Shadows of Truama a Mafias Embrace: Fawn

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Sexual Violence, abuse, minor gore, descriptions of violence, substance abuse, mafia, torture. This book has detailed descrptions, if you are not in a headspace to read it, than please do not.

Content Warning: One of the characters Anthony romanticizes his own abuse, but the intention is not to romatacize abuse in anyways but to show how sometimes people who are abused defend their abusers even when it's not right. This romanticization is also called out by the other character Victor.



Chapter 1: Victor


Victor sat in his office, his hands running over the newspaper that had been dropped off at his desk that morning, he was always careful to check the daily paper. He let out an amused scoff at the story he was currently reading ‘Blyth Family in Gambling Debt’, of course the game had been rigged against them. Henry was always a cocky bastard so it was high time he got his comeuppance. A part of him hoped the debt wasn’t paid, he needed an excuse to kill him, yet that would cause an entire mess to clean up. So instead he grabbed a set of scissors from the dark oak drawer. With that he gently snipped out the paragraph and heading.
“Serves the bastard right.”
He chuckled at the paper now in his hand. A knock on the door interrupted Victor’s trail of thought.
“Mr. Carlton, someone is here to see you.” It was Rachel, Victor’s secretary, she was a lovely woman, if not slightly dense.
“Is it Henry here to grovel?” Victor questioned, sounding a little too pleased at the idea.
“No, it isn’t Henry, but… it’s one of his wife’s ‘toys’”
“Henry sent one of his prostitutes huh? Think’s that’ll count as payment huh? Tell Mrs. Blythe that she can go-”
“The man came of his own accord.”
He paused, “Pardon?
“The man didn't come for Henry nor his wife. He wishes to speak with you.”
Victor stayed silent for a moment. He didn’t not see it possible for one of Henry’s or his wife’s ‘toys’ to be permitted into his territory without expressed permission or for what they called work. No way he wasn’t here as payment, it truly disgusted Victor that Henry was too much of a coward to come himself.
“Do I send him in?” Rachel asked hesitantly.
“Yes, but if I find out he was sent by Henry I will send him back in a bodybag.”
“Sir, we talked about this. If he was sent by Henry then I highly doubt it was willingly.”
“Fine. Send him in.”
Victor scoffed, he hated the sex industry as a whole, he didn’t hate the people who had to work out of necessity, but he hated people like Henry and his wife. People who made a living off of being cucks. Sure exploitation was just as much of his business as anyone else, but it didn’t change his mind, nothing would. The man still hadn’t been sent in so Victor spoke yet again.
“Send him in, I do not stand for my time being wasted.”
“Right away sir, sorry sir.” Rachel spoke quickly as she would prefer not to anger Victor.
The door swung open and there stood a young man, Victor looked the man up and down. His clothes were new, that much was clear, but they were wrinkled, messy. His collar stretched, the top three buttons of his shirt ripped off, slightly crusted up stains on his pant leg; good clothes put to waste. Other than the mess the clothes were nice, dress pants and a collared shirt,shoes just black flats. Victor scoffed, the least Henry could do was make the man presentable.
“Sit.”
“Yes sir.” The voice was soft and sultry as the man took the liberty of sitting on Victor’s desk, “How may I be of service, darling?”
“By sitting your ass in a chair and shutting that mouth of yours.”
The man quickly obeyed, moving to the chair and going quiet.
“Good, you listen. Yet I don’t particularly like the reason.”
“Oh come on, you don’t want a pretty man like me obeying your every whim, every desire? Every fantasy of yours?”
The man started to unbutton his shirt and before Victor could properly react his hand was around the man's throat. “Cut the act. One more button and I’ll blast your head off.”
Instead of fear the man simply smiled. “So you like to be rough huh, darling?”
Victor shoved the man to the ground wiping his hand on his shirt in disgust. “You disgust me.”
This time the man looked confused, almost hurt. “People don’t allow my audience without wanting me undressed, come on, please. There’s gotta be something you want?”
He stood up leaning onto the desk grabbing Victor’s tie in his hand pulling it slightly before toying with the fabric, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Please,” he begged. “Let me pay you for your time.”
