HIS CRUEL VICTORY

Through pain and pleasure, he claimed my shattered heart.

FAYE PIERCE

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 CONTENTS

Chains of Desire
Thank you
About the book
Playlist
Author’s Note
Before we begin…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
—
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
A steamy surprise…
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Afterword
Chains of Desire
Do you want more Romance?
Falling for the Devil
Never miss a thing
Thank you
About the Author

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CHAINS OF DESIRE

Book#1

Her Cruel Captor

Book#2 (this book)

His Cruel Victory

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 THANK YOU

I want to personally thank you for purchasing my book. It really means a lot
to me. It’s a blessing to have the opportunity to share with you my passion
for writing through my stories.
If you’re a true fan of the Dark Mafia Romance genre, then you’re going
to love this story…
It is called “Merciless Romeo”, and you can get it for FREE on Amazon.

DON’T MISS IT, as it will be available only for a few days!

Please click on the cover to download the book

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ABOUT THE BOOK
Daddy dearest married me off to the highest bidder, again.

I’ve been thrown into a new home in a foreign city, and a ruthless stranger
is putting a ring on my finger.

I thought things were as shitty as they could get… until I meet my fiancé’s
father.
If desire had a face, it would be his.

Emanuele Teso is a cruel silver fox ready to pounce on my every weakness,

and I might just let him.

Hell, I want him to. Every time his dark gaze meets mine, I crave his
punishment.

After all, I am a bad girl.

But I have been promised to his son. Not to mention, he is way too old for
me.

I called him “Daddy” once to piss him off, and I ended up bent over his
knees.

This is the consequence of all my sins, and I deserve it. I can take it.
My father’s business depends on this marriage. I cannot ruin another
engagement… or can I?

Through pain and pleasure, he claimed my shattered heart.

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 PLAYLIST

If you need music for everything, like I do… Here’s a playlist to listen to
while reading my book.

Billie Eilish - bad guy

Taylor Swift - I Did Something Bad
Camila Cabello; DaBaby - My Oh My (feat. DaBaby)
The Neighbourhood - Daddy Issues
SAYGRACE; G-Eazy - You Don't Own Me (feat. G-Eazy)
Florence + The Machine - Kiss With A Fist
Selena Gomez - Hands To Myself
Maroon 5 - Animals
 Imagine Dragons - Demons
Imagine Dragons - Believer
Melanie Martinez - Soap
Mother Mother - Hayloft
Panic! At The Disco - Emperor's New Clothes
Kehlani - Gangsta
Lana Del Rey - Born To Die
The Goo Goo Dolls - Iris

You can find the complete playlist on Spotify

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 AUTHOR’S NOTE

Dear reader, although I grant a HEA for the main characters in all of my
novels, this is a dark romance and some of its content could be triggering.
His Cruel Victory contains explicit sex scenes (involving DD/LG
dynamics); forced marriage; mentions of deceased spouse; (on page)
murder; trauma; abusive parent; poisoning; cheating (not by the MMC);
domestic violence (not by the MMC).
Please proceed with caution and be safe.

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 BEFORE WE BEGIN…

Before we begin…

If you would like to know what happened when Emanuele and

Salvatore struck the deal with Massimo to get Vittoria…
I think you may enjoy this Bonus Chapter!
This short scene is completely optional and not necessary to the story.
However, for those who want a fuller experience and wish to indulge in
every nuance of our characters' journey, it's a pathway I lovingly
recommend!

Simply tap here and you can read it for FREE, or use this link:
https://link.fayepierce.com/4wwDd5
Or if you’re reading this on a Kindle device, you can scan this QR code
with your phone…

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 CHAPTER ONE

Emanuele

“E va, take those things out of my study,” my gaze shifts to the sea-blue
eyes and the tresses of coal black. That used to be the color of my
hair before the gray showed through, now even more visible
under the ring lights and reflector she has arranged in front of my desk.

Thanks to her, I know the names of this equipment, and while that might
score me a best dad of the year title by actively participating in his
daughter’s career, I would like to draw a line at how much harassment I can
take. I'm having a cup of coffee, she is taking shots. I'm trying to read
through the newspaper, she is taking shots. I am trying to bloody work right
now, and she invading my space with equipment to take shots.

“Dad, just this time,” she drops her camera on the desk and hurries to
connect the extension to a socket, “It will be quick and painless.”

“Eva, I'm not in the mood to have my pictures taken,” I look at the antique
clock on the desk and see I might still have some time before Vittoria and
her father arrive. “Go take a picture of nature or something else,” I pick up
my cigar from the ashtray and puff, then tap the butt to let the ash fall.

“Dad, they love you,” she flips the switch, “my page does not have the
same buzz as when I post your pictures,” she takes hoppy steps to me and
hugs me from behind, then plants a kiss on my cheek, “It turns out they love
you more than they love nature.”

“Who is they?” I know who. She fills me in on everything, whether I care

or not. And I care.

“My fans, who are sort of like your fans now because they are pining for
more pictures of my hot dad,” she smiles sheepishly, saying the hot dad part
through joined teeth.

“Are these the kind of people you surround yourself with?”

I know it’s not the point, and I’m not a saint myself, but I don’t joke with
her. She is still my little Princess, no matter how grown she is. It will
always be my duty to watch and protect her.

“Dad, they are online, so it's not a physical thing,” she says, dragging her
oversized denim pants up to her stomach, then hopping back to the ring
lights to set them.
“But they’re in your circle, aren’t they?”

“Let's look at the good side here,” she ties her oversized neon t-shirt into a
knot around her waist. I'm a fan of her style. She dresses in oversized denim
pants and t-shirts, and she sometimes wears glasses. When she isn't being a
prickly daughter, she spends most of her time editing on her laptop or
taking pictures.

“What's the good side?” I fold my hands across each other and rest them on
the desk, making sure the cigar is visible between my fingers as I pose.

She knows how to get me. My little bubbly offspring of trouble. I always
knew she would be this way, from the night I held her in the hospital room
when she was born. With those eyes like her mother’s, there's not much I
can refuse her. There's not much I have denied her. And Eva has never
asked for anything I couldn't do. I built a bubble around her, and I love how
she has stayed in it, never wanting anything more.

“Be quick,” I snap my fingers at her, and she blows me a kiss.

“You are the best, Dad,” she flips the first ring light on and then hops over
to turn the second one on. She picks up her camera.

“I like how you're sitting, now look at the camera, please,” she angles the
camera to snap.

I do as the professional has asked. She is talented. Every year, she sells her
pictures for charity, and it's good for the family name, and people get their
money’s worth.

The shutter clicks, and she smiles brightly.

I take it she is satisfied.

“To put it out there, you have female and male fans,” she takes another shot.

“You don't have to put it out there,” I lift my eyes to look at her, and she
takes another shot. I'm about to scold her when the noises from outside
pique my interest.

She hears it, too.

“That's quite some shouting,” she snorts, “Salvatore is finally losing it.”

None of my domestic staff would dare to ramble so loudly that I could hear
it from my study. And not even Salvatore, or the women he changes more
than his underwear, would violate the estate's solemnity in such a way. I
wouldn't put it past him, except this time he is not around.

“Stay here,” I stand and walk to the door of my study. It's a stringy lady’s
voice and a harsh baritone belonging to a man, “Don't come out.”

Eva nods, “I will start editing the pictures,” she is on her laptop as soon as
she sits on the navy-blue sofa.

I open the door meticulously and step out. My study is on the second floor,
and from here, I can see what is happening on the ground floor.

I drag my cigar and puff, seeing them through the fogginess of the smoke.

Looks like my guests are having a moment.

Vittoria and her father, Giuseppe Mancuso.

She has her back to me and intersects his line of sight because she is on six-
inch heels. Her legs are covered in black stockings that disappear under the
red coat she has on.

But I can see the top of his bald head and the lines on his forehead
deepening from aggravation. Giuseppe is leaning on his walking stick and I
have no doubt he has a pipe between his lips. He wears his darkness like a
second skin.

“Give me a break,” Vittoria grits and balls her fists, as if she could punch
him if he wasn't her father. And I bet she can. I have heard enough about her
to know she is as ferocious as they come.

“You will do as told and not cause me any more trouble than you already
have,” he grunts, “This time, I won't go easy on you if you make a mess and
bring me shame,” he points at her with shaky fingers, “Once is a mistake,
but twice,” he spits his last words out, not completing the sentence.

“Whose fault was it that Massimo said no to your proposal for a slave?”
She throws one hand in the air in a poised way.

Her audacity. That thing about the offspring of a beast not seeing what
everyone else sees when they look at their parents.

She is standing her ground, making her look like a strong, firm woman, but
all I see is a brat that needs to be tamed. She has been given too much
freedom, and it's hard for her to know where the lines are drawn.

Giuseppe makes a guttural sound, “I'm happy I'm getting you out of my
home.”

“That makes the both of us…”

Her words have no landing as the back of his callous hand swings into
action and smacks her hard on the cheeks.
No, not that.

Not under my roof. I get that she is a spoiled brat but hitting her is going
too far. There are many ways to clip her wings, and I will take pleasure in…
Salvatore would take pleasure in taming her. I correct myself and clear my
throat loud enough to get their attention.

I start climbing down the stairs to welcome them when she turns in my
direction, and I almost stumble on myself.

Bloody Saints.

I grind my teeth.

To say she is easy on the eye is an understatement.

I am dazzled.

She exudes a pure magnetic charge and bloody hell, I feel like I’m being
pulled in with each step I take down the stairs to them. To her.

I hold her gaze, her eyes like coal, only they smolder, and she has the
defiance to hold my gaze as I walk down; standing straighter and lifting her
chin like I didn't just see her being hit and humiliated. Like ink on her pale
skin, her hair is wrapped up in a polished bun.

The closer I get, the straighter she stands. As if daring me. And that glare in
her eyes, like she has already dragged me beneath her and placed herself
above as the one with the power.

Oh, she is a fiery one. A wild cat that I want to curb. So many ways to tame
her. So many ways to train her. So many bloody ways to put her and her
smart mouth to good use.
I clear my throat again to sweep the contaminating thought out before it
infects my mind any further. She is Salvatore’s soon-to-be wife, and
whatever needs to be done to her, for her or with her, is his sole
responsibility. Not mine.

I close the distance, and if not for the fact that Giuseppe is in the room with
his hovering sourness, which I need to remind myself about, I wouldn't
have been able to tear my eyes away from her to look at his face, as
unpleasant as that might be.

But his face is where my eyes should stay. They have no business sampling
her any more than I have already. The legacy of my clan is hanging on her
and Salvatore’s marriage. I should never forget that this deal is one way to
strengthen my clan and give me a partnership with La eMe.

Her engagement with Salvatore must go as planned. She holds the key to
too much, despite Giuseppe showing he has no regard for her.

By the way she carries herself, she knows her place and what she can make
me lose.

For some bloody reason, I find myself longing for hell.

And that fire in her eyes tells me she is not afraid to play.

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 CHAPTER TWO

Vittoria

T he fall of Vittoria Mancuso.

A play proudly sponsored by Giuseppe Mancuso, my father. Even though

he keeps showing how undeserving of that title he is with every single
passing day. There's nothing that can be done to alter the script, not when
the show has been set, and especially not when he is the one directing it.

Oh, to be a normal girl born in New York, allowed to choose her own
career, have normal friends, go out on dates, fall in love, live her life with
the people she loves and who love her. To be able to have a favorite TV
show to watch, extended family holidays and to argue about which snacks
are the best, the salty or sweet ones. To talk about fashion trends with your
girlfriends or gossip about the neighbors with your mom.

Oh, what I would give to not have to exist in this world as a daughter to the
man beside me.

But the show must go on.

The shit I will have to act through… I know as fucking hell I will have to
give a grand performance to the very end. Till the curtains close, the hall is
emptied, and I’m finally hollow.

For a moment there, I felt untouchable. Now, I wouldn’t dare to think I'm
valued any more than exchangeable stock.

I know a handful of people who are having a field day at the outcome of my
life. The ones who think I probably deserve this much and the ones who
wish I would get more than I'm getting now.

Then there's the club of men like the one whose sad semen brought me to
life, who are clinking their glasses in celebration of the benefits they will
reap from the miserable outcome of my life.

My father doesn't care for anything other than expanding his wealth and
affluence. Sometimes, it’s like he doesn't even care about his own life.

That makes the both of us.

I sneer, the vexation burning and running through my veins, rushing straight
to my brain. It's scorching every cell and licking up any functional nerves.
Forlorn. I should slap it on my forehead and ride through a cloud of thunder
with that miserable word.

If I could sum up my shit life using one word, it would be pitiful. I deluded
myself into believing that at the end of a rough life like the one I've had, I
could find reprieve. I tricked myself into believing that somehow,
something that feels like a miracle of some fucking sort could happen to me
and get me as far away as possible from the only life I've known.

But delusion time is over.

Reality slaps harder than papà can ever hit me.

There's nothing I can do to change that or reverse the course of my life. It

has set sail, and I am nowhere close to the helm of that ship. And it is
pathetic to wish for a storm to steer it in another direction.

This is what my life has been reduced to.

Hate it as I may; I have no fucking choice but to live it.

Giuseppe takes his pipe from his mouth, daring me to say another word. I
know he is capable of burning me with the thing. He has done it before. I
have a body that feels like a display of his artwork from the ridges left by
healed wounds. It's why I always cover myself up.

Someone harrumphs behind me, and I take my time as I circle from

shooting fireballs at Giuseppe for his assault, although I'm used to it and I
probably saw that one coming, to looking at who I'm expecting to be
Salvatore. Another degenerate I'm here to see.

I don't mean to judge, but I never knew Giuseppe to do business with men
of unlike minds. The closest he was to doing things differently was with
Massimo, but my father’s reputation preceded him, playing a huge part in
ruining that for everyone.

The grimace on my face loses its hold and begs to deflate as my eyes drop
on him. The cold from his stapling sooty eyes, almost like the dark strands
mixed in the gray of his hair, sends shivers from where our eyes meet down
my spine. Any funny move, and I will disintegrate.

He is entrancing, to say the fucking least. Old, no doubt. But age has only
given him his attributes an acuteness that should be considered illegal, the
same as his choice of business.

I swallow what feels like pricking pins, my throat tight. It both hurts and
tingles.

I have a new theory for how the devil looks. Up until now, I could use
papà’s face as a pictorial reference, but seeing the darkness in the eyes of
this man, sensing the air that surrounds him as he takes valiant steps down
the white-marbled stairs with gold rails, I agree with everyone who has ever
suggested that the devil looks nothing like we know.

My heart beats faster, in rhythm with my breathing, with each step closer he
gets to us. To me.

Giuseppe had to choose his kind. He didn't even think of picking someone
at least age-appropriate for me. I must have lost my market value to be
given to this man. Or he offered something way above what Giuseppe
would have expected in exchange for me.

Not that he is anything like Giuseppe in appearance. The irony is that his
choice of color is black, and Giuseppe’s is white. Black dress shirt for a buff
body and muscles that radiate authority. Black dress pants for firm legs with
powerful strides as they close the distance. A hole in one of his coal-black
bristled eyebrows to show he had a wild youth.
Most of his long, firm, thick fingers are covered in black ink and rings.

I lift my eyes back to hold his slithering gaze. It’s like he can tear through
my fort and see that I am cowering inside. Like he can see deep inside how
much I'm shrinking and hurting from this arrangement.

My jaw ticks now, and my teeth grate against each other. The fire in my
brain is shooting across like fireworks, and my sinuses are prickling with
tears that will never make it to my eyes. It's been twenty years since I last
cried. And no matter how vexed I am at this moment, it's not fucking
enough to break the dam.

He is staring intently as he stands before me. Like I summoned him. Like

he is some dark lord ready to fulfill some prophecy with me at its core.

His hooded eyes are dispatching encrypted messages to me, and my

vexation-swaddled brain is trying to decrypt them. Whatever they are
conveying seems important, and I want to know. But, as piercing as his eyes
are, there's a shadow that does not allow looking past what he wants a
person to see.

The hair at the nape of my neck spikes up.

It's a staring contest, I guess.

He is trying to gauge me. To weigh up his new toy. He can get in line.
Giuseppe has tried even to break me my whole life and he yet has to get the
desired gratification from his hard work. Whatever he thinks he can bend
me with, I'm sure it's nothing compared to the hell my father put me
through for years.

I take him up on his silent dare. Staring contest it is, then. A little annoying,
but thrilling nonetheless. It's the most thrilling thing that has happened to
me in a while, and I can make due with a little excitement in my
progressively tedious life.

