Snakebite
Copyright© 2026 by Lane Millz
Chapter 2: Alessia (Past)
Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 2: Alessia (Past) - He thought he married a pawn. He invited a monster into his bed. Italian boss Nico needs an alliance, so he weds Irish mob princess Alessia. He expects a compliant trophy wife. Instead, he gets a lethal, unhinged predator who’d rather press a loaded gun to his jaw than obey. As their deadly power struggle ignites a twisted, obsessive passion, Nico realizes his feral bride is playing to win. A dark, high-spice mafia romance featuring a truly villainous heroine!
Caution: This Thriller Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Crime MaleDom FemaleDom Anal Sex Cream Pie Caution Revenge Violence
I stared out of the window at the blurring of the trees, bored as fuck. Micki was blasting Pierce the Veil so loud that I felt the drums in my chest, but I didn’t care. It was nice to feel something, for once.
I glanced over at my twin from the side of my eye, observing how he tapped his fingers along to the complicated break down of the drums. If we were born into a different life, I bet Micki would have been in a band. He looked just like me, both of us inheriting the ‘Irish eyes’ as Mama liked to call them. He was covered in tattoos, muscular underneath his trademark black clothing that he always wore. He rode a motorcycle, smoked cigarettes, did all the rebellious cliché shit normal teenagers did.
Except Micki and I were anything but.
I rifled through my purse, my fingers finding a small bedazzled case. I opened it, settling the joint between my lips as I sparked it with my lighter. I inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs as I rolled the window down, blowing it out slowly.
“Da says no drugs while we are working,” Micki chided, giving me a sidelong glance as he drives.
“Well, good thing Da isn’t here,” I replied mockingly, my lip twitching into a playful smirk as I looked at him. “Besides, Micki, it’s a little joint. It hardly counts as drugs.”
Micki regarded me for a moment, his mouth sliding into his usual sideways grin. With a sigh of resignation, he grabbed the joint from my fingers and took a drag of his own, not bothering to roll down his window. The smoke curled in the air around us, filling the car with the sweet scent of weed. He passed it back without looking at me, keeping his gaze trained on the road.
We had been out of the city for a while now, so I guessed it wasn’t too much longer until we got to our destination. Micki always knew where the best spots were; I never questioned him. I also hated talking unnecessarily, so I trusted his judgement. The sun was beginning its descent into the sky, casting an orange glow between the trees.
Sure enough, Micki clicked off the music and turned left onto a gravel road, then right, leading us deeper into the woods. The car began to bounce as we traveled off the beaten path, making me drop my joint.
“Shit!” I exclaimed as the cherry seared into my skin where it was wedged between my seat and my thigh. I picked it up hastily, stubbing it out in the ash tray. I rolled my hips to the side, surveying the burn mark on Micki’s passenger seat.
“Oh, that’s just fucking great, Alessia,” Micki groaned, peering over at the damage. “I just bought this car.”
“Shut up,” I snapped at him, anger bubbling up quickly. Anger always took precedent before things like remorse, sadness, empathy. But Micki was one of the only people who I gave a shit about, so I shoved it away and said, “Sorry, Mick. I didn’t mean to.”
We pulled into a secluded clearing, nestled deep within the trees, and Micki shut off the engine.
“It’s fine, but you have to do most of the digging.” He opened his door, slamming it behind him as he walked to the back of the car. I followed behind him, waiting for him to pop the trunk.
Inside, revealed two shovels and a heavy-duty plastic tarp, wrapped up tight like the joint, smoldering in the ashtray. Except, instead of singeing my flesh, this one would blacken my soul. At the top end of the tarp, I could see blonde ruffled hair, blood caking around the scalp. Much to my surprise, the tarp wiggled a bit, a muffled groan mingling with the sound of shifting plastic.
“Jesus, Micki, he’s not dead?” I asked, pulling down the tarp so I could see his face.
Frantic, beady brown eyes met mine, full of terror and pleading. He mumbled something underneath the duct tape and tried to wriggle more.
“He’s supposed to be,” Micki chuckled, running a hand through his hair. He reached for the gun he had holstered at his hip. My hand flew out to still his movement, and he paused.
“Let me do it.”
Micki nodded, stepping back and sweeping his arm in a flourish, giving me a mock bow. Asshole.
I leaned forward, simply pinching the nose of the man and cutting off his air. He squealed, like an idiot, losing his breath even quicker. Cool, this would be fast then. He thrashed as best as anyone could when they were swaddled in duct tape and plastic, but I held on. I kept my eyes locked onto his, fascinated by the range of emotion displayed in them. First, they widened, pupils dilating with adrenaline and fear. Then anger, desperation. There was a strange beauty in the way his body resisted, a primal, futile dance for survival. Like a symphony, reaching its crescendo.
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