Victor was dumbfounded, and frankly the strongest emotion he was feeling was disgust. “I will give you two seconds to get your hands off me, before I break your fingers.”
“Oh come on, please. Please, please give me a use.”
“Sit.” Victor repeated, this time venom in his voice. The man, realizing he was serious, sat down, now sitting on his hands.
“Good.” Victor said. “Now, who even are you?”
“Anthony.”
“Anthony what?”
“Anthony Sumner, sir.”
Victor nodded in response, at least he knew what to call his new visitor. He had never heard the name before, but by how the man was acting, he wasn’t new.
“So, how long have you been Henry’s?”
“Oh, I’m not Henry’s. I belong to his wife.”
“For how long?”
“Eight years.”
Victor thought carefully, eight years was a long time. He knew Henry had power and had the power for a long time, yet the fact Anthony stood before him now. Was Henry’s power slipping? If so, that would be quite helpful to get his payment. It wasn’t just Henry though, his wife Helen. Anthony was under Helen’s control and she was far more cruel than her husband was. All things considered, he shouldn’t be here. Under no circumstances would he be allowed enough freedom to come into this building, let alone anywhere near Victor himself.
“Why are you here?”
With those words the smile, the facade… it faded in an instant. “I need your help.” His voice was raw, desperate, strained. “Please.” The plea came out barely over a whisper.
“Help?”
“Please.” The plea came again. “I can be useful, I can be useful, anything you want… I mean anything, sex, labor, just someone to help with the business… I can do anything just please.”
Anthony’s voice cracked as he stared up at Victor, it was truly pathetic to Victor. Yet he understood, he wanted escape, he wanted a way out of his situation. Escape was Victor’s business, escape at a price, but never once in his life had he seen someone so eager to pay the price. No eager was the wrong word, desperate. That was it. Victor had seen men on their knees pleading for forgiveness, pleading to have their freedom back from him, but this wasn’t that. Victor wasn’t sure what this was. A man so desperate to be used by others, to prove his use.
Yet Victor wasn’t sure he could help, he drummed his fingers on his desk, the look in his eyes hardening. The issue rested slowly in who the man belonged to, and if he was under contract. He couldn’t simply kill Henry, as tempting as the thought was.
“Are you under contract?” He questioned Anthony.
“Huh?” Anthony stayed quiet for a moment. “I don’t think so.”
This equally relieved and angered Victor. Relieved as if there was no contract or proof that Anthony was Henry’s then it would make the transfer far easier. Yet that also meant Aanthony could’ve left a long time ago.
“So why stay? You didn’t have to.”
“Helen isn’t keen on letting me go. I’m her favorite. If they found me...” He trailed off, shuddering. “I don’t even want to think what they’d do to me if they found me.”
Victor mulled over his options, he didn’t want Anthony as a toy, or slave or anything along the lines of that. This was complicated, too complicated. Hendy and his wife were the main issue, if they knew Anthony was here of his own will and they got him back. Victor pressed the edge of his palm to the sharp corner of his desk, to break his chain of thought.
“Rachel. Come in here.”
The door opened and Rachel walked into the room, her heels quietly clicking along the floor. “Yes, Mr. Carlton?”
“I want you to schedule a meeting with the Blythes.”
“Both of them?” Rachel said, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
“Yes.”
Anthony’s eyes widened and he grasped Victor’s hand tightly. “Please, please… Don’t make me go back, don’t send me back to them. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can make it up to you, I promise! Please, please please. Don’t do this, I’ll do anything, please… You can’t do this to me.”
Victor sighed gently, placing his free hand on the man’s cheek. “Hey, hey… calm down.” His was surprisingly soft, his calloused hand gently holding the man still. “Shhh… You’re not going back to them, you have to trust me.”
Anthony looked up with those large pathetic brown eyes, his pupils so dilated, the outline of his iris was hardly visible. “Trust you?”
“Yeah, just stay here. I’ll be back when this is all over.”
“Yes sir. I’ll wait here-”
“And don’t call me sir, my name is Mr. Carltonb. You will refer to me as such, understood?”
“Of course, sorry.”
His eyes darted between Victor’s hands and his face as if expecting violence over such a simple mistake, Victor couldn’t help but sigh, this was going to be an annoying mess.