Papà is observing us, but he just insignificant right now. The man in front
of me knows how to guzzle attention when he walks into a place.

We are both determined to see this one to the end.

Then, he drops his eyes to the side of my face. The same side that was hit
by Giuseppe minutes ago. Meaning, he saw me get hit. He saw my
humiliation, how I wouldn't want the man I have been handed to as a trophy
wife to see me in. And he is letting me know he saw it, to remind me of
how little I mean even to my father and to let me know that he also knows
how to keep me in place when I falter.

But I will not falter.

It’s a promise.

A fucking oath, if I need to draw my blood and swear on it.

I won’t let anyone make me feel so little. I am Vittoria Mancuso, and I don’t
care what anyone thinks about my predicament; I will keep my head high,
my eyes ocean-still, my spine vertical, and my will to fight for myself and
retain whatever self-worth is left in my life unshaken.

So, I boss up my chest. In my mind, I seize him up with a leash and strip
him till he shrinks. I keep him where I keep them all—underneath me. I
don't care about the power this one emanates. I don't care if he threatens to
turn the wheel and use my leash against me.

I don't fucking care if Giuseppe dived into hell and brought the devil out
with him to give his daughter to.
He is beneath me.

And beneath me is where he will be for the rest of this shitshow.

A glint of amusement flickers in his icy eyes, and I sup up. It's the first
opening he is giving me. The first anything I get from him other than the
dark threat in his eyes.

“Giuseppe,” his voice bellows with the thick, dry texture of a tree bark.
“Welcome. How was the flight?” He turns his head in the direction of
Giuseppe. No smile. Not even a subtle welcoming hint. It appears Giuseppe
has found his twin.

“I beat death again,” Giuseppe grunts, moving closer with the aid of his
walking stick. He once again makes it clear that I mean nothing by standing
in front of me, giving me nothing but the back of his glossy bald head.

I know he can manage on his own, but he chooses to use the walking stick
as a guise, so people think he is vulnerable, and they let their guard down
around him.

“This must be her,” that stormy voice again, making me want to zero out
every other voice in my head and narrow it down to only his.

“This is my daughter,” Giuseppe offers, stepping aside slightly. On the

bright side, if there’s any to this arrangement, at least I won’t have to listen
to his screeching voice any longer.

“I would say I that see, but…” he snorts quietly.

“She took after her mother,” Giuseppe chortles abrasively, “She is lucky.
What good would she be if she had this face?”
I would carve the face out myself if that were the case. If life had dared to
not only give me him as a father but also make me even a sliver of an image
of him. It would feel like a punch in the gut every time I looked in the
mirror.

“She has your tenaciousness.”

He doesn’t know me. I’m nothing like my father.

If anything, I’m worse.

“It has cost me,” Giuseppe replies, looking around, “I don’t see Salvatore.”

“He is around somewhere.”

“You are not Salvatore?” I don’t want to show the nip of disappointment in
my maniacally twisting stomach.

“Would you want me to be?” He turns to me now, then shoves his firm
hands into the pocket of his dress pants. His stare has the same effect as a
thunderbolt. It strikes.

It’s my turn to harrumph, “I thought you were my fiancé.”

“Is that so?” He lifts both brows, eyes almost shimmering from the effect of
the bright white light overhead.

Cheeky laughter breaks through the intensity in the air before the person
laughing pokes her head from behind him. Everything in this estate appears
to be on a different plane of beauty.
She practically bounces over to us with coal-black curls, vibrant blue eyes,
pink flushed smiling cheeks, wearing an oversized neon shirt tied to the
back, baggy denim pants, and holding a camera.

“That would be awkward now, wouldn’t it?” She sneaks her free hand
under his arm and plasters herself to his side.

She looks too bright to be around someone with such a sullen aura. I flick
my eyes between them, observing the stark contrast. Tight-pressed lips and
lips curved in a smile. Darkness and light. Maybe a storm and rainbow.

“Salvatore is my brother,” she wraps her hand around his waist now.
“Wouldn’t it be awkward if my father was your fiancé?” She cranes her
neck to stare at him. “I know he is easy on the eyes,” she smiles, the kind of
smile that says how much she cherishes him, “But nah…” She shakes her
head, scrunching her nose.

Her father. That's the piece to complete the puzzle. As a pair they are like a
work of art I can’t figure out, no matter how much I stare at it or try to
delve into the artist's mind.

And as if it’s not enough, he smiles at her and wraps his strong, protective
arms around her.

His daughter has so much life pulsing through her that it is impossible not
to have some of it spill on you. A daughter who looks like she has been
allowed a freedom I can never dare dream of. I observe how bold she is to
not only approach her father but to fling herself on him, even with a guest
like Giuseppe groaning disapprovingly alongside me.

This starts a spiral of longing inside of me.

Shame on you, papà.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THREE

Emanuele

S he won.

She bloody won, and I let her.

The fight is not mine either way. She is not mine to teach or curb. She is for
Salvatore, and I can only, for the bloody life of me, hope he has what it
takes to clip and mellow her into a good wife.
Too much fucking fire in this one. She will consume him if he doesn't have
what it takes.

A spit fucking fire.

I have to admit that, with the right man, she would do a worthy job of
holding down an empire. As much as her father hated her, that was obvious
to him as well. In our meeting with him in New York, he did point out that
she had a head for business and that she worked with him.

I rip my eyes away from her face, her look making me think she would
have preferred me to be the man she is here for.

For all her strong wit and wimp, I see through her. She is not an open book.
My guts tell me she is letting me in, while pretending she isn’t. Perhaps this
is an exchange, maybe she thinks it will make me let my guard down.

Too bad for her.

That's never happening.

And now that I’ve found a way through, I'm not staying out.

“Meet my daughter,” I squeeze Eva some more. “Eva,” I tilt her towards
Giuseppe, holding her to myself. It's not him, per se, that I am worried
about. It's just how I am with the people I care about after the bloody
accident.

Old habits die hard, and I've had ten years of practice.

“Your daughter?” Giuseppe grunts, not hiding his distaste for her being
here.
I have spoiled Eva. But it's not like I don't like to see her cross those lines.
She has always been the type to show up where she isn't supposed to be.

“Welcome to our estate,” Eva giggles, overtly excited about what is

happening. My guess is she is just excited to see Vittoria. There is nothing
is exciting about Giuseppe’s brooding face.

“Eva,” Giuseppe recites her name like it's a broken bottle stuck in his throat.
And I take note of how he has been acting since Eva joined us. I don't give
a bloody fuck how things are done in his house, but this is mine. And in my
house, my daughter is daddy’s little princess. “At least I can say I see it,” he
lifts his eyes to me and gives a sneer, or maybe he is trying to smile.

“She takes after me,” I don't care to smile in his direction, but I get the
reference of his joke if we can call the drought statement a joke.

“You must be Vittoria,” she spins her eyes to Vittoria.

“Yes,” Vittoria croaks, then clears her throat loudly, a little too loud, an
uncharacterized trait for her bottled-in personality. “That’s me,” she lifts her
high cheekbones and keeps her raspberry lips pressed together, giving a
smile that stays on the lips, never reaching her sultry eyes.

“Isn't this great, Dad?” Eva wiggles in my arm, and I bob.

It is great.

“I suppose we can say that.”

“If you are not Salvatore, why isn’t he here?” Vittoria folds her arms across
her chest, assuming a defensive position for what may come. She’s not sure
she will like what she'll get.
I'm not sure why that makes me want to both puff up and shrink because I
shouldn’t be feeling anything.

“Let me get him,” Eva offers, and before I can say anything, she scuttles out
of the parlor.

Through the window, I see her take the garden that leads to Salvatore's
apartment. She can access it through the main building, but Salvatore never
opens the door on this side, except if I'm the one on the other end.

The silence doesn't last for long before Eva comes bursting in, a little
breathless, but all bubbled up and genuinely happy to be a part of this.
Normally, I would ask her to excuse us, and I will soon, but for now, she
can stay.

“He is coming…” she hops to my side.

“Easy now,” I pat her back benignly, and she smiles at me.

The connecting door opens, and Salvatore slips out of his apartment.

All eyes turn to him but mine. I want to see what she sees. Or how she
reacts to what she sees. If I had thought her jawline couldn't get any sharper,
I was wrong.

Salvatore straightens his maroon sweater, stamps his boots, and adjusts the
fitting of his blue jeans. All that tardiness is on display for his fiancé and
future father-in-law to see.

The more I wonder what I’ll do with him, the more it drives me crazy.

“Dad,” Salvatore takes long, careless strides from the connecting door to us.
He looks disgruntled. As if he was in the middle of something and we were
interrupting him. He was probably doing something disappointing.

“Salvatore,” Giuseppe has a lighter tone this time. Finally, a child of mine
he likes. It might be because of what he is getting from turning him into his
son-in-law or just simply because he sees his younger self reflected in him.

“Giuseppe,” Salvatore switches to my other side to extend a handshake,

“How was your flight?”

“I didn't die,” Giuseppe offers the same joke again, and Salvatore cackles.

Bloody Saints.

“Grazie al cielo, you are safe,” Salvatore retrieves his hand.

“Salvatore,” I step in, “this is Vittoria. Vittoria, this is my son, Salvatore.”

I have been trying to ignore the swirling disappointment in her eyes because
the more I look, the more I feel like I will sink into a state of hypnosis. But
now I can't help it. It's here for all to see. She does nothing to hide it.

“Salvatore,” she snorts dryly.

“Vittoria,” Salvatore snorts loudly.

It is safe to say they fit.

“Salvatore, she is so beautiful!” Eva titters, and Salvatore glares at her. “But
she is,” she mumbles, “Dad, isn’t she?”

I won't answer that. The word beautiful feels too casual to describe her.
“Thank you, Eva, you are beautiful too,” Vittoria smiles softly now.
“Sometimes, men can't see what's in front of them,” she throws a subtle
punch, and I don't know who she is referring to. But judging by the men
present, I would say all of us.

“Shall we?” I step aside and point to the stairs, indicating for us to take this
meeting to the study, “Eva, get Fabio; he will know what to bring with
him.” She is already on it.

“And also–”

She halts.

“Get Sabrina to make coffee,” I tilt my head this time to face Giuseppe, and
he gets the gesture, nodding.

“Black,” he gruffs.

“Tea for me,” Vittoria clears her throat.

“You are not invited,” Salvatore cuts in.

“Invited or not, I will have tea,” she snaps.

“That's enough,” Giuseppe smacks his tongue in a fit of irritation.

“Please,” that's directed to me with a toned-down pitch. “After you,

Emanuele.”

“She can be a part of it,” I offer, not knowing why but wanting to give her
this little gift of feeling like a part of the decision that's about to change her
life.
“Thank you, but I will be…” she inhales shaky breaths, “I will be here.”

“If he says you can come, then come,” Giuseppe grunts.

The man has little patience. It's good for business sometimes.

I lead the way, Salvatore by my side and Giuseppe behind. With no sound
of heels clacking on the floor, it is clear that Vittoria is staying behind.

“You spoil her,” Salvatore says to Giuseppe.

“She is my only child; that is a given,” Giuseppe grunts, “She is also just
plain stubborn, but I doubt that has anything to do with me.”

“That has everything to do with you,” Salvatore laughs softly.

The light comes on as we walk into the study.

“What are these?” Giuseppe points with his pipe at the equipment Eva
arranged in my office, still the way they were when I left her.

“My sister’s,” Salvatore hurries to shove them to the side.

“Be careful with those, they're sensitive,” I borrow Eva’s words.

I follow Giuseppe to the sofas arranged around a table at the center, a dim
lamp hanging from the ceiling.

The two of us sit across from each other. He leans back, one elbow on the
arm of the sofa, twiddling with his pipe and holding his walking stick
between his legs in front of him. I have one leg over the other, one arm
resting on the top of the backrest, and my elbow on the armrest.
Salvatore sits adjacent to us as carelessly as he can. Both elbows on his
knees, bouncing his feet impatiently.

Sabrina is the first to come in with our espressos. There are four cups on the
tray, plus one for the fourth person who is joining in now.

Fabio. My consigliere.

Gentle to the eyes in a navy-blue suit, but prowler when needed. It's in his
hooded forest-green eyes. I have never seen him wear anything but a suit
when dealing with business in all the years I've known him. And everything
to Fabio is business.

“Giuseppe,” Fabio takes his seat beside me and hands the file he has with
him to Giuseppe.

Giuseppe jumps into reading it, indifferent to the coffee set before him and
eager to get this over with, as am I, because the alliance he promises is one
I can't wait to join.

At least now, we can have a different line of exportation of drugs. With his
help, we can now do business with La eMe. And the Bratva has no access to
them. It offers us a significant advantage over them because they can
provide the same quantity and quality at a lower cost.

The door of the study opens timidly, and Vittoria steps in. She stays by the
door, watching with hooded eyes as her father reads through the document.
She looks mysterious in the solemn light of the study.

Fabio brings out a pen from the inner pocket of his suit and hands it to
Giuseppe. He grunts as he takes it, then scribbles quickly on the document.
He hands it over to Fabio and it's my turn to do the same.
I do my part, sealing the fate of my clan and praying to the Saints that this
alliance is the holy fucking grail it appears to be.

“We are in-laws now,” Giuseppe says, sipping his espresso, then setting the
cup down too quickly. “Time is money.”

I nod at him and we all come to a stand, then take his hand in a firm
handshake, ignoring the hawkish eyes peering by the door.

“I have a flight to catch,” he retrieves his hand, “I guess I will see you
around,” he clears his throat, then looks at Salvatore, “I know she is a
handful, but keep her in one piece.”

Which basically means break her but up to a point. If anyone were to touch
my daughter, I would chop their hands off. How Giuseppe can say this only
speaks more of his rottenness.

“I will walk you out,” Fabio offers.

Giuseppe nods, and they both leave. He doesn’t even care to stop and say
goodbye to his daughter and she doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn't look
like she wants him to—instead, she keeps the door open for him.

“Well, I will get back to what I was doing,” Salvatore approaches the door.
Vittoria rolls her eyes and smirks

He exhales and makes a clicking sound while shaking his head. He is

holding back.

He walks out the door and Vittoria slams it shut.

I sit back, waiting for her to leave, but she just folds her arms across her
chest. Her arrogance is replaced by something I'm having a hard time
identifying.

“Join me,” I pat the space beside me.

“I don't think I want to,” she ticks her jaw, keeping her eyes on the ring
lights in the corner, “For Eva?”

“Yes.”

“She took these?” She looks around the study at the photographs on the
walls.

“Yes.”

“She is talented.”

“She is.”

She puffs, “I didn't get the tea,” she sweeps her tongue around in her mouth.

“Sit, I will have one made for you,” I pat the spot again, and this time, she
sashays to me with that clipped waist and slender legs. She sits beside me.

She throws her head back to stare blankly at the ceiling.

“I will be right back,” I pluck myself out of the study, needing to get
something that has been on my mind since I walked in on her and her
father.

Sabrina is standing by the door as I step out.

“Get me ice with a washcloth, a pain killer, and a cup of tea,” I tell her, and
she springs into action.

I don't go back inside, needing to put some space between me and the
whirlpool of sensuousness awaiting me.

A few minutes later, Sabrina is back with a tray containing everything I

asked for, and a bottle of water.

“Just one pill is enough,” she hands the tray over and steps aside.

I nod and walk back into the study.

Vittoria has one leg crossed over the other and a cigarette between her lips,
a gold case that also functions as a lighter in her hand.

I set the tray on the table, and she drops the cigarette back into the case.

“I smoke when I'm having a hard time,” she snorts, “Which is always
around my father,” she gulps. She drops the case on the table.

“Here,” I serve her the cup of tea, and she takes it and drinks until she
empties the cup.

Cute.

She bites her lower lip. “I was thirsty,” she states.

Those lips.

My eyes narrow on them, and my cock ticks in my pants.

Not that, please. She shouldn't saddle my attention on those lips and what I
would like them to do at this point.

I pick up the ice wrapped in the cotton white washcloth and lift it to her
face.

“I am fine,” she tries to slide away, taking her hand to cover the spot.

“I take care of what is mine, Vittoria,” I don't touch her, but she drops her
hand, “I just got you; I'm not about to have you damaged due to poor
maintenance.”

“Right,” she chuckles softly, “like some tool from a hardware store,” she
picks up her cigarette case and plucks a stick out. “I better restock my
cigarettes then,” she holds the lighter in the air, then lifts her long dark
lashes to look at me with those pulpy eyes, then lights the cigarette up.
“Horrible days ahead.”

