devilish laughter that sent shivers down my spine.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, mingling with the carefully applied makeup. "Aren't we there yet? And why is it so hot?" I asked, my voice trembling as fear crept in.

I wondered what he looked like. Maybe he was an old man? The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

"We're almost there," one of the bodyguards replied.

"Give her some space," he instructed the others, who took a step back.

"Ma'am, do you need a fan?" the guard asked, his expression concerned.

"It's manageable," I forced a smile, trying to appear braver than I felt.

"That's good, because we've arrived at your destination," the guard announced.

I glanced around, relieved to see that even some of the guards were trembling. "Thank God, I'm not the only one," I whispered, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

We stood before a massive, steel door that seemed to stretch on forever.

The guards signaled to the others on standby, who were protecting the room. One of them nodded, replying with a simple "Okay" to the unspoken question.

He picked up a radio and spoke into it, his voice firm. "Your guest is here."

I raised an eyebrow, thinking to myself, "Your guest? No one even knows my name, and yet, no one's bothered to ask. That's a terrible start."

A voice came through the speaker. "Open up!"

His tone was low and husky, sending a shiver down my spine.

"He's probably a heavy smoker," I thought, trying to distract myself from the growing sense of unease.

"Aiye, sir!" The guard saluted, and the massive steel door creaked open.

As I stepped inside, my legs buckled at the horrific sight before me. It was unbearable! Was this what he had been laughing at?

I retched, my stomach churning in revulsion. "Rrrruuu!" The torture was inhumane! How could anyone derive pleasure from this?

A man lay on the floor, his belly covered with an iron bowl. Burning coals topped the bowl, and rats scurried beneath, desperate to escape the heat. As they frantically searched for a way out, they began to tear and eat their way through the man's belly. He was barely clinging to life.

I couldn't bear it anymore.

"Stop!" I screamed, rushing forward to kick the bowl away from his stomach, giving the rats a chance to flee.

"What are you staring at?! Help him, now!" I screamed at the bodyguards, my voice echoing off the walls.

One of them stuttered, "D-don..." before trailing off.

A low, commanding voice spoke from the shadows, his eyes fixed intently on me. "Obey her."

The guards sprang into action, quickly unlocking the cuffs on the man's hands and legs before rushing him out of the room.

The voice spoke again, his tone calm and collected. "The rest of you, leave. Lock the door from the outside."

The guard's eyes widened in surprise. "From the outside, sir?"

"Affirmative," the voice replied.

The guard saluted, then swiftly exited the room, disappearing from view.

He watched her, mesmerized by her fiery passion. Her unbridled anger stirred something within him, and he struggled to contain his desire to ravish her. But he opted for restraint, choosing to savor the moment.

____________________________________________________

Claria seethed, her eyes blazing as she scanned the room. "You almost killed that man!" she thundered, her voice dripping with venom. "That torture was inhumane! How can you be so cruel?"

A low, gravelly voice responded through the speakers, "But you saved him, girl. You gave him a chance to repeat his crimes again."

Her anger boiled over. "Where are you hiding? What do you want from me? Why am I your captive? And, for the record, I have a name!"

"Let me out of here, you devil!" She screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Are you sure about that?" a low, velvety voice whispered behind her.

She spun around, her heel flying off her foot and soaring through the air. With lightning-quick reflexes, she caught it in her right hand and lunged at him, ready to strike.

But he was too fast. He dodged the heel and twisted her arms, pinning them behind her back. In one swift motion, he slammed her against the wall, leaving her breathless and disoriented.

Despite her struggles, she couldn't catch a glimpse of his face.

"Ouch!" Claria cried out, tears welling up in her eyes as the wall jarred her breasts, sending a searing pain through her chest.

"I've grown accustomed to your...murderous style of attacking," he whispered, his breath sending shivers down her spine.

"Don't you know where you are? And what your offenses are?" he asked, his tone dripping with menace.

"You're not showing even a hint of gratitude for having your...behind saved," he continued, his voice dark and foreboding. "But I expected nothing less from you."

She struggled against his grip. "I never asked you to save me! I have friends and relatives who could have bailed me out, but you've only caused me more trouble. Now the police think I'm an accomplice!"

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "You mean your fellow CIA agents?"

"W-what do you mean?" She stuttered, her voice trembling.

He ignored her question, his words dripping with malice. "Are you certain your CIA friends will save you, Miss Claria? Especially after they discover how you mercilessly killed a man? Won't they consider you a threat to society?" His voice whispered sinisterly in her ear.

Her anger flared. "Shut up! You have no right to say my name, you criminal! And I'm no threat to society!" She struggled to break free from his iron grip.

A devilish grin spread across his face. "I know everything about you, Claria. Every life you've taken, and why. And there's something even more... fascinating." His eyes glinted with malevolence.

A jolt of fear ran through her mind. He couldn't know... Could he?...

"The fact that you killed your own father," he sneered, his words striking her like a dagger.

Her heart sank, and outrage took over. "I didn't kill my father!!! You asshole!" she spat, trying to wrestle free from his grasp.

He chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Do you have evidence?" he taunted, his voice low and sly. "Evidence is all that matters, sweetheart."

"You know nothing about me!" She yelled, struggling fiercely against his grip.

He merely smiled "At least I know you're now in my possession. And I'm aware that you have a younger brother, about 21 years old, studying in college and living with your grandmother in New Jersey."

"Possession? My ass! I'd rather die than be your slave!"

He erupted into hysterical laughter. "Who said you're becoming my slave? Who would dress their maid in heels worth over ten million euros, the only pair in the world? No one, not even if the maid was vomiting money."

She scoffed "Like I care! Which heels could possibly cost that much?" But deep down, she knew – she had known from the moment she laid eyes on them.

"The first heels you wore after becoming my mistress," he said, his grin widening.

Claria scoffed again, trying to maintain her composure. "You're kidding, right?"

" You must love wild jokes."

"Shut it! You ugly devil!"

He burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room. "Really? You think so?"

He slowly released his grip on her

"I wonder what you'll look like—"

But her words died on her lips as her gaze met his face. Her brain froze, unable to process the shocking revelation.

° ° ° ° ° °

Her mind went blank, stunned into silence.

He embodied the very essence of the word "EXTRAORDINARY."