Chapter 2: Anthony
Anthony sat at the vanity in the back room, the dark wood and cool lighting a stark contrast to the harsh lighting in Mrs. Blythe’s ‘office’. He looked into the main large mirror in the center pulling the skin under his eye down slightly; checking how bad the bruising was. His eyes was swollen and slightly yellow at this point, it was normal by this point, Mrs. Blythe wasn’t the most gentle of women, and her clients, her friends, weren’t much better. She was a good woman though, well that’s what Anthony kept telling himself, she’d be kind if he learned to behave.
But even when he told himself that he still hated every second of having to see her face, not to mention if she got her husband involved. Anthony let out an involuntary shudder even thinking about what had happened to him last him Mrs. Blythe got her husband involved in their lessons, but right now he had to focus; there was a show in less than an hour and he had to look presentable or a black eye would be the least of his problems.
Anthony grabbed the concealer pack and the applicator that came with it was an old pallet, one Mrs. Blythe had no interest in, so she had given it to him; he was the favorite after all. He dabbed the powder into place, wincing each time despite the softness of the applicator. Most of the color was covered up though except a slight purple undertone that now set heavy under his right eye. Not good enough, he had to be good enough, he could be good, he just had to try harder. He could be good, she had said it herself.
He turned back to the mirror and grabbed the six color eyeshadow palette he had and a small soft brush. Starting with a deep blue and fading out to black Anthony blended the look to fully hide what was once a blackeye. He wasn’t upset about the injury, he had acted out so punishment was warranted. He wanted to do his eyeliner but with his hand shaking as bad as it was right now he’d probably mess it up.
Anthony took a deep breath before standing, the eyeliner in his hand. He moved slowly dreading what would happen next. He knocked gently on the wooden door. “Come in~”
Mrs. Blythe’s sickeningly sweet voice said through the door. Anthony opened the door and walked in, the smell of tobacco mixed with artificial perfume filled the air. Mrs. Blythe was sprawled across her chaise longue, a man was on his knees his head rested on the seat, Mrs. Blythe held his chin in her hand as she blew cigarette smoke right into his face. The man was dotted with bruises and what Anthony recognized as bite marks, as well as lipstick stains across his face, neck and chest. He couldn’t help but to have a twinge of jealousy at the attention the man was receiving.
Mrs. Blythe spoke, “Anthony, what are you doing here love, you should be getting ready for the show. Wow, you’ve done such a lovely job covering up that nasty bruise, good boy~”
Anthony couldn’t help himself, he didn’t smile, but those two words always lit a fire under his skin. “Thank you ma’am, I just wanted to ask for some help.”
She stood up walking towards him, her pastel purple dress reaching the floor, the black and white faux fur coat draped across a chair on the other side of the room. Again Anthony felt a hint of pride at how quickly the other man was ignored in exchange for him. “What can I help you with, love? Were you not satisfied with earlier today?” her arm snaked around his shoulders resting under the base of his neck, before her voice took a dark turn. “What did I say about being greedy Anthony?” She began to dig her nails into Anthony’s shoulder making the man wince.
“N-no ma’am… this morning was perfect. I just wanted help with my makeup… ever since your husband had his.. turn with me, my hands have been shaky and with the show in less than an hour I want it to be perfect.”
Mrs. Blythe let go of his shoulder, “Well of course my love, anything for you. Come sit…” She motioned to the chaise longue and Anothy sat down, his legs bent to the side and Mrs. Blythe looked him over. “You did quite well so far, such a handsome face, truly a shame I had to ruin it.”
It was as if the other man wasn’t in the room and Anthony couldn’t help that twisted sense of pride he got of feeling worthy of attention. Mrs. Blythe grabbed his chin tightly to turn his head towards her before she grabbed the eyeliner holding him completely still. “Be still for me, we wouldn’t want me to slip up now would we, because if I made it look bad you would still have to get out on stage~ That would be just humiliating now wouldn’t it?”
Her voice was eyepitched and smooth, however there was a sharp edge to it, almost like a high that no one could reach, there was that hint of sadism ever present when she spoke, like a sweet poison. “Anthony sweetie, make sure the show is good this time. Last week was a disaster with you limping on stage? Do you know how that looks to our clientele? Not good darling.”
“Ma’am it wasn;t my fault-”
She grabbed his collar, yanking his face inches from hers. “Don’t talk back, you are very lucky i don’t want to mess up your makeup, but as soon as you’re done with your show, I’m sure Henry would love to visit-”
“No!”
“No?” Mrs. Blyth questioned, now grabbing her cigarette from the second man in the room. “You don’t get to defy me.” She yanked on Anthony’s collar pulling him down to the floor and onto his knees. Without another word she took his chin in one hand pulling his face up. “So you don’t want Henry to visit?”
“N-no ma’am please… don’t tell him. I’m good, I’m good I promise.”
“Alright then.” Her smile turned to match her voice, the once sweet look now sharp and sadistic. “Prove it.”
“H-how?” Anthony stuttered out.
“You see I need to put out my cigarette but the table is all the way over there… but you? You’re right here.”
Anthony instinctively tilted his head to the side ready to allow her to add another mark to his neck. She laughed, a high pitched, horrid sound. “No no, foolish boy, I won’t do it, my hands are far too tired. Would you be a sweet and put it out for me?”
His eyes went wide and even the other man in the looked away as Anthony grabbed the cigarette from Helen with shaky hands. “Ma’am please…” His voice was hardly louder than his breathing, but he was cut off.
“I told you to do something, when I tell you to do something, you do it. Understood?” The last word was different, so much more friendly than the rest of the cold words. Anthony held the cig in his fingers, his hands shaking as he brought the lit end closer and closer to his neck.

The heat became unbearable before the fire touched his skin, the smell of burning flesh mixed with the sweet smell of tobacco and perfume. Anthony brough his head back even further, the back of his neck now rested on the cushion, the back of his neck supported by the solid curve on the edge of the seat. The burn began to sting, burning into every nerve it touched, he pressed harder, the cig crumbling in his touch as the burned skinned curled out as if desperately trying to get away from the heat. Tears fell down his cheeks, flooding over the make-up but not ruining it, the oil based powder stuck to his skin as the tears trailed over the make-up, before pooling under his chin. Then it slid down his neck, the salty tears mixing with the burn and pooling in the indent, soaking the paper wrapped around the tobacco, finally putting out the embers. The paper ripped and the warm tobacco spread over Anthony’s bare chest and the black dress pants he was wearing. The slight heat still burned but was not comparable to the indent now sitting, slight to the left side of his neck. It stung enough on its own, the tears mixing in only made it worse.










The formatting is slightly off so I'm sorry