Up close, she looks even more enthralling than I had thought. Silk skin,
elongated curly lashes, plush raspberry lips, button nose, slender neck, and
that scent that's both savory and provocative.

I place the ice on the bruised spot, and her breath heaves, suspended.

I'd like to run my finger along her smooth skin. To trace lines down her
neck and not stop until I find her...

I clear my throat.

Bloody Saints.

She is going to drive me crazy.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FOUR

Vittoria

H is scent of earth and opulence is sweltering.

It's all I can do not to melt like steel thrown into an inferno.

I swallow grizzly air, shifting in my seat, but unable to move away because
I have been commanded to stay put.

I hate it.
My body itches to disobey.

But I can't. People don't usually care so much for me. I could be back from
an operation or bruised to the point of almost dying, and Giuseppe wouldn't
bat an eyelash.

I exhale a shaky breath.

His quiet, strained breathing make me acutely aware of his presence.

I can't imagine ever forgetting his presence, even for a brief minute. His
presence is big enough to swallow space in the same way that his gaze
consumes me.

The ice he is pressing against my bruise gives me relief. It contrasts sharply

with the person tending to it. It's nothing compared to the onyx eyes that I
can't turn to look at. Something instinctive in me fears he will unearth me,
as he has already started doing in the little time I've known him.

It's confusing. And upsetting.

When I saw him for the first time, I did not exactly like him, but I did find
companionship in the mutual dislike.

It's like we can exist together in this room, disliking each other in a way that
is comforting. But I don't like his tone. I don't like how comfortable he is in
silence. At least a talking man slips up. But he says nothing.

His eyes, his mannerisms, nothing is being said aloud.

And yet, his demeanor tells me all I need to know.

The quietness is something to seep through and get seized in. It can be
scary. And it’s unusual for me, but it looks comforting to him. I wonder if it
is him making me uncomfortable rather than the silence itself.

Maybe it's because of how I saw him care for Eva, or perhaps it's because
the unimaginable is happening.

I miss New York. No, not just the big, loud city. I miss the heart of it. It's
not something I can describe, but seeing my father walk out that door stings
with the truth that New York is no longer home for me.

Nowhere has been home for me, but at least the city was the closest thing to
it. At least, papà made sure I was taken care of because of what he hoped to
get from me in return.

I keep my cigarette between my lips. Not smoking it, I don't have the
energy to lift my hands and work that pattern.

I taste the tobacco and just savor the smell in the air. It's lewd—charged up
with the grandeur that's seeping from the big man beside me.

He is a perfect blend of class and razz. Unlike his son. Nothing like his son.

This is not to say Salvatore is sour to the eyes, but he doesn't have the
gentleness his father possesses. Salvatore is all over the place.

If Emanuele is a still ocean, Salvatore is an unsteady bucket of water.

Messing the entire place up. No fucking coordination. A worse option for
me compared to Massimo.

I didn't love him, but he had everything I wanted. He had the demeanor. He
had the looks. He had the affluence. And he had the justness, something that
placed him above us Mancusos.
Massimo would have given me a life away from the one I knew. He would
never hit a woman, he would never stoop to the level of sex trafficking, and
he would never soil his hands in a way that would hurt the innocent.

I wanted it to work so badly between us. I just wanted him to accept me and
let us work together to build our empire. But he got himself a slave instead
and pretended to love her to get out of the engagement with me. Then, as if
to add salt to injury, he fell in love with her.

Every time I see her, I see the life I could have had. The escape. My escape.
But she took that from me. She stripped me of that. And now this is what I
have.

Salvatore.

I suppose I deserve this punishment given that I kidnapped his now wife
Alejandra and tried to sell her back to the Camorra. I know it was wrong,
but I lost control there for a minute. That is how badly I wanted that life.
And that is what got me here.

All my years of falling in line and doing right by my father, only to be

offered to a man with no backbone.

Classic.

Curly hair, dark eyes, barely a seven on a good day in terms of appearance,
but with the right height and that god-awful smell like he just got baked in
some nose-pickling spice. It took everything I had not to scrunch my nose
at him. But I am sure I will shortly. If we are to be husband and wife, I will
have to find a way to swap whatever bad perfume he wears for something
decent.
The cigarette is burning. The heat calls me back to the study I'm in. And if it
were a good day for me, I'd stop and appreciate the art.

On one side is a library so high I want to weep for the richness of

knowledge available to me. Then, the black-and-white pictures of emotions
my soul longs to explore.

Eva captured crinkles, the curviness of lips, mouths opening ajar in

laughter, and the deepening of neckbones, to mention but a few. I can hear
the sounds of their laughter and feel every nerve ending that contracted to
give them the moment she so brilliantly captured. It all melds in a
harmonious weave with the vibrant white on the walls of the room and the
splashes of ritzy hue of furniture and accessories. I already know this room
will be my favorite.

But I'm not sure why someone so gloomy would feel at ease in a space so
dissimilar to his nature. Probably in the same manner he felt at ease with his
daughter's enthusiastic spirit.

“It's safe to talk, you know,” I clear my throat again. With him around, it's
like I'm breeding spiders in my throat. “And I think I feel better,” I chuckle
softly.

I feel fucking numb on that cheek. I get it he wants to help, but the ice is
freezing. As one would expect.

I try to tilt my head to look at him, but the firmness of his hand tells me he
doesn't want me to look in his direction. I'm stubborn, though, so I'm still
tilting, and he seems to keep up with pushing against me. No strain on his
breathing as he does that, but I'm grinding my teeth already. He is
unmoving, just breathing beside me, and looming.

“Emanuele… Really, thank you.”

He retrieves his hand, and I flex the muscle there to be sure it's still
functional.

“You feel better?”

“Yes, thanks,” I bite my lower lip, not sure what to do.

I'm clueless about how to exist around him.

“Take the pain killer,” he doesn't wait for me to reach for the little pill
bottle. He reaches for it, opens it, drops one on his palm, picks up the bottle
of water, and tilts his body to face me now.

I watch his every move because, somehow, it sends fire alarms off in my
head, how deftly he does things.

It's in the way he speaks, which is toned down as if he has an infinite

amount of time on his side. He does not rush his words. Every word is
perfectly spoken, demonstrating the brilliance behind those obsidian eyes.

He walks so smoothly. So sure. So confident. Conceited.

The way he sits, as if this sofa is a throne rather than a regular piece of
furniture. But you can see his roughness around the edges. Like the small
scar that runs across his lower lip and under his ear.

I'm ogling.

“Vittoria.”

I blink, shaking my head and nodding at the same time.

“Yes,” I chuckle, now feeling all over the place like dear, sorry, Salvatore.

“It's the third time I called.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a medical thing?” He narrows his eyebrows.

“A what?” I clear my throat, “What is a medical thing?”

“Your zoning out, is it something I should be worried about?”

I want to snort, but he is dead serious. No teasing in his eyes like he

genuinely wants to know.

“No,” I shake my head.

“Then it's what I thought it was then?”

“Yes,” I answer before my brain backtracks, “Sorry…” I stutter, “What

were you thinking that was?”

“I guess we both know the answer,” he opens the bottle of water.

A straight-to-the-point man. Admirable. No beating around the bush, just

straight to leveling the trees.

“Here,” he hands me the bottle of water, “Do you have any medical…”

“None,” I shake my head, then remember one. “Except Epistaxis,” I usually

get that when something triggers me, “it means nose bleeding.”
“I know what it means.”

“Of course, because it's an everyday word,” I snort.

“Open up,” he takes the pill between his index finger and thumb, then
angles it at my lips.

I have no idea why I actually do as I am told. I open my mouth and take the
drug, partly and unintentionally, taking his fingers with it.

It's a mutual effect.

Unnamed, but a mutual reaction.

From the point where my tongue meets his fingers, a straight bolt shoots
through unhindered till it causes a whirlpool in my stomach. No. A forge. I
should take it back, but instead, I push it out a little, wanting to see what
this effect means to him.

His lids clamp, and he groans as he inhales.

When his eyes open, they wear night better than night itself. Then, he does
the most unexpected thing. He slips his fingers further in, pressing the tip of
his thick thumb against my damp tongue.

“Giuseppe is on his way back to New York,” I hear the lush baritone of the
strange man that just walked in on us as he makes me recoil, and Emanuele
retrieves his fingers from my mouth.

Fabio.

That's his name.

I stand now, grateful to Fabio for encroaching on whatever that was. With
my cigarette case in hand, I sway out of the study, avoiding eye contact.

“Fabio,” I stutter after the door closes behind me, my voice matching my
steps, that aren’t as smooth as they usually are.

Day one in this new luxurious cell, and I already feel smothered by the
men. I take the stairs, jittery as I feel, and my body deflates when I see Eva
struggling to fix something on her camera.

“Hey, you,” she angles her camera, and the shutter clicks immediately,
taking a shot of me.

“That’s a violation of my privacy.” Not like I actually care.

“You sound like my father,” she snorts. “Please don't act like him, too,” she
stands.

“I don't sound anything like your father.” I can't even if I try.

“He gets a little snarky when I catch him off guard.”

“Anyone would.”

“So, what am I supposed to do when I have all these beautiful people

around me?” She smiles.

I laugh softly, “We are honored to inspire you,” I walk closer to her. “Your
works are amazing.” I sound like I have known her for long, and I’m
honestly hungry for the extended arm of friendship I'm sensing she is giving
me.
She laughs gently. “As my sister-in-law, I must take pictures of you, I
wouldn't be able to help myself anyway, you're too beautiful not to
capture.”

“And who takes pictures of you?”

“I don't need my pictures to be taken,” she shrugs.

“Have you looked in the mirror?”

“I know I'm attractive. I just don't think it's…” she shakes her head, “I
cringe in front of the camera.”

“Fair enough.”

She lifts the camera again. “One for the road?”

I don't get a chance to answer before she takes a shot.

“Thank you for showing me right away what I will be in for.”

“You are like my Mona Lisa right now, let me,” she smiles, then drops her
eyes to the screen on the camera, “Want to see?”

I shake my head, “When you are done.”

It's something to look forward to. I haven't had that in years. Not pictures.
Something to look forward to.

“I will work on them and make a print for you,” she throws the strap around
her neck.
“Where is Salvatore?”

“There,” she uses her chin as a pointer to the door Salvatore came out from
earlier.

“But you went another way.”

“Because he won't let me hear the last of it if I use this one, and I didn't
want to make him look bad for his first impression,” she shrugs. “But now
that you are in on this, I will resume my role as pestering little sister and he
can't do anything about it, or dad will kill him.” She bites her lower lips to
hold in her smirk.

What world has Emanuele created around her? It's so beautiful looking
from the outside. I want what he is giving her so much. I want a part of it.

“Thank you,” I smile at her, nothing bold. A slight chin lift with no teeth
happens to be my smile. But at least with her, I do it from a fuzzy place.

I strut to the door and hear Eva’s giddy hops as she takes the stairs and
disappears.

I don't use the doorbell, I just knock.

“I will kill you, Eva,” Salvatore growls from inside.

“It's Vittoria.”

Silence.

Few curses under his breath, something muffled like a scream from
tumbling, then the door flings open, and a shirtless Salvatore is standing
there. I try not to take my eyes anywhere they shouldn't go. He looks
appealing to the eyes, with curls on his head, furrowed brows, and his jeans
slightly open, hanging low on his hip bones.

“Salvatore,” I squeeze out a smile.

“What do you want, Vittoria?”

That bad, huh?

“I thought you would want to talk.”

He exhales in a snort, “Why would I want to talk, and what about?”

“About us, the arrangement, you know…” I shrug.

“I don't see anything to talk about,” he scoffs, “We are going to get married,
but we both know it's only on paper.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn't hurt to talk about it.” I want to negotiate with him.
Marriage between two mafia families is stronger than blood oaths. You can't
get out unless the other is dead. If I spend the rest of my life with him, we
should at least be able to define a set of rules for our relationship.

“Listen,” he exhales, “I don't want you.”

Ouch.

“You think I want you?”

“You don't really have the luxury of choice, Vittoria.”

“Get off your high horse, Salvatore.”

No matter how much my father hates me, I'm an heiress. Was. Whatever.

“Your place is wherever I say it is, and right now, I'm saying that you take
this…” he flickers his fingers at me, shushing me away, “…far away from
me.”

“Prick,” I fold my arms on my chest, standing straighter.

“I’m with someone and you are cockblocking right now,” he dips his head
inside his room, and a small smile curves on his face, but when he brings
his face back, it's only death stares. “Just do your thing, stay out of my face,
grow old and be miserable, I don't give a shit.”

“Got it,” I chuckle, “Father truly chose his kind.” I take a step back, place
my index finger on my lip as if to process a thought. “At least I'm doing one
for the world, getting the filth off the market,” I spin, and even though his
face tells me I did him one, I am the one feeling like I am the bottom of the
joke.

He doesn't want me.

He looked me in the face and told me he doesn't want me. All I wanted was
to find a way to make this arrangement work for us. I just wanted to at least
have an understanding with him. We may not be in love as normal couples,
and even if he wanted to keep his lover, I would have just been okay with
knowing we could exist in the same space—that I can maybe have a friend
in him.

I snort.

A friend.
Pathetic.

He won't ever be that. He can't. I tried to see if he was what I sensed he

was, and I confirmed my theory.

I'm facing the stairs now, but I don't even know where to go. I don't know
what to do or how to be in this space. I flip my eyes around, hating the
luxury everywhere.

I do not like what I have been reduced to. It's infuriating. I start pacing.

I want to go back to the study and just hide in there. But I can't, at least not
until I'm sure no one else will be there.

The door of the study opens, and Emanuele steps out. His eyes land on me
immediately, like I exude some magnetic force. He shoves his hands into
his pockets, hooded eyes trying to understand what I'm doing.

I back down, not knowing where I'm going except that I must get away
from his splintering, enthralling gaze.

I spin in the opposite direction.

To a door. One that takes me out of this house.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FIVE

Emanuele

I 'm watching her.

Incapable of doing anything other than stand and watch as she takes
swaying steps, hips sashaying from side to side, firm slender legs going in
front of the other, arms swinging slightly beside her, out of the parlor.

The moment she is out, it's like a dent.

It’s as if her blood-red coat was immediately lost in the surroundings of
white, gold, and brown.

She walks, talks, and smiles like she's constantly being pulled by a string.
It's captivating to watch.

I flick my lighter in one hand and twiddle my cigar in the other.

She is standing by the door now, and I can see her as clearly as when she
was inside. The wall around the door is see-through. When we chose it, it
was to know where the kids were when they played outside.

It’s coming in handy again, after many years of being obsolete.

I'm letting my mind not think of the look I saw in those gauzy eyes. The fire
she spits in each glare.

I am still watching her, my eyes never faltering, even as domestic staff

scuttles past my line of sight or as one of my soldiers walks towards his
apartment opposite her, observes her, and goes inside.

Nothing seems to bother her. Now her fingers are twitching beside her, and
I'm wondering what's going on in her head as she stands there, just staring
at only the bloody Saints know what.

“Capo,” Fabio calls behind me and then walks to stand beside me.

“Hmm,” I take my cigar to my mouth, flick my lighter open, and light it up.

We just finished a meeting to discuss the parameters of the new contract

with the Mancusos. The best way to exploit the current alliance so both
parties get the best out of the deal. Giuseppe has his percentage for every
drug sold from now on. It's part of the conditions of giving me his contact,
which is better for me. Better for everyone. Including fucking Boris.

Bloody old bastard.

“I just got word,” his voice is low now.

I don't have to ask him; instead, I draw and puff. My attention is on the lady
in red in front of me. My mind is still swinging between what is appropriate
to think about and what is not.

“Noel is dead.”

I go still for a second. Then, I flip my lighter open and flick it close.
Another loss. Another hole to fill. Another message from Boris, gauging
me. But I am not one to be any man’s puppet. I won't let him dictate what I
do and, most importantly, when I do it.

“When and how?”

“Reported a few minutes ago, and it's suicide,” he clears his throat, “That's
what it looks like. He jumped down from his apartment building.”

That's how you know Boris was involved. He knows how to stage a perfect
death and make it appear like an accident. I know it is him. Boris had
already made a few threats to my courier, but Noel was a devoted clan
member.

I exhale gruffly, “We won't have cases like this anymore, thanks to
Massimo.”

“Hopefully.”
“Hopefully?”

“Definitely,” he corrects himself, but we both know that's unlikely. It's not
just a drug cartel that Boris is after. He doesn't just want to affect my sales;
he wants to drive me out of business. I'm a threat to him. He wants LA for
himself, and he can keep dreaming because he is never going to have it.

The deal with the Mancusos is the way out of this tussle that has been going
on for years. I have been doing everything I can to keep the business afloat
in a way that protects the people I love and care about.

I exhale, wishing things were how they were before I mellowed. I could
strike home twice as hard.

Now that we have La eMe on our side, we no longer have to do business

with suppliers from the Netherlands. Never liked them much. They were all
wrapped around Boris’ fingers anyway. And their prices were skyrocketing.
But with La eMe, I don't have to worry about anything. Especially since my
link is Mancuso. No one does the dark side of business like that man.

I drag, this time longer than is healthy, and it sends a sharp hollowing pain
in my stomach, taking the cigar off my lips to hold the smoke in, biding my
time before I puff it out.

“Let me through,” Eva squeaks behind us, bumping into me with a force
that jerks the smoke out of me. Then she slides down the stairs, almost
making my heart claw out of my chest for fear she might slip and hit her
head.

Bloody Saints.

“Eva,” I scold her with my tone.

It's one thing to be protecting her from external forces, but there's only so
much I can do if she hurts herself because of her recklessness.

She pouts, pushing her lower lip out and making puppy eyes at me.

“It's fun,” she shrugs, “I do it all the time.”

“Don't do it again,” I press my cigar against the body of my lighter to put it

out.

“But Fabio saw me doing it the other day and didn't say anything,” she
points at him accusatively.

I understand that sometimes she tests things with him before bringing them
to me. If he had seen her doing it, he should have scolded her. Because he
knows I wouldn't approve of it.

“Have you seen Vittoria?” she looks around, “She was here when I went
inside to freshen up,” she looks at the door. “Is that her?” she looks back at
me and Fabio, and I nod.

She is nearsighted, and it gets worse at night.

“Yes, that's Vittoria.”

“Why is she out there?” Her curious eyes dart.

“I wouldn't know.”

“She was supposed to be with Salvatore,” she chuckles, “she wanted to see
him. Where is her room, by the way?”
“I asked Sabrina to take her things to Salvatore’s apartment,” Fabio offers.

“They will live together?” Eva flips to face us in shock, her nose scrunching
and her forehead furrowing.

“They are getting married, Eva,” Fabio grunts beside me, “they will live
together.”

Her face drops, “I thought she would live close to my room until the
wedding,” she gives a Cheshire smile, “Dad?”

“Sweetheart, they need to get to know each other, and knowing you, you
won't give them a chance if she sleeps that close to you.” I flick my fingers
to call her to me.

She stops one step below me, “then why is she outside and not with her
‘groom’?” She air-quotes the groom part.

“The estate is beautiful,” I simply shrug off her question.

“You think so too, Fabio?” She wraps her arms around my waist, “or is it
something Salvatore might have done or said?”

“I will be inside making calls and trying to get more details on Noel,” Fabio
clears his throat, getting away as quickly as possible.

“Goodnight, Fabio,” she waves at him. “Oh wait,” she follows him, “I need
you to look at something for me.” She brushes past me as she walks to him,
giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Night, papà.”

“Eva, your pictures are great, and your work is excellent, but I am busy
right now,” Fabio says.
While she won't stop snapping images of me, she won't stop asking Fabio
for his thoughts on the photos after they've been edited. His opinion seems
to mean a lot to her, which I understand. He has watched her grow up, and
she always followed him around as a child.

“I want you to see it,” I hear her grit under her breath, “I’ll wait for you to
be done with what you need to do.”

“It will take all night.”

“I have all my life, Fabio,” she snorts.

“I think you need to make some friends.”

“Fabio,” I plug myself into their conversation, “Spare her a little time after
you are done with what you are doing.”

“You are mine,” Eva squeaks, and Fabio grunts.

The door of the study opens and closes. Fabio likes the silence as much as I
do, and my Eva is a lot of noise. Too much noise. From her colors to her
talking. Now she has neon pajamas on. How she sleeps wearing such a
bright color is beyond me.

Alone, I peel my eyes from burning holes on Vittoria’s back and look at the
connecting door to Salvatore’s apartment, wondering what he might be
doing inside while she is outside by herself.

It's what Eva said.

I'm trying to figure out if the look I saw in her eyes was caused by the
meeting with Salvatore or something else. He is certainly capable of saying
something hurtful, but then again, Vittoria is bratty and might just be having
a hard time adjusting.

I itch to go to her and get answers, even if I have to force them out of her.
But it doesn't feel like my call to make. I shouldn't be near her, not after
what happened in the study.

I grunt quietly, cursing under my breath at my cock for being so brazen and
shameless.

It was a mistake, for fuck’s sake.

I flip my lighter and flick it close.

But it was a deadly mistake. I grind my teeth, reliving how her tender, timid
tongue and her warm mouth had felt against my fingers. She didn't stop me.
She didn't suck either, but she didn't fucking stop me. And I know I didn't
imagine the way her chest was lifting and her breath hiccupping.

Wild Cat.

Perfect little pussy.

No. I clamp my lips together and shake my head, wanting the virus that she
is trying to infect me with to be gone before it spreads to the point of
contamination. To the point where I won't be able to control myself place.

Apart from a cold shower, there is no other antidote to lust. And that only
goes so far.

I chuckle. Unbelievable.
After just one day, she is already someone who might cause me trouble.

Fucking unbelievable.

It's not the power she possesses, it's how unabashedly she flaunts it. That
daring look in her sultry eyes. The way she pinned me with them in the
study, letting me know she knows she has the effect she thinks she has on
me.

I flick my lighter and flip it close. Trying to get my mind back to where it
should be.

She is not mine to tame or subdue.

If she is out there because she wants to be bratty, then it's not for me to
swoop in. That's where my son comes in. My son. I remind myself. Because
she is his to do as he pleases.

I take a step back, agreeing to retire to the study, but then she moves. She
takes one step forward, and another, and another. She keeps going.

I know she can't get far or leave the estate. But it's night already, and I don't
feel comfortable with her prancing around this late. With her, I don’t know
what to expect. After all, she is not a prisoner.

She veers to her right after walking to the end of the walkway. And my legs
move before I have a chance to keep them from going after her. I drop my
cigar on the center table, shove my lighter in my pocket, and take long
strides after her.

The cool night air slaps my face, but not hard enough to stop me.
I'm walking behind her now, prowling. She seems oblivious. Or not. I don't
know, but she keeps strutting carefreely.

She dips her hands into the pockets of her coat, making her arms bunch at
the elbow as she struts. Head high like a queen. And she is, if I do say so
myself.

The houses on the opposite side of the road belong to the soldiers from my
clan. It looks like a peaceful neighborhood to the ordinary eyes, and it is.
It's not like we go about shooting guns for fun. Bloody me, we do shoot, but
it’s never for fun. At the very least, it's as peaceful as it gets. Attached to the
main building are Salvatore’s apartment and Fabio’s. Then, a little studio
for Eva, that she rarely uses.

She takes a turn into a dusty-lit lane, one that leads to the car pack, and I go
after her. But when I get there, she is nowhere to be seen.

I smile slightly. Clever girl. She knew someone was following her.

I chuckle softly as I sense someone behind me without needing to look. I

sense the person is about to make a move.

It's intriguing.

This little game between us.

It's my descent to hell.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SIX

Vittoria

I felt him before I saw him.

There was no mistake, I knew it was him. I don’t know how, but I knew.

My breathing is shaky as I watch him from the pillar I'm plastered against.

He doesn't want me as a daughter-in-law any more than Salvatore does as

his wife. He's probably doing this because of what I mean to his clan. But at
least he has the decency to recognize my worth to his family and treat me
with respect.

I silently grind my teeth, remembering how painful Salvatore's words felt. It

hurts. They remind me of a dormant fear, one I thought I had abandoned a
long time ago. Now the rottenness is flooding my insides.

Nobody wants me. Not my family, not this family, not anyone I met in the
past or I have been promised to. Like Massimo.

Here I am again, rejected with no solid reason other than the fact that I am
not wanted. And I don't even want this person.

Something has to be wrong with me. It must be, for these men to keep
saying no to me.

I concluded that a part of Massimo's rejection was because of my family,

but now I'm with a clan that appreciates the dark nature of my father
because they have it themselves. Still, I am not wanted.

It hurts.

Fuck it, it hurts.

It punches hard in the guts. And I can pretend all I want with Salvatore and
fake being strong, but how long until I crash? My foundation is already
rocking, and it's only day one. Can I make it further without falling flat and
crashing into a pile of dust and bricks?

Emanuele turns his head to the side, tipping me back into the parking lot.

A flock of silver on his head, a solid torso enveloped in that dress shirt,
muscular arms stuffed into the pockets of his dress pants, and legs standing
proudly.

I already know my fate, and I will not be upset about it. I know I can't
return to New York, no matter how much I want to. If that happens,
Giuseppe will have my head. If I dare ruin this for him, I can forget about
staying alive.

Here in Los Angeles, I can't do anything. There's no escape for me.

Emanuele owns this city. Or a large chunk of it. With eyes and ears all over
the place and mouths ready to spill the truth to find favors and gain sides.

Even if I decide to go somewhere else, it's only a matter of time before I

will be found. Besides, the life of scraping the bottom of the barrel is the
only one that can keep me hidden, and that's not a life I want to experience.

I love luxury.

It feels like compensation for having such a grim fate. Suffering both
financially and emotionally is just plain foolishness, and I, Vittoria
Mancuso, am anything but foolish.

I would rather cry wearing high fashion than smile wearing wholesale.

I take another long breath while I watch Emanuele stand still. Under this
toned light, he could be mistaken for a god from ancient history. He seems
to have reincarnated, standing there like a statue to be venerated.

I swallow nervously, torn between calling him or leaving and returning to

the apartment. It's been a long day, and I could use a nice mattress to rest
my rejection-flattened body.

He moves his head softly from side to side, and I get the impression that he
is looking for me, a tingling sensation that he is searching. He's waiting it
out as if he has nothing more important to do. This little attention from him
gives me a feeling of belonging.

I walk stealthily towards him, and he doesn't he doesn’t seem to know that
someone is behind him. He is still. Too still. Maybe that's is because he can
tell.

Standing behind him like this and having this heart-grinding pain of
rejection and head-banging hurt of feeling lost and alone, the urge to wrap
my arms around him and just be here tugs at the corner of my mind.

Emanuele is Salvatore’s father, and he is no better than Salvatore. He might

even be worse. We breed our kind, after all. And I would know this because
no matter how much I detest Giuseppe, I have him flowing in my veins.
When it matters, we think alike and do things with the same selfishness,
even though I mostly end up regretting them. Like the way I regret what I
did to Alejandra.

“I know you know I'm behind you,” I speak instead of doing what my body
was aching to do.

He still doesn't move. He just stays put. I lift one hand, confused about what
to do with it, yet knowing I lifted it for one purpose and one purpose alone:
to touch him. I have been dying to.

The memory of the both of us in the study smacks me, and I draw back,
dragging in a deep, unintentional breath.

I circle him instead, coming to stand in front of him, a faint part of me not
liking that he didn't turn to look at me. I want him to see me, to give me
some more of his attention. Like when he looks at me like I'm the only
person in the room worth staring at.
I'm standing before him now, both hands in the pockets of my coat and my
breath trembling with each draw.

Compared to me, he is a giant. I have to tilt my head back, even with my

heels, to stare into his impenetrable eyes.

“You found me,” I lift my shoulders as if to shrug but decide against it.

“Vittoria.” His barky voice grates both my ears and the connecting nerves to
my spine.

It makes me stand straighter and, at the same time, melts me like a burning
candle.

“Emanuele,” I manage to buff out with an unaffected tone, but the taste of
his fingers on my tongue still lingers. They had a salty, prickly taste, with a
touch of tobacco. My mind is having a hard time erasing that image.

“What are you doing outside?”

“I didn't know I shouldn't be outside.”

“Answer me.”

“You want to force the answer out of me?” I scoff softly, “Good luck with
that.”

“Answer the question,” he lifts both brows slightly.

“You can't know everything I think,” I puff my chest, but it's a stupid move
because one hand is enough to crush me.
“Are you having a hard time being here?”

I don't know if he is genuinely asking that or if he is nursing me to open up

and say something I'm not supposed to say to test me.

“How is being here for you?” I feed him back his question. For all I know,
this place might be luxurious at first glance, but it doesn't look any different
from the fancy cell I know.

“What is wrong with being here?”

“What is not wrong with being here?”

He chuckles softly, and his upper lip curls into a subtle smirk. This is all he
will get from me. There's no way I will be telling him about what his son
said, that's if he doesn't already know. I don't have allies yet, and I will keep
the things I can to myself however long I can.

“It's not enough for you, is it?”

Bullshit. He knows that can't be the case. The estate is glamorous enough.
No way Giuseppe would give me to a family that doesn't stink with old
money. And this big guy in front of me is a visual representation of old
money.

“A little below my standard,” I scoff. Let's see how that affects his ego.

“You have some audacity, ragazzina,” he says, calling me girl. And yet, the
way he says the girl part, I can't put my fingers around it, but it feels… I
shake my head slightly.

“You wanted answers,” I shrug now, “Or is the truth too tough for your
ego?”
“Get back inside.”

I chuckle, almost too loudly, “We want to play daddy now, do we?”

His eyebrows snit, forming a straight row of bristles, and his eyes dilate. I'm
not afraid of him, but maybe I should be. I take a step back, and he takes
one forward.

“That word is forbidden from coming out of your mouth.”

“What word?” I take another step, and he is coming after me like the
vicious prowler that he is. My back hits a pillar, and I want to mold myself
into it because of how devouring his eyes are.

“You know the word,” he is in front of me now, clouding me with his buff
body while his eyes grasp me in place.

“Daddy?”

“That one.”

“You are Salvatore’s father, and if I'm marrying him, that automatically
makes you my daddy…”

“Shut up,” whatever distance was between us is closed now. His body is
crushed flat against mine, and I am sizzling beneath him.

“If you hate it that much then I might keep using it,” I'm more breath than
words.

“You are asking for something you can't keep up with, girl.”
I don't know if it's my mind or if he just pressed himself some more into
me. Or maybe I'm the one moving.

My head is painfully tilted up now, my breasts pressing plumply against his

hard chest. It does something. It makes my nipples feel perky under my
coat. And I have no bra on, just my underwear.

“Whatever you have going on in that head of yours as to how this marriage
will go…” his voice is lost, just grunts and texture so dark it competes with
the night, “do away with it.” I feel something hard, that isn't the button of
my coat or the hook of his belt, pressing against my stomach, and even
though my mind already knows what it is, I don't want to admit it for fear of
what it means.

“Is that what you want, Dadd-”

I am unable to complete the word as his hand cups my jaw roughly, his firm
index finger and thumb indenting my cheeks painfully.

“Don't tempt me, girl,” he moves his head to the side of my face, his beard
brushing my tender skin and sending a flood of feverishness splintering
through my body.

His mouth goes to my ear, hovering, blowing warm breath into it that
cascades to my stomach like lazy sea tides to a shore.

“Don’t tempt me,” he whispers into my ear, husky thick, slick deliciousness
of a voice and that hand around my jaw now caressing subtly, as if
unintentionally. It's a barely-there stroke, and it might pass as me being
delusional.

Maybe I am. Maybe he is just telling me to act as I should. Perhaps he is

simply reminding me of his power and showing what he can make me think
and react to, regardless of how filthy my thoughts are. Because they are.
Right now, right here, my thoughts are nothing but pure filth.

“I will see what I can do…” I swallow, knowing I have something else to
add to that statement. Enjoying how the sound of one word can rile him up
and excite me.

I chuckle now, and he gets me. He knows I'm about to say it.

“Don't you dare.”

Challenge accepted.

“…Daddy.”

He grunts, a bestial sound befitting for the wildness that this is. He lets go,
taking a step back, and my body instantly misses the hard press of his.

“You would like that, wouldn't you?” He chuckles softly, “You want me to
be your daddy.” His hooded eyes travel from my eyes down to my slightly
parted lips, and they go down to my chest, to the opening of my coat. He
can see better because he is staring from above.

My breathing bumps in response to his auditing. A rush of night air

whooshes and it's now I realize one button of my coat is open, feeling the
air prick the curve of my breasts.

He takes his lower lip between his teeth and shakes his head slightly, eyes
closing for an instant as guttural hums vibrate in his stomach. This has a
leg-crippling effect on me.

If there's a line, I'm way past it.

If there's a limit, my mind has gone overboard. Shamelessly overboard. And
he can see it. He can feel it. He can smell it. Because I can. I can smell my
reaction to this moment, and shame on me for that. Even worse, shame on
me for not minding that I am feeling this way with him.

Shame on me for wanting him to go further, to continue to speak to me the

way he does, and press that body made for sin against mine. Use those
craggy hands to grip me the way he did. Smother me with his scent of wood
and sensuousness.

“Behave, ragazzina, you belong to my son,” he spins, and within a few

seconds, he vanishes into the dark alley, takes the corner, and that's it.

Another whooshing of cool night breeze against my skin batters me to my

senses. Reminding me of my place and his.

That's Emanuele. Salvatore’s father. My future father-in-law.

I plaster my back on the pillar behind me, feeling sorry for myself because
of my situation.

I knew what I was doing. Even though I have very little experience... well,
no experience. But I know the ropes. I know enough to string him along.

I drag my back against the pillar until I'm crouching on the floor. I pull my
cigarette case out of my pocket, take a stick, slip it between my lips, and
flip on my lighter.

I should light it up. But as I watch the yellow flame fluttering lightly in the
night wind, I'm reminded again about the pit he caused in my stomach.

That's what he feels like. Fire.

I light up my cigarette and chuckle.

What do I know? Playing with fire might just end up becoming my new
favorite sport.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SEVEN

Emanuele

S hit.

I grunt, dragging the sound till it scratches against my throat.

A whirlpool of trouble and, somehow, I'm caught in it.

No.
That's not it. I walked right into the bloody thing and let myself get swept
up by it. Enjoying the adrenaline and all the awakening of long abandoned
senses.

I put this body to use. I fuck when I need to. But that's it. A simple
necessity. I don't go meandering around to fuck. I don't have the bloody
time to play chase with a pussy.

I click my teeth.

The moment she went into that park, and I went in with her, I felt like I was
walking straight into a booby trap. Still, I tuned out every voice in my head
that was warning me and walked into it anyway, letting the underlying tug
of the raw sultriness she effuses pull me in.

‘Daddy.’

Her voice won't stop ringing in my head like some broken alarm clock.

Fuck me.

I marsh my teeth against each other as I take long strides, with a shameless
worked-up cock, back to the apartment.

I went too fucking far.

There's a limit, and I bloody went way beyond it.

I should be the one taking the higher road here, helping her, helping him,
not going to press my damn cock against her body and ogling at her breasts
like some teenage boy experiencing life for the first time.
There's no excuse for what I did tonight.

Going after her was a mistake. A bloody mistake I could have avoided if I
had stayed put and let the new couple deal with whatever issues they might
be having.

Couples have misunderstandings all the time. It's none of my goddamn

business if Salvatore said something to her. Or, she said something to him,
because I know what that little mouth of hers can spew.

But I couldn't help myself. I had to find a way to descend into hell. I curse
at myself internally for loving it—for wanting it.

The things I want to do to that body. Those curious eyes were wide open,
anticipating what I would do next, shocked by what she was feeling. I know
those eyes would have expanded some more if I had listened to the voices
of doom in my head tonight. If I had brought her to her knees, made her
take my cock into her mouth, and had her deepthroat it until I released
inside of her, feeding her with my cum, right there in the parking lot.

I growl softly.

I want to go back there and bask in that smell of wet pussy that I was slowly
catching a whiff of.

I made her wet.

Wet enough that I could smell it and strong enough that I could taste the
arousing smell on the back of my throat. It made me ravenous. It messed up
my mind with images of what her pussy would look like. It took everything
in me not to demand for her to show her Dadd- me. Bloody fuck.

Shit.
I halt, run my fingers through my hair.

She felt ripe. Plump. So ripe I wanted to pluck her and taste of her. I wanted
her wetness on my tongue, my face, my beard. Oh, shit. My cock pulsates,
and I feel the trickle of precum.

She is forbidden. Not mine to pluck and definitely not mine to taste.

I exhale, turned on to the point of feeling the rising threat of a migraine.

I pick up my step, and soon I’m strutting into the apartment. My eyes meet
Salvatore walking out of the kitchen with a tray of food, and the aftermath
of shame wages through me.

I'm frozen in place, my legs unable to move and my heart twisting from the
punch of my betrayal. Now that I think about it, anyone could have walked
in on us. That parking lot has CCTV, for Christ's sake.

“Dad,” he stutters.

“Hmm,” I move again, heading for the staircase, needing to be away.

“Are you alright?”

“I am, Salvatore, thank you.” I take the first step.

“Have you seen Vittoria?” He mumbles the question, and the sound of her
name halts me.

“Why?”
“Nothing…” he chuckles, “I just thought she said…,” he shrugs, “I was just
looking around for her.”

He was the one who did something then. And it's something he said that put
that sadness in her eyes.

“I know you may not care for her for now, but you should find a way to
balance this. She is important.”

“Dad, the girl is a brat,” he grunts and rolls his eyes.

That I can agree to.

“But I know what to do with her,” he tries to assure me.

He doesn't need to. I already know he doesn't know what to do with her. If
he did, no matter how difficult the first day of a new life might be, she
wouldn't be wandering like some lost soul around the estate.

“She is your fiancé, it's expected of you to know what to do with her,” I
shrug. I know my son. He didn't stop me just so he could tell me about what
he wants to do with Vittoria. He has gotten what he stopped me for, and
that's to know if she said anything to me.

He starts picking at his food, and I find it odd that he is not walking back to
his room. Salvatore is hardly outside except when summoned by me.

I open my mouth to speak, wanting to dig my grave a little deeper with

another round of prying. I want to know what he said to her. I want to, but I
have to remind myself again about what happened at the parking lot.
Between me and him, he is the best person right now, and I have no right to
say or do anything except feel ashamed of my actions.
God fucking damn it, the parking lot.

The door swings open, and Vittoria sways in. That raw magnetism seeps out
of her, hovering potently in the air. That thing she diffuses into the air when
she is around.

A fucking tornado.

“Here comes the brat,” Salvatore snorts.

I don't need to be reminded of the bratty nature of this girl. I don't need to
be reminded of this girl at all.

Her eyes flicker from his face to mine and stay on me with a defiant gaze.

“Go to bed,” I end the conversation. It's both to him and her.

Salvatore walks into his room, and again, he seems a bit on the edge,
looking over his shoulder as he opens the door and goes in.

Whatever he is up to is none of my business. I have had enough of sticking

my nose in other people’s businesses. The reward for that is a sack full and
heavy between my legs with no promise of emptying it.

I turn and head for my room, passing the study where Eva’s loud chortle is
seeping out, reminding me of another reason why I shouldn't have messed
up tonight. More than anything, for Eva’s sake, because of how much she
regards me.

I groan low and deep.

I can't have her. But I want to.

This is my new hell loop.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER EIGHT

Vittoria

D eep grunts. Bodies slapping against each other. Shrieking moans.

Subtle pop songs playing to block out the sound or drive the action
further.

This is torture.

Salvatore and his mistress, Nina.

Normally, I would avoid this by sneaking into the study and making it my
nest. But on evenings like tonight, when I assumed they wouldn't return to
his place, this is what I get.

Humiliation? I've seen it to the brim. I've been reduced to a decorative

object. And not one even worth noticing. Salvatore prefers to look in his
bedroom mirror than at me.

I've been compelled to question what it is about me that he finds so

unattractive. I don't want him. There's no world that I would want him in.
However, my heart is beginning to ache from this indifference.

I drop my head on my palms and run my fingers through my wavy hair as I

try to quench the sound of their lovemaking from the adjoining room. My
teeth grind against each other, and I try to cover my ears but it doesn’t
work. It's impossible. They're too loud.

Nothing I try is working. It's like they do it on purpose. Like he does it on

purpose, making sure I hear just for the pleasure of mopping me around the
floor even more than his neglect of my presence has already done.

I start tapping my feet on the floor, jerking my entire body with the staccato
motion.

It's been a little over a week since I arrived and moved into the room
adjacent to his. I only see him when I need to go out and he is in his room. I
can't leave my room without passing through his, which fucks up my ego
even more than life has. The door leading out of this room has been locked
since I arrived. I'm guessing he did it to punish me. I'm not even sure what I
did to him or when. Meeting Salvatore was like entering a pre-planned fight
with me as the opponent.

He hates me.
And whenever I see him, he doesn't seem to care. I can move as I choose,
but if I linger for a second longer, he makes disapproving grunts to express
how much he dislikes having me around.

I roll my tongue over the cigarette between my lips, which is unlit because I
left my lighter in the study the last time I was there, last night, that is. I
couldn't go back all day since I know Emanuele or Fabio were working in
there. I don't want anyone to know what a mess my life is. It is my secret,
because I cannot allow myself to think I have an ally here. I don’t.

They are made from the same mold. All of them. I don't want to confide in
any one of them to then be disappointed when they show me their true
colors.

I swallow patchy air, feeling hot even though the weather is pleasant. It's
my anger that's eating me from the inside and sizzling my senses.

Their moans and groans grow louder now. Together, they sound like my
nightmare.

This is the person I have been given to in marriage.

I have heard that often marriages like ours have strained starts, with hate
spilling about. I have been a witness to the one my parents had. It's
something I would only wish upon an enemy. And somehow, in all my
trying to avoid it, I find myself in the same situation. No matter how much I
want to claw my way out of this pit, I know nothing but death awaits me if I
manage to.

The grunts grow even louder. I would have thought she couldn’t scream any
more than she already was, but she goes even higher until I recognize the
sound she makes when she is reaching her climax.
Silence at last.

Both from the music and them.

I exhale tiredly and let go of my hair, that I've been gripping too hard.

I lift off from my queen-size mattress and adjust the black fluffy robe I have
on. Maybe it's part of the reason I feel hot, but I don't want to change it. It
feels comforting. Like the warm hug I would need right now more than
anything.

I begin a countdown in my head, waiting patiently for them to fall asleep.

Maybe wrap themselves up or go under the duvet. I can't risk sleeping in
here. I know they will go another round after a few minutes. And if I'm
more unfortunate than usual, they would be at it all night and sleep like
hewn trees all morning.

Ten counts more—just ten, and I will be out of here and in the comfort of
my hideaway. I strut to the door now, one hand on the knob, ear slightly
pressing against it to make out sounds.

The room is minimalist with a low-hanging chandelier above the bed. It's a
little smaller than my bedroom in New York and nothing noteworthy. No
doubt luxurious, but rather plain for my taste. The dresser isn't big enough
to hold my clothes and accessories, so they're all crammed in there, making
the doors to stay slightly open. I didn't even pack many outfits…

I like the colors, even though I know Salvatore did not choose them for me.
Red and black. I believe if he knew I liked them, he would have changed
them to spite me.

I wish he would explain what I did wrong so we could start over. I would
not even care if he continued to bring his mistress here. I might be able to
be content with knowing we share a mutual regard. But he's not interested
in talking, he made that much obvious on the first day.

I twist the doorknob and open the door slowly. Too slow. I poke my head
first and flip my eyes about to adjust to the low light while searching for
them. It's not that I'm scared, it's the humiliation I'm trying to avoid. The
look in her eyes whenever she sees me, and how she smirks at me. It's
infuriating. If it weren’t this embarrassing, not being wanted in the least, I
would have given her a piece of Vittoria Mancuso.

I tear my eyes away from them almost immediately as their picture clears
out in my mind. She is slightly under the duvet, and he is not. He is naked,
resting his back on the headrest, and his face is brightly illuminated by the
light from the phone in his hand.

I step out and straighten. Then, I walk as stiff as I can across the room. His
grunt tells me he sees me, and he loathes me. The clicking of my tongue
tells him it's mutual. I scoff at the strong, mind-straining smell of sex mixed
with his peppered perfume and her heavy oud scent.

They deserve each other.

I open the main door, and it leads me out of the hell that’s Salvatore’s suite
to something that feels like heaven at first glance. But even here, things are
not different. The bright white lights gleaming on the gold and white of this
sitting room don't fool me. It's not enough to trick me into thinking this is a
better hell than the one I have just escaped.

I wrap my arms across my stomach, cooing into the fuzziness of the fabric,
and without waiting any more, I take the stairs up. My hand is on the door
of the study, ready to push and open, when I hear the muffled sound of
someone talking. With the deepness that vibrates in my stomach as I press
my head against the smooth wooden frame of the door, I know it is
Emanuele.
Now I'm stuck.

I can't go back to that room. I don't want to. And I can't access this one
because Emanuele is in there. I haven't been alone with him since the day I
got here. And whenever he sees me, he rarely looks in my direction. No, not
quite. He tries not to look in my direction. Besides, he is a busy man, or
maybe just too busy to add me to his list of priorities. After all, I'm not his
to care for.

I press my ear harder to the door. It's not that I care about what he is saying
as much as the fact that he is speaking. It's sickening that I'm finding solace
in the deep allure of his voice. I can't make out a thing, but it's comforting
to just hear his voice and feel it in my stomach.

I can't even start to dissect how sick that makes me, but I'm blaming it on
everything that I have been dealing with alone this past week.

I hug my robe tighter and close my eyes now, taking my mind back to that
night in the parking lot. It feels like a distant memory the more the days go
by. Every morning of waking and every night, as I lie down to sleep, I go
back there. I go relive that moment again. To feel everything again. But the
more I think about it, the more it feels like it never happened, the memory
of it now waning.

It still feels… I inhale sharply, feeling something sink in my stomach and

creating a spiral of heat. It's the same sensation every time I think of that
day. Every time I catch a whiff of his scent. Every time I hear the timbre of
his voice.

“You won't hear anything,” Eva’s voice startles me, and I tear my ear away
from the door.

I clear my throat, “I wasn't eavesdropping,” my cigarette falls off and I

reach down to pick it up, “I was going to go in and read, but wanted to
make sure nobody was inside.”

She smiles and rolls her eyes, “Even if you were, you are family now,” she
shrugs, “But hard luck with that door though, it's kind of funny that we can
be heard from inside but not hear anything from outside when someone is
inside.”

“Tell me about it,” I chuckle to smooth out the awkwardness. I feel like a
child caught stealing candy.

“You are up late,” she closes the door of her bedroom, and I see now that
she has a bottle of wine in one hand.

“You are up late.”

She laughs softly, “I was working and needed to take a break.”

“You get drunk to take a break?”

“What is there to do around here?” She leans on the door frame of her
bedroom. “Bug my father, piss my brother off, encroach on Fabio’s privacy,
or ask Sabrina to teach me to knit?” She swings the bottle of wine. “This
sounds like my best option right now.”

It's my turn to laugh.

“You are not the only bored person around here, if it's any comfort.”

“I am not bored; I just needed a break and thought wine would be the best
option.”

“But I am,” I let on.

She chuckles, “that's easily remedied,” she swings the bottle of wine, “can't
go wrong with sweet red wine, can you?”

“I'm more of a non-sweet wine person,” I move away from the door.

“Really?”

“What?” I smile softly.

“You like the hard life that much?”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” I turn to the stairs, and I smile some
more when she walks closer.

“Your wine preference tells a lot about how you like life.”

“That's not a thing.”

“It is now,” she shoves the wine at me. “Sprinkle some sweetness in your
life, would you?”

I take the bottle of wine from her, “ok.”

Ordinarily, I would never drink sweet wine, but I'm hungry for the arm of
friendship she keeps extending me. Besides, she might be up to something
with my life needing a sweetener. I scoff. As if.

“On the stairs?” She is walking ahead of me now.

“Preferably,” I exhale. It's because I want to linger and see if I can catch a
glimpse of Emanuele when he steps out of the study, even if only for a short
while.
“Don't worry, my dad will be working all night in there, that was what he
told me earlier.”

Ouch.

We perch on the staircase. Me in my black robe with my hair let down, her
in a pale blue silk robe with her hair wrapped into a lazy bun.

“Having issues with Salvatore?” She gestures with flicking her fingers for
me to pass the bottle of wine.

“What gives?” I snort quietly and pass her the bottle.

“He is my brother, that's enough to tell,” she swigs from the bottle.

“He is a lot to deal with.”

She gulps and hands me the bottle, “That's putting it nicely, he is a horrible
person to deal with,” she wipes her lips with the back of her hand.

“He is mine to deal with now,” I swig and hmm. Not bad. Foreign on my
tongue but not bad. It tastes more like what it is. Crushed grapes.

“Such is your fate now,” she yawns, then stares at the door of Salvatore’s
suite for a moment. “Are you good, though, Vittoria?”

I want to answer that truthfully, but I can't be all that truthful. I should play
around with the truth to save my face. It's too early to start complaining
about something I will be dealing with for the rest of my life. Too early to
feel this way. But I know I will eventually find a way. My mom did at some
point. I can, too.
“That bad, huh?” She chuckles, chewing on her lower lip. “Tell you what,”
she leans closer to my ear, “he is a prick,” she whispers.

I laugh again softly, “That he is,” I swig the wine and swallow, spilling
some on my face, “he is an asshole, no offense.”

“None detected, not when he is the one in question.”

I pass her the bottle. “But I'm fine, Eva,” I smile sadly at her, “I am fine,
and I will be better eventually.”

She nods, “On the bright side, you have me,” she nudges me with her
elbow, “Add chatting with Vittoria about my prick of a brother to the list of
options I have when I'm bored.”

“You said you weren't bored.”

“You said you are fine.”

“Touché,” my laughter is a little more spontaneous now.

“No, no, there's nothing but photography about me, so please, let's stick to
you. The side with all the drama.”

“Are you sure you have no drama of your own?”

“I get dramatic when I'm not getting the right angles sometimes.”

“Surely there's more to life than photography.”

“Why should there be if it's enough?” She shrugs.

Again, that feeling of nearly wanting the life she has been given comes
poking. But I love it for her. From my perspective, it's the kind of life for
her. But having a splinter of it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“You are too sad for one bottle of wine,” she stands, “I will get another, and
we will get drunk tonight,” I crane my head to look at her smiling face. “It's
the least we can do.”

I nod, and she goes up the stairs.

I guess this is what my life is like now. Finding reprieve in bottled crushed
grapes.

Pathetic.

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 CHAPTER NINE

Vittoria

I t has to end today.

I grit and punch the air. I am really starting to lose my patience now. I can't
take it anymore.

I will lose my mind.

I'm losing my mind.

The humiliation has got to stop. I have to say something or do something at
the very least.

Salvatore and his fucking mistress cannot continue to tramp all over me,
and I just sit back and take it.

I mean, if I want to bend the steel, I have to hammer when it's hot. If I let
this keep going on, there's no way it will ever stop. And I have had it up to
my neck.

I get up from my bed, about to stomp over to his bedroom, then remember
I'm naked. I beeline for my navy-blue robe on the dresser and shrug it on.
Even the way I fasten the sash shows that I am boiling with anger. It's
simmering in my throat, and I need to let it out.

I don't bother with my flip-flops as I walk to the door. Their sex sounds,
which have been chiming in my sleep like some broken alarm clock, grow
louder as I get to the door.

Tired of sleeping on the sofa in the library, all I wanted was to sleep on a
bed. When I saw him drive out earlier, I figured that would be possible
tonight. But no. He came back with her. Back to what is supposed to be our
bedroom. Our bed. But since I have been made obsolete and unimportant,
it's now their bed.

I grit my teeth some more, holding the doorknob and lingering to see if
there's a part of me that would rather not do this. And there is. The part that
would want to suck this up and just let it be. It's trying to speak to me,
somehow finding a way through the loud sounds from Salvatore and Nina
to say something that's supposed to make me rethink, but I don't want to
hear it.

I grunt, gnashing my teeth. I should let it be. I let go of the doorknob and
prance back to my bed, but I don't feel good about my decision to cower. I
kick the bed frame hard with my toes. Hard enough, that I almost break my
big toe.

I scream, dragging my oxblood bedsheet and duvet as quickly as I can to

toss them on the floor, and the alarm clock on the nightstand crashes,
shattering. I know I look as mad as I feel.

My pillows are next. I plunge, climbing on the bare mattress. If I could, I

would cry out my frustration. No one should have to go through this much.
I toss the pillows and start to pound the bed like it's the cause of my misery.
I don't stop my screaming or temper down the anger that's making my voice
croaky, and my eyes are about to pop out of their sockets.

I am his fiancé, for goodness’ sake. I should have some right to be

respected. I should be treated a little better. The whore in there with him
shouldn't be able to do what she is doing and still look me in the eyes with
no remorse or shame.

I can't take it anymore. This rubbish. This humiliation. I cannot, and I will
not. I growl as images of myself sashaying with the confidence I once
possessed run through my mind.

I feel like a shell. Like a clone of that woman.

Fuck you, Giuseppe. Fuck you, Massimo. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… I push
up from bed at the same time my door swings open, slapping against the
wall behind it with sheer force.

Finally, something that doesn't make me invisible to him. Finally, he notices

he is living with someone other than himself and the whore he keeps
bringing over.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Vittoria?” Salvatore growls, and I
chuckle derisively.

Now he can ask me that. Now, I'm the one that's behaving out of line.

“What is wrong with me?” I chuckle, shaking my head with wide eyes
staring at him.

He is wearing just white shorts, and his hands are fisting beside him, with
his jaw ticking.

He is angry. He thinks he can be angry. If not for what is at stake or what I

fear would become of my life, I swear I would have…

“Listen to me…” He snaps his fingers in my face, “you listen real good,
Vittoria, because I won't say this again and…”

“No, you listen to me,” I stab my index finger at him, gritting my words
out. “I won't take this thing you are doing a minute longer,” I stand on my
balls, wanting to lessen the height difference. He is a big guy. But I don't
care anymore. “I want you to stop it.”

He chuckles, and I don't miss the condescending look in his eyes, “You
think you have a say here?”

“I do,” I stand straighter, “I am your fiancé.”

“I love to break it to you that you don't,” he slaps my pointed finger away
from his face.

He is trying to make me draw back. But I won't. I know I have a say. If he

were so bold with what he was doing, he wouldn't be sneaking her in and
out of this suite. I have observed enough to know he is keeping her a secret.
And I don't know what hurts more. The fact that he is cheating with just one
woman or the fact that he is cheating at all.

“Salvatore, I am your fiancé and if you think I will keep up with this any
longer, then you must be fucking delusional,” I scoff. “I know you are
keeping her a secret, so it's best you start treating me with some respect if
you want this secret of yours to remain a secret.”

“Shut up bitch, or I will kill you myself.”

“But you can’t,” I bite back, “My father would stop at nothing to kill you,
and not just you but your entire family.”

“The same father who sold you to me like cattle? Yeah, sure.” He chuckles
his condescending remark.

“Nice try, but giving his daughter in marriage is not the same as finding out
she is dead, and you and I both know that he would make sure to prove his
superiority. No one could mess with him and get away with it if something
were to happen with me.”

I know my father enough to know he would fight back. Not for me. He
would fight back for himself and his name. There is nothing Giuseppe loves
more than the reputation of dread he has gained for himself in this world.

“You are finding your voice, I see,” he nods to himself.

“I never lost it.”

Nina, with a duvet wrapped around her and her dark hair all over the place,
slips out from behind him, smirking with those devious dark eyes.

“I think you need a reminder of your place here.”

“My place is⁠—”

His hand comes on me, gripping my cheeks. My face is between his index
finger and thumb, and my feet barely touch the floor.

“You don't talk back at me, ever,” he presses some more, spewing his words
out, “You get back in line and never in your life step out of it,” his fingers
dig some more. It hurts, but it's bearable.

“I will talk back as much as I fucking want,” I am scratching his strong arm,
needing him to budge, but he is not even flinching.

“Don't push me, Vittoria,” he grates his teeth.

“Go to hell,” I spit on him.

His eyes darken more than usual whenever he looks at me. They are cold.
It's so difficult to see the white in them, especially with his eyelids
squinting and his eyebrows lowered and drawn together.

He drags me back and doesn't stop until he slams me hard against the wall. I
hit my head, and I lose consciousness for an instant, my vision going white.

“You were saying?” His lips curl inward, and his grip tightens.

My cheeks burn from the pain, and my gums go weak like they are about to
give out and drop my teeth.

“You will regret this,” I manage to force out, “You and your whor…”

The word whore doesn't make it out of my mouth. He lets me go abruptly,

and before my feet reach the ground, he smacks me hard with the back of
his hand.

The intensity of his hit is so strong that the same sensation of losing
consciousness strikes me harder this time. I stumble to the side and end up
on the floor before my eyesight clears again.

I can feel the metallic taste of blood on my tongue and the searing burn of
his hit on my cheek. It zaps me and remolds me into a familiar person. One
that I had long forgotten.

I know this place all too well.

I have the medals on my skin from being turned into an anvil by Giuseppe.
It's not a place to make a fuss or fight back. Anything can lead to more
wounds and bleeding.

I try to fight my mind to stay in the present and remind myself that he is not
my father and that I can fight back. I try, but my body already knows how
to react to this scene. My mind follows suit with the one survival
mechanism for this occasion: to fold back and do nothing.

I shake my head and twitch my eyes, trying to stay conscious as the pain
threatens to throw me further into subconsciousness.

I'm on all fours, my hair covering the side of my face while I try to patch
my broken confidence.

Salvatore comes stronger again, grabbing a fistful of my hair and my head

hurling backward so I stare into the eyes of the devil. I must never forget
what I saw today in case I want to step out of line again. I pushed too hard.
It's my fault. I shouldn't have pushed him.
That's what my father used to say. Every hit was my fault. If I could do as
he wanted and say the things I was expected to, there would be no need for
him to reprimand me.

A few weeks away from Giuseppe, I have already forgotten the lesson he
taught me with pounding fists and heavy metal belt hoops.

“Now that we are back on track,” he grips tighter like he wants to uproot
the strands in his fist, “how about I give you a little something so you never
forget this day?” His voice is cold but with hints of amusement. He is
enjoying this.

He smiles a wicked smile now, and it takes everything in me not to look

away from those brutish eyes.

It's taking everything in me to stay still. But my teeth won't stop clattering,
and my breath won't stop whizzing. I can hear every heartbeat in my ears
and then the lingering whining sound from the effect of the slap.

He drags me by my hair across the floor, and I don't fight back. I let him
take me wherever he is taking me. It's not outside. He is dragging me
towards the nightstand. Part of my body is indecently exposed, and the sash
of the robe is getting weak around my waist. He halts, and without any
ceremony, he slams my head against the floor and lets go.

I don't flinch or give him the satisfaction of screaming from the sharp pain
caused by the broken glasses from the alarm clock. I close my eyes and
suck the pain in. It's familiar, like an old friend, but still foreign.

“Get out of my sight,” he hauls me by grabbing my upper arm and shoving

me to the side. “Get out,” he flicks his hand to dismiss me, and I do as told.
It is as it should be. I take it and don't do anything except what I have been
asked to do. This way, they get easily bored and do not inflict more pain.

I do not even meet Nina’s eyes as I walk past her through the door and out
of the room. I adjust my robe and straighten my spine.

There's a general bathroom beside his suite, and I go there. I want to go to

the kitchen to get a towel, but I can hear the domestic staff chattering, and
the last thing I want is for anyone to see me like this.

I try not to look at my reflection in the mirror as I pluck the white towel on
the hanger, wet it, and take it to place on my bleeding cheek.

It hurts.

I inhale sharply and give up. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, but not
for long. I look… I shake my head. I look exactly like what has happened to
me. I look abused. My hair has been twisted into knots, my eyes are
bloodshot, my lips are cut with a line of crimson on the slash, and my cheek
is the worst.

Both cheeks look equally red; however, one of them has glasses caught
inside. I lean forward and carefully remove three shards embedded in three
distinct incisions. More blood pours out, and I return the blood-stained
towel to my face, pressing it gently.

I wet it again and place it back on the spot. When my father slapped me, he
was more worried about not causing damage to my face because it would
reflect poorly on him. However, Salvatore is careless about such matters.
He wants me to be harmed in every way. He is a devil. Even worse than the
devil I know.
And while I might not be able to pay him back now, I know I will someday.
I will strike back. And I will do it when he least expects it. I will take my
time. This might take years, but I will do it eventually.

It's her I will take it out on. That's what will hurt him more than anything. I
had thought it was something casual, but with how he exploded defending
her, I now know how and where to hit back.

I wet the towel again and press it to my cheek, then step out of the
bathroom with it covering the spot. I'm a mess. My life is a mess.

But I will rise from the ashes. It's what I do.

It's the only way I've known to survive.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TEN

Emanuele

I flip the lighter in my hand and close it.

It's not mine. It's Vittoria’s cigarette case and lighter. I guess she left it here
on one of the many trips she made to this place over the last week.

I'm positive it was her. But I want proof—something to assert my theory. I

feel at ease knowing I have a different problem tonight, something else to
distract me.
I won't exactly consider this a problem, but all the same, it feels good to
have this intrigue me and keep my mind rather than stay up all night in my
room, unable to sleep because of the never ending Bratva problem.

I sigh heavily and shove my hand in the pocket of my black pajama pants as
I stare at the city of Los Angeles. Every building is singled out by the light
around it, and the moon hovering in the dark blue sky adding her
scintillating light to the scenery.

The honks and buzz are muffled out. Somehow, it's the same thing I'm
trying to do to my mind tonight. To hush out the usual honking and buzzing
that surrounds the same problem that I have been dealing with for years.

It's been years, bloody hell.

It's been years, yet I still can't remember what life was like before that day. I
still can't let it go. It feels like if I ever close my eyes to sleep at night, I'll
wake up to the terrible news that someone I care about has died.

No matter how hard I try, I can't live past that night. And it's not like Boris
the idiot is doing things in a way that will make me ease up a little and
forget that he is alive. He keeps his presence fresh every day. Always
finding a way to make the underworld news revolve around him or his
activities.

Every-bloody-where you turn, Boris and his bandits have something about
them being spoken of, keeping everyone on their toes.

I shake the thought of Boris out of my head and revolve back to the here
and now. I didn't leave the walls of my bedroom to come out here to worry
again.
My mission tonight is simple. A welcome distraction that enticed me
enough to be here awaiting confirmation.

I grunt, knowing it's a bloody bad idea if my guess is right and it is her.
Being alone with her in the study at this time of the night sounds like all
kinds of bad ideas. And as much as the voice in my head is trying to talk me
out of it, I still can't help but see for myself to be sure it is as I suspected.

I know someone comes to this study every night, and even though they
leave little or no trace, I know the person is Vittoria somehow. Tonight, I
just want to be sure. The traces are simple. Sometimes, a book left on the
sofa, other times a lighter or even just a strong presence that tells me
someone was here before I step in every morning to work.

It makes me worry for her. What could keep her coming here every night? It
can't fucking be the Eva’s photographic skill or her love for books. She can
read anywhere, and the pictures can be seen at any time.

This is why I want to look into her eyes. To understand what could be
keeping her out of the bedroom, out of the arms of her fiancé.

Again, it's not my problem. I shouldn't be getting involved.

But here we are.

Here we bloody are.

It's more for myself than her. Knowing she would rather be here than in the
bedroom with Salvatore brings interests me as much as it bothers me. On
the one hand, I blame the bloody feeling of neediness I have towards her.
And then, there's the part of me that worries she might be having trouble
with her sleeping, like me.
I feel the door open. Sixth sense. I feel her, too. I can't peg why or how, but
somehow I feel her without needing to turn to look. There's no one who
sends these prickling waves shooting across my body like she does. It's raw.
Uncharted. I would have thought it would fade away with time. Even after
avoiding her every day for the past weeks, I still feel her presence as
strongly as I did the first day in the parking lot.

My cock ticks, remembering that night like every time that memory plagues
my mind. It doesn't matter how buried I am in work or whatever I am
doing; that night always seems to find a way back to me. And it has the
same effect on me as the first time. It goes straight to my cock, spins the
wheel in my stomach, and makes me hot before slipping away when I drag
in a sharp breath.

Like now.

For Christ’s sake.

The door closes softly. Almost like she fears someone might be in here. It's
dark, and even the city lights can't get through the thick drapes on the
windows.

Besides, I know how to blend with the darkness. Perhaps it's one of the
perks of being forged by it.

“Can't sleep?” I break the silence.

The sharpness of her gasp tells me she wasn't expecting to find anyone here.

“Something like that,” she mumbles.

“Mind to say why?”

“I just can't sleep.”

“Turn on the light, Vittoria,” I spin to face the direction of the door. I want
to look into her eyes. They have a way of telling me things she tries to hide
from plain sight.

“I would…” she clears her throat a little too loudly and nervously, “I would
rather not.”

“I didn't say you have a choice in the matter.”

It takes a few seconds before I hear the switch flip, and warm light from the
fancy pendant lamps hanging above pours in.

It doesn't take my eyes or brain more than a second to see what is in front of
me.

Bloody Saints.

My eyes snit in instant rage at the sight of the woman standing before me.
Her lips are swollen, her eyes are inflamed, and that inflammation spreads
from those eyes to her neck. Hot, angry red. Then, the towel she has to one
cheek. Not to miss the twitching of her fingers and how her breathing
staggers.

“What happened to you?” I take slow steps towards her, and still, she
breathes heavier. “Who did this to you?”

I stop in front of her now, and she drops her head, unable to hold my gaze.
It's unlike her. That defiance is gone, and my rage is simmering.

“I won't ask again,” I take my forefinger under her chin and tilt her head so
she keeps her eyes where I need them to be. “Tell me.”
I'm trying to keep my tone kind to get her to talk, but she tightens her lips
and I see she will not answer.

I know who has done this. Because there's not a fucking person on this
estate that's mad enough to do this to her, except one. One who thinks he is
untouchable. One who knows that no matter what, he will not get the same
as just any soldier.

Salvatore.

I chuckle, another moment of bloody disappointment with him. He didn't

learn this from anyone here. He didn't learn this from me. My rules are
fucking simple. And one of them is the heavy note on not hurting women
and kids. The same fucking rules that distinguish us from the Bratva.

If this was a bedroom thing, I would understand. It would be none of my

business. But this has pain and no hint of pleasure written all over it.

Her eyes search mine and as if she sees what I have figured out, she
mumbles something I can't make out. Then clears her throat silently to try
again.

“I fell,” she drops her eyes, now looking at the beard on my chin instead.

“You fell?” I cock my eyebrow so high it might as well recline into my hair.

She nods. “Down the stairs,” she adds.

The classic lie of every abused woman. I hate it now that it's coming from
her mouth.

“When?”
“Earlier,” she gulps.

Does she think I'm a fool or what? Perhaps she thinks of me as an

accomplice to treating women like this. Because if she doesn't bloody think
that of me, why in the name of bloody Saints is she standing right in front
of me and lying to my fucking face?

“Earlier?” I nod and run my tongue across the back of my teeth.

She nods eagerly, slowly coming around now that she thinks I'm buying her
lies.

I nod again. There are many ways to get answers. Her mouth doesn't need
to tell when I can listen to her body.

“Vittoria, this staircase that you fell from, is it named Salvatore?”

That stutter in her breath and the flinching of her nose is all I need to
confirm that, indeed, it is Salvatore who has done this.

He is lucky he is my son.

Oh, bloody hell, he is one lucky bastard tonight.

I let go of her chin and skate my fingers tenderly across her swollen lips.

“I'm sorry,” I close the gap between us now and wrap my arms around her
trembling body. She doesn't hold me back, but the way she turns weightless
in my embrace and her body curves to adjust so she can find a comfortable
position, I know she needed the hug.
The need to protect her has always been there from the very first day she
came to this house with her father. It's only stronger now.

I exhale deeply.

I feel a stab in my gut. If I hadn't stayed away from their business, I would
have been able to sniff this out. I wonder how long this has been going on
and how many times she has sneaked into this study to tend to her bruises
alone. I knew I had a coward for a son, but I just didn't know how much of
a fucking idiot he actually was.

I grind my teeth so hard I feel like I'm chewing into rocks. I want to rip
something apart.

“Come,” I unwrap my arms around her but keep one on the small of her
back, leading her behind my work desk.

“Sit.” I pull the seat away, and she obeys.

I tap the numbers for the domestic staff quarter in the intercom. “I need a
first aid kit, a warm cloth, and a bottle of aspirin to my room.” I turn my
attention back to her. My once fierce cat now looks scared. “Let me,” I take
over, releasing her from the burden of holding the towel to her cheek.

I take the towel off gently, and, damn, it is even worse than I thought. The
cuts are not so deep, but they are everywhere. Slashes with red clogged on
them, even angrier than the red on her cheeks.

I needed her to catch her breath before carting her to my room. She needs to
sleep on a bed tonight and be taken care of by no other person but me.

She places her head on my lap timidly, and I don't even think of the lines I
should not cross as I reach out and stroke strands of hair from her face,
tucking them behind her ear. I keep my fingers on her ear and start to stroke
tenderly, feather-light strokes.

So fragile. So helpless.

The intercom beeps, “Sir, the things are in your room as asked.”

I exhale sharply, brush my fingers through her hair, and relish the feeling of
Vittoria relaxing into what I'm doing. It's a good feeling, and I can do it all
night, but first things first. She needs to be taken care of.

“Let's go,” I'm expecting her to protest so she can give me the opportunity
to unburden her with walking and carry her in my arms to my bedroom.
Perhaps throw her over my shoulder. For tonight, I'm past caring.

She doesn't protest, not with her body or her words. I stand first, and she
does the same and as I motion to walk, she slips her dainty fingers between
mine, interlocking our fingers but with a breezy hold. I tighten the interlock,
and she gasps in reaction. I am trying to be sane here. To ignore what being
this close to her does to my body. But it feels impossible to ignore the
electric wave darting from where our fingers interlock to my loins.

I harrumph and lead her out of the study, down the hallway, and into my
bedroom.

The light comes on as we walk in, and I quickly take her to the bed so I can
begin administering aid to her bruises. She looks a little out of place with
her bright blue robe in the interior of black and navy blue.

The light in my room is brighter, and I see the dots of blood on her robe that
I missed before in the study. The cuts are more glaring than when we were
in the study. And the redness of her face is a direct contrast to her pale skin.
She sits on the mattress, and I flip open the box. I take a wool pad and pour
some spirit on it, “This will hurt,” I squat in front of her, and she nods. I
press the pad on her cheeks, and she seethes, flinching from the sting. I
place my other palm on the other side of her face, holding her head in place
but not coercively. I do it more to relax her with my touch than to keep her
head still.

I continue this way with the remainder of her injuries, including the bumps
on the back of her head that I felt when stroking her hair that made her
wince. My whole body burned with an indescribable anger when I heard
that sound leave her lips. Now I'm stroking her neckline to comfort her. She
continues to heave her breaths at regular intervals, and even though this is a
simple gesture of care, my cock refuses to rest.

Done with what is important, I throw everything off the bed, having no
patience to put it back in the box. I regret it immediately when she flinches,
like a traumatic response. If I could, I would punch myself in the face for
forgetting that simple fact.

“I'm sorry.” I'm up now, cradling her from the mattress and taking her
further into the bed to lay her down on it. “I'm sorry,” I whisper against her
temple as she rolls to the side, folding up and giving me her back.

I fight the urge to stay here with her, pressing my body against hers and just
holding her in my protective arms until she falls asleep. It's a strong desire
but not the right thing for now. Not the thing for any time, really. And the
way she is holding one of my arms to herself tells me she wants the same
thing as I do. As tempting as it is to succumb, I need to do something else
first.

“Sleep,” I let my cock propel me by planting a tender kiss on her cheek. She
makes a sound of disapproval, and I would have thought it was the kiss, but
then her grip around my arm tightens. She doesn't want me to go. But I have
to.
Still, I stay and wait patiently until her breathing tells me she is sleeping.
The whizzing is uncontrolled now and louder than when she was awake.
The tightness of her jaw has loosened and that frown on her lips has melted
into relaxation. I slowly peel myself away from her, stroke her cheek
tenderly, and take long strides out of my room.

I continue with urgency down the stairs until I get to the door of Salvatore’s
apartment.

He is a prick. No one hits a woman under my fucking roof. No one has that
fucking right.

I don't bother to knock, I would have broken the damn door down if I had
to, but it's open when I twist the doorknob and push, flinging it.

So this is why?

I chuckle dryly, staring at Salvatore and a brunette who look like they have
both seen a ghost as he scampers away from her and the shoulder-holder
sex position he had her in.

The disappointment from him seems to have no end.

“Father, I can explain!” he gasps.

“I am listening,” I grit.

And he better speak some sense because while I might not want to overstep
by taking things into my hands, I can order for him to be tied to a fucking
pole while I beat the cowardice out of him.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER ELEVEN

Vittoria

I feel his absence the very instant he leaves, the emptiness is heavier
than the duvet he covered me with. The wet kiss he presses on my
cheek heats it more than any hit has ever done. It burns into the right
places, warming my heart.

I try not to move or let him know I am not as deeply asleep as he thinks. My
trembling has reclined, but as I feel his weight lift off from the bed, it picks
up from where it left off. He feels like a refuge. And I want every care those
strong hands can give ever so gently. I want every softness that his grating,
thick voice can communicate. Every calm his raging onyx eyes can fuse
into my body. I want it all. I want all the things he does that contradict
everything I thought he was.

I still think he is all those things. I mean that there's a possibility he is worse
than his son. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?

My eyes open slowly as he shuts the door behind him, catching a glimpse of
the black pajama he has on. Never seen anyone wear pajamas so beautifully
as he does. Never thought the idea of dressing up to sleep could look that
hot. I won't be able to get any sleep with him in the same bed as me,
knowing he looks like that while he is sleeping.

I sit up abruptly as if my filthy thoughts will just go away. Emanuele is still

my fiancé’s father, and I should not be thinking about how his body looks in
pajamas or wishing he had kissed my lips earlier.

I gulp, exhaling sharply as I feel the same wave of heat that envelops me
whenever I catch a glimpse of him or remember that night in the parking
lot.

I get out of bed, feeling slightly better. It doesn't hurt as much as it did, and
my cheeks feel lighter than they did earlier.

A dull pain is still lingering, but it's nothing compared to how I was. And
the taste of metal on my tongue is not as potent as before.

A yawn breaks out of my mouth against my will, and it hurts. Shit. It hurts.
I wince.

I look around. The bedroom of onyx and blue denim stone is both intense
and soothing. Elegant and attractive. Like the inhabitant of the room.
Navy blue luscious curtains cover the bedroom's floor-to-ceiling windows,
with the exception of the one behind the bed. A modular black sofa with
throw pillows to match the drapes sits opposite the bed, following an
abstract table that appears to be composed of blue denim gemstones.

I want to explore the room further and see what's behind some of its
curtains to see if they'll reveal more about the man I so much want to know.
But shouldn't.

I stand up and slowly open the bedroom door, anxious to know where he
has gone. I gently close the door behind me, and it doesn't take much effort
to find out where he went as I hear cuss words in Italian from downstairs.

I take careful steps down the stairs, not wanting to rush down and be caught
in the crossfire. For all I know, he might be scolding Salvatore and telling
him not to cause any damage to my face next time, but my body is fine. I
mean, he did say I am his possession, and he cannot have me damaged.
Having a damaged face won't be good for him when it's time to display his
daughter-in-law.

A small part of me tries to get rid of the thoughts I'm having. Thoughts that
are trying to make me think differently about him because he has changed
since I arrived here. But I'm not letting them take over. I can never be too
careful with these things. I cannot allow myself to lean fully on someone to
then be disappointed at the end of the day when he turns out to be worse
than the rest of them.

I agree, I wasn't expecting that tenderness from Emanuele. I wasn't

expecting anyone to be that gentle with me tonight.

I thought he would say it was my fault, that I don't know my place. But he
didn't. Still, I repeat my mantra, a snake can only birth a snake. I have some
of Giuseppe's genes inside of me.
“You have the nerves to lay your fingers on your fiancé because of this
puttana?” Emanuel's voice thunders as I get to the open door of the
bedroom.

“That is not what happened,” Salvatore’s voice is both grumbling and

trembling.

I didn't think he had it in him to be fearful. Neither did I think Emanuele

would be angry at the both of them. When I saw the rage in his eyes earlier,
for some reason a part of me had thought he was angry at me.

I walk into the bedroom, still stifling with the awful scent of sex and
Salvatore’s bad perfume. Nina is wearing a white t-shirt now that covers her
lower body only slightly, and Salvatore is wearing the same shorts he had
on earlier, only this time the zipper is slightly undone, and the hook is
opened, revealing bristles of pubic hair.

“No?” Emanuele cocks one eyebrow the same way he did in the study.

“No,” Salvatore moves away from Nina, but she goes after him, trying to
take his hand.

He shrugs her away and folds his arms across his chest instead.

I shift my gaze between them, including Emanuele. He's both irritated and
enraged. Based on their appearance, Emanuele probably caught them
having sex.

I resist the desire to spit on Nina. It's unsettling that she could watch
Salvatore do what he did to me while still allowing him to have sex with
her. She's always been disturbing. I don't know why I'm even surprised.

“Start speaking, then.” Emanuele glowers, and both Nina and I shiver.
If I thought Salvatore was frightening before, it was just because I hadn't
seen Emanuele yet. He is terrifying. I don't want to think about what he'll do
if he lets that buff body get physical.

“It was an accident, and Nina is just a friend…” Salvatore clears his throat,
“She is an old friend, and the misunderstanding with…” he glances in my
direction, “We had a misunderstanding, and it got out of hand.”

“A misunderstanding, you say?” Emanuele takes a step closer, and

Salvatore shrinks back, almost stumbling into Nina, who's trying to attach
herself to him as if she were his tail.

“It won't happen again,” he rushes out.

I am right, then. If Salvatore is this way and trying to evade his father's
wrath, then it's because he knows who the master is. His master. The one he
learned from to be brutish toward women.

“No, it won't, not on my watch, it won't. You will do what is expected of

you and get rid of her,” Emanuele points at Nina, “And I don't want to see
her around my estate or hear of this night ever again.”

Salvatore nods, “ok.”

“No,” Nina slurs in her thick Russian accent.

“Get her out of my house,” Emanuele’s irritation is only spiking the more
he watches her.

Salvatore nods and turns to Nina, “Let me take you home.” Even though he
is obeying his father, I can see he cares for her. The fondness in his eyes as
he speaks to her is disgusting.
On the other hand, Nina doesn't seem to be returning that fondness or care
about what he is saying. She stays planted beside him, annoying me even
more, but it's not my call to make. If it were for me, I would have dragged
her by her hair the same way he did me and not stop until I get to the gate of
the estate, then toss her out with a kick in the guts. If it were for me, I
would have emptied a barrel in his head.

“I will not leave,” Nina steps away from behind Salvatore now and shrugs
him away as he tries to stop her from inching toward Emanuele, “You have
to tell him I'm not some random girl you picked up.”

“I never said that.”

“I'm not an old friend either, Salvatore.”

Emanuele isn't paying any attention to her. I like how insignificant he is

making her feel by keeping his eyes fixed on Salvatore.

“Nina, we should go,” Salvatore tries to tug her by the sleeve of the t-shirt
she is wearing, but she slips out of his tug.

“Why?” She turns to Salvatore. “We have to tell him now that what we feel
for each other is not just…”

“No,” Salvatore shakes his head, “It's nothing, don't listen to her,” he directs
that to his father.

Poor thing. While it looks like he is denying it, it’s evident that he is, in fact,
in love with her. Ironically enough, even if she is the one admitting it, it’s
painfully clear that she doesn't feel anything for him.

Nina folds her arms across her chest and stares Salvatore down, “Then what
will it be of the baby?” She throws her hands in the air.
Salvatore stutters in confusion. Emanuele raises both eyebrows, now
focusing on Nina. And there I am, unsure whether to be confused or
shocked. I don't really care. At the very least, if she is pregnant, I will not
have to open my legs for him to give the Teso clan an heir.

“You are pregnant?” Salvatore chuckles, “Are you sure?”

Nina nods, “I am and…”

“I see,” Emanuele nods and scratches his beard with a sweep of his fingers.
“This is what is going to happen then,” he looks at Salvatore again, “since
she is pregnant, you are marrying her,” he states firmly, leaving no room for
argument. “I won’t have my first grandchild be born as an illegitimate
child.”

Salvatore retorts, shaking his head in disagreement while Nina smiles

victoriously. She looks like she has just won a jackpot. She is in love with
him then.

“Dad, let’s think this through,” he closes the distance to his father but halts
before getting too close.

“It’s perfect,” Nina tugs at his wrist, but he brushes her away.

“No, it’s not,” Salvatore clips and Nina’s face drops flat.

Emanuele shrugs, “Why? If you fooled around without protection, surely

you must have an affection for the girl, no?”

“What about her?” Salvatore points to me. “I have to be married to her for
the family.”

“That’s none of your concern anymore. I will marry her.”

“What?” It’s my turn to step forward and draw back when Emanuele arches
an eyebrow in my direction.

“You will marry her?” Salvatore scoffs, “You are not serious, right?”

“Do I look like I am joking?”

He is serious.

Oh my God.

I muffle out their voices. It's like falling into water and only hearing the
sounds through the waves. That's how I feel right now about what Salvatore
is saying to Emanuele.

I close my robe tightly and block out everything as I take faltering steps
back out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I keep hearing them
talk, but I can't understand what they're saying. I can't make sense of my
fucking world.

He will marry me?

My body turns paper light and begins to flutter under the wave of terror that
sweeps through me. He is no different from his son. He is worse than his
son. Everything Salvatore did tonight, Emanuele can double effortlessly.

As much as I feel forcing Salvatore to be married to Nina is a fitting

punishment, because they deserve each other, it’s only a matter of time
before he will show her the side of himself he showed me tonight. Still,
Emanuele’s solution for me is way overboard.

I inhale sharply, trying to control the chaos in my head as I think of what

my life has become in a short while. This cannot be how it will eventually
end. There has to be a way out of this, I can’t keep going from bad to worse.

I’m being tossed from one devil to another. I tear away from the door and
want to walk up to the study, but each step feels quaking and heavy. I feel
like I would slip and roll down the stairs if I made any attempt to go up.

I exhale, hearing my stomach churn and burn as I coil on the sofa, turning
my back to Salvatore’s room.

It's been a long night.

Too long.

I should sleep, and I hope to hell when I wake up in the morning, I will be
told that this was all a dream.

I want it to be a dream.

It has to be.

How much more can one person take?

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWELVE

Emanuele

M y wrath is a living thing.

And he is one lucky motherfucker that he is my son. So fucking lucky.

I tuck in the black wrist brace I'm tying around one hand before moving on
to the next. I need to let out my rage in some way, and punching a duffel
bag is one method to do that. At least this way, I know I won't be pounding
anyone to death.
Every time I gazed at her face last night, my rage swelled. The only thing
that stopped me was the knowledge that if I let my fury make the decision, I
would come to regret it.

What he did to her was like fertilizer for my anger, which, like the roots of a
tree seeking a way out, had to be expressed with a vengeance. I felt it
growing. I felt the stretch from the branches. There were so many times I
should have dealt with Salvatore using my fists. I know that Vittoria can be
too much when she wants to fuck you up with her brattiness, but that is not
the way to control her. That is not the way to discipline her and get her to
act as needed.

I haven't been this enraged in a long while.

It was too bloody strong.

The anger is still there.

Only now, it's more at myself than anyone else. I can't even pinpoint the
reason for it. I don't know if it's because I think I should have done this long
ago, avoiding what happened to her. Or because I feel that even now, I
shouldn't be this riled up thinking about the supple body sprawled on my
bed. Waking up this morning with a cock that would break if tipped over
doesn’t help.

Last night, I carried her back to my bedroom after noticing her sleeping on
the sofa in the sitting room. She did not flinch, nor did she budge when I
placed her on the bed and covered her up.

That was when I admitted to what I feared the first day with Massimo at the
bar. I didn't believe Salvatore was capable of the task at hand. And when I
met her for the first time, I couldn’t help but think that again. I doubted he
would be able to control the fire I saw in her. Putting it out is not the way to
go. She and her fire are one and the same. To get the best out of her, it needs
to be controlled.

I tsk, shoving the disarray of thoughts to the side as I try to focus on

wrapping the other band firmly around my wrist. I fasten the wrist brace,
tuck it in, and then stand. I flex my fingers to be sure I did a decent job.

I need to exert myself. To get rid of the leftover anger of and the hard-on
from watching her sleep all through the night in my bed.

They don't come any prettier than she is, and it's killing my balls. And with
no barriers anymore to stop me from imagining all the filthy things I want
to do to her, it's even worse. She is mine now. That slender body, those
plush raspberry lips, that thick ebony flood of hair that will fit perfectly
between my fingers, and the curly lashes that I can't wait to see lifting to
stare at me when her mouth is wrapped around my cock. All of it. They're
mine.

My cock ticks, and I feel the heat that comes with the thought of her wash
into my balls.

It's all I could do not to be a prick and touch her last night. I was too
excited. Admittedly, I found a way to salvage the situation, but I can't lie to
myself. I wanted her and I grabbed the opportunity. I wanted her for myself.
The task at hand requires a man with my firmness, not a boy who lets his
fist command his action.

I walk to the punching bag and grunt at the black bag, beckoning me to let it
all out on it. I place one hand on it and rest my forehead against the smooth
leather surface.

I don't know what kind of father my actions make me. Maybe I did want
Salvatore to fail, it was like I was waiting for it to happen. Not knowing
what was going on between Salvatore and Vittoria was chewing me up
inside, and when I finally confronted him last night, I felt like I had hit the
jackpot. I could finally sweep in and take her from him. But I still wasn't so
sure I had a real reason to take her. Then, the Russian girl gave me all the
reasons I needed when she announced she was pregnant. It played out better
than all the filthy things I had imagined in my head over the past weeks.

I throw a punch, not as forceful as I would want, but I'm warming up. The
bag bounces about and as it comes back for me, I unleash. I throw punches
at it, bouncing on my feet, blurring out the white and black scenery of the
in-house gym.

I don't stop until I feel my fingers go numb.

It might look like the punching bag is being beaten up, but I'm the one
getting hurt. I need to beat the anger, the guilt, and the teenage horniness
out of my system.

“Is it Boris that you’re picturing as the punching bag?” Fabio smiles faintly
beside me, with green eyes bothering and mocking me.

I didn't even notice him coming in. He tries to temper out the sound of his
footsteps as much as possible. I stop and throw a fist at him, but not with
the intent to punch him, just so he catches a whiff of it, and he ducks.

“I will do you one,” he struts to the drawer by the wall and slides out of his
dark gray suit.

“I would rather pass,” I shake my head.

As hard as his offer is to resist, I have to. If I accept, we will both get hurt.

“I know you, capo, I know you want to,” he unclasps his gold cufflinks and
folds the sleeves of his black shirt to below his elbow, “Here or there?” He
points with his chin at the ring a little way from us. He holds the bag, “Let
me give you something harder to punch.”

He looks out of place in the gym with his official outfit, but I know he is fit
for what he is proposing. And although this is not what I had in mind, I can
let him tempt me with it.

“Did you get my message?” I punch the bag, and it feels better to have it
push back and stay planted.

“Loud and clear,” he doesn't look like it's taking him any effort to hold the
bag.

“You have to find something on her and find it quick,” I punch again, “I
need to know who she is, where she is from, what she does for a living, her
family. I need to know everything about her. Especially her last name.”

“I am already working on it.”

“After all my fighting with the Russians, what kind of poetic justice is this
to have my grandchild delivered by one?” I scoff at the insanity of the
universe.

“They are not all the same.”

“Let's hope she is not like the ones we know and that she cares about
Salvatore the same way he cares for her,” I punch twice with both fists and
again.

“We will keep a close watch,” he assures me. I know he will.

I tap the bag and exhale sharply as I think about what this might mean for
the unborn child. It could be born into a war.
“What is it?” Fabio senses the change in the room.

“The child's safety is not guaranteed,” I rest my hands on my hips, “the past
might repeat itself.”

It's impossible to shake that worry off. Every turn, every new event brings
the same worry. I don't care about the circumstances of the pregnancy;
knowing I have a grandchild on the way is a good thing. It means my
legacy will continue. But what if my enemies cut that legacy short before it
even begins?

“It won't happen again,” he lets go of the punching bag, “you're a different
person now, and I believe you know how to defend your family better than
you did the last time,” he steps away from the punching bag. “This time
Boris won't be coming at the same man and if he thinks he is, then it only
confirms that he is foolish.”

I shake my head, “Boris is anything but foolish.”

“He is not above that. Sometimes people get so into their own heads that
they forget to see that others around them are changing,” he tucks his hands
in the pockets of his pants. “When the Bratva comes this time, it won't be
like ten years ago. The first time, we were unprepared against the
ruthlessness of their offensive. This time, you are stronger and you would
be protecting your family against a known evil.”

His words are like balm to my burning knuckles. I nod and walk to the
fridge to pluck a bottle of water from the second shelf.

He clears his throat as he comes to stand beside me, “Father and son, huh?”

I twist the cover of the water open, pretending I don't know what he is
talking about.
“At least this whole thing is good for something,” he picks up his cufflinks,
“You are getting married again, which means you won’t be so alone and
grumpy anymore,” he slips one cufflink into the buttonhole and I busy
myself with drinking my water.

I have done a good job of not thinking about what this means. The fact that
I am expected to be a husband again and share myself with someone after
years of no practice.

“I guess I will prepare myself for another round of best man duty,” he
throws his suit on now, giving me a faint, sad smile.

He shares in the pain of my loss as much as I do. He had a certain bond

with her, and suffered for her loss. But he has asked me to move on many
times over the last few years and my answer to him has remained the same.
I told him to fall in love, lose that person, and then come back to tell me
how easy it was to move on. He has never even fallen in love.

“Alright… I will be in the study,” he adjusts himself.

“What do you want me to say, Fabio?”

“What this is truly about.”

“A necessity,” I try to convince myself more than him.

He nods, “Sure. I will get things going.”

“I will meet you in the study.”

He doesn't question me further. He understands, and our shared silence

speaks louder than any words. Fabio knows me too well and I know he
knows there might be more to this than the pure necessity.
He prances out of the gym, allowing me a moment to collect my thoughts.

I finish the remaining water and walk to a recycling trash can before exiting
the gym. As I continue down the corridor, I see Fabio come around the
corner and enter the study.

The gym is located in the hallway leading to my bedroom, right before the
study. I hesitate briefly before knocking on Eva's door. I haven't seen her
since yesterday, and I'm just making sure she's still inside. She knocks back.
She is inside, working. That's what this means. I nod, smile slightly, and
proceed to my bedroom at the end of the hallway.

It thrills my heart to open the door and discover her still asleep in my bed.

I walk over, and as my weight presses on it, she opens her eyes lazily and
slowly registers her surroundings.

She sits up abruptly, almost like she is frightened by my presence. It's like a
punch in the gut, but I wear the pain well.

“What am I doing here?” She presses her lips in a fine line.

“That’s a loaded question,” I won't fan her poutiness.

She stands, and I see that the bruises on her cheek are now turning purple,
meaning they're healing.

She rounds the mattress until she is in front of me, “If you think I will
declare my undying gratitude for your intervention, then you don't know me
at all.”

I do know her. I knew she would look for something to make a fuss about.
“Do as you may, but you will come around.”

“Why? You think I resent you any less than I do your son?” She stresses the
son part, “He is born of you, and I know the apple doesn't fall far from the
tree.”

“Still,” I tug at her robe until she is standing between my legs, “I bet this
wood can make you want to ride your pussy on it.”

She shifts on her feet as she stutters as if she didn't expect me to say that. I
didn't expect to say that this quickly either, but I might as well rip the band-
aid off.

“In your dreams,” she tries to get out of my hold, but my grip is firm.

I pull her down, and despite her protests, she voluntarily lets her knees
collapse on the floor. A little too eagerly. There. Better. My hand grabs the
soft fabric again, this time around her chest. I don't miss how my cock ticks
at the prospect of having her breasts near my reach. I slip my
fingers underneath the fabric and graze her breast. She rasps and squirms,
and her hands wrap around my wrist to keep it steady while she makes
whimpering sounds, pretending not to want what she craves. Me.

“You will learn your place soon,” my face is only inches away from hers.

“And what would my place be?” She bites back, as expected.

“On your knees for me, baby girl.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

I chuckle, biting my lower lip to hold in my amusement, “Give me a safe

word.”
She pouts, squaring me with her eyes. I hold my breath, waiting.

Just when it’s beginning to feel like she won’t say anything, she huffs,
“Lime.”

“Why lime?”

She shrugs, “Why not?”

Bloody stubborn.

“Speak, damn it,” I tighten my grip on her fabric.

“Lime,” she spews, and I let go almost immediately. She smirks, “We have
a safe word.”

I would smile if her brattiness were not cementing my cock. Instead, I

finally do what I have been wanting to do ever since that night in the
parking lot. I slam my lips against hers and kiss the pout off her face. She
makes a feeble fight to get away from me, but I keep her pinned with my
legs pressing her sides.

I test a theory and shove my tongue into her mouth, to see if she will bite
me. She doesn't disappoint. She bites hard. I don't pull back. It's like an
aphrodisiac. Her fight. Her fire. Her resilience. I deepen the kiss now, and
her hands are no longer fighting me. They're on my chest, pretending to
push me away.

I have a lesson for her.

As soon as she starts to lean into the kiss, I feel her body turn to jelly in my
arms. I deepen the kiss, and she tenses, then lets out a timid moan. I pinch
her nipple now and flicker repeatedly until her breathing stutters.
“You want this, don't you?” I know she wants it. This touch and whatever it
will bring her. “Answer me. Tell me you don't want me to keep going.”

She gulps, not saying anything. Meaning she wants it. Good. But not there
yet.

I put my hand between her thighs and trace up, teasing her and feeling her
quake in my wake. She parts her legs for me, but I keep my fingers
hovering. She whimpers, biting the corner of her upper lip and anticipating.

“Tell me, have you been a good girl?”

She nods eagerly, “I am a good girl.”

“But you weren’t,” I slide one finger between her wet fold, and she leans
forward, clamping her legs together to trap my finger, “You didn’t tell me
what happened to your face.”

She shakes her head, now moving slowly, straddling my finger. I smile
inwardly, knowing she needs to be punished for that.

“Then here is your punishment for that,” I pull away and retrieve my hand,
leaving her wide-eyed and confused, “First lesson, baby girl. If you want it,
you have to earn it.” I brush some of her hair that's now plastered on her
face, and she glares at me.

If looks could kill, hers would be in high demand in the underworld.

She mumbles and cusses, some of her words spoken in Italian. Bloody sexy
mouth, spitting sexy words. I wink at her.

“And now, you have a wedding to plan.” I leave her on the edge of an
unsatisfied orgasm. “Make me proud and earn your pleasure, baby girl,”
then I walk into the bathroom.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Vittoria

“H ow are you feeling?” Eva asks while struggling with something

on her camera.

She is quite focused, and the question seems casual. One of those I-don't-
want-you-to-tell-me-how-you're-really-feeling-just-say-fine-and-we'll-
move-on kind of questions. But knowing Eva, she really wants to know.
And knowing me, she suspects I won't be telling her. But today is different.
Now, it is different. I want to tell her. But again, how can I when I don't
know how I'm truly feeling?
How am I feeling?

I huff, straining to think of my answer. I let my eyes travel around.

We are outside her study, sitting on a handmade bench that's colored the
same as the sunflowers outside the studio. Her photography is
monochrome, but the outside of her studio bursts with colors. It’s the most
colorful thing on the entire estate. And our outfits add some more colors to
the many colors around.

She is wearing loose, ripped denim pants and a cherry blossom print
oversized t-shirt that she ties to the side to show her wasp waist. I, on the
other hand, have an ankle-length strawberry-red dress on. The sleeves cover
my wrist, and my gold sandals match my bracelet. Her bouncy raven curls
hang from the top of her ponytail. And I've tied mine into a classy bun with
no loose strands.

I dart a glance at her to check if she is waiting for my response. She is

preoccupied and her jawline is so taut from clenching her teeth that I could
cut myself if I ran my fingers over it. She reminds me of her father when
he's upset. Perhaps she is the fruit that didn't fall far from the tree, whereas
Salvatore is in a different league.

She makes a tsk sound, and I'm taken back to when Emanuele left me
hanging. He called my bluff with that kiss, and I proved him right by
wanting more of it. I still want more of it. So fucking shameless. My vision
still goes white, and my breathing heaves when I remember the pinch of his
fingers on my nipple.

Eva lifts her camera now and peers through it. She fiddles with the setting.
She hasn't forgotten the question. The few days I've been around her have
taught me that she might act like she lets things breeze past her while she is
actually observing. I know she is studying my silence and how long it's
taking me to answer her simple question.
I slurp my latte, which was her idea, still hellbent on sprinkling sweetness
into my life. I dig for the information she seeks. I don't know how I'm
doing. On the one hand, I feel relieved not to have to deal with Salvatore
again. As it stands, I'll be his stepmom and I’ll have to act the part. I hate it.
But Eva is something that might be worth it, our friendship. I never had this
kind of relationship with anyone, and I want to do the things I see girls my
age do with their girlfriends. But baby steps.

Then there's the part that makes my stomach churn, but in a good way,
which is odd to me. The part where I will be married to Emanuele. It
feels… I shake my head and sip again, my coffee's creaminess filling my
mouth and teasing my tastebuds. It feels like a wish I never knew I had
made that's coming true.

I open my mouth to speak but pour more latte into my mouth instead. It's
hard to say how I feel. I don't want to lie. Still, I can't find the right words to
convey my truth.

It may be because I have never actually been asked the question by

someone who actually cares. And I have never answered that question
except regarding my health. Nothing more.

Eva chuckles beside