Episode 3: The First Crack

🖤 Mafia and His Doctor – Episode 3: The First Crack

600 words

For days, Elián tried to forget the way Lucien’s teeth sank into his skin.

But the bruise blooming on his neck refused to let him.

He hid it beneath high collars. Told himself it meant nothing. Told himself he wasn’t affected.

But every time he caught his reflection, saw the mark, he remembered the sound of Lucien’s voice — low, patient, promising ruination.

He shouldn’t have wanted more.

But the problem was… he did.

The silence didn’t last long.

Three nights later, Elián’s clinic was empty — lights off, doors locked — when a black car pulled up. No guards this time. Just Lucien.

He stepped out slowly, dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, cigarette glowing between his fingers.

No blood. No excuses.

Only a question: “Let me in.”

Elián opened the door.

No words were exchanged as Lucien walked inside, shutting the door with a soft click. His eyes scanned the room, then landed on Elián, who stood stiff and silent in the hallway.

"You’re shaking," Lucien noted.

Elián’s lips pressed into a line. "I don’t want this."

Lucien stalked closer. “Then why did you wear my mark like perfume?”

The air thickened between them, charged and heady. Elián stepped back, but Lucien caught his wrist — gently, not forceful, but enough to stop his retreat.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” Lucien said, his voice smooth like poison. “About how soft your hands felt. How warm your mouth looked when you gasped.”

“I’m not—” Elián began, but Lucien cut him off.

“Don’t lie.”

Lucien raised the hand he held and placed it over his chest, right over the serpent tattoo.

Elián felt the heartbeat underneath — slow, steady… in control.

“You’re pure,” Lucien murmured, “but I can change that. I’ll take you apart, piece by piece. Make you beg to be ruined.”

The words were filth wrapped in silk, but Elián couldn’t pull away. His breath came faster now, his body reacting before his mind caught up.

“Why me?” he whispered.

Lucien leaned down, lips grazing his ear. “Because I’ve had killers, whores, and soldiers. But never a soft boy trying to stay clean while standing in my dirt.”

A shiver ran through Elián’s spine. “You can’t just come here and—”

Lucien kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was a claiming. A warning. A slow burn that sent Elián stumbling back against the wall as Lucien pressed into him. The kiss deepened, greedy and hot, and Elián found himself kissing back — lips parting, hands clutching Lucien’s shirt like drowning silk.

He should have pushed him away.

But his body betrayed him.

Lucien pulled back only when Elián was breathless and dazed. He didn’t smile this time. He just looked at him, possessive and calm.

“This is how it starts,” Lucien said softly. “Soon, you won’t remember who you were before me.”

Then he stepped back, brushed Elián’s swollen lips with his thumb, and turned to leave.

Elián slid down the wall, heart hammering, mouth tingling.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream.

He just stared at the door and whispered the truth to no one:

“I think I’m already his.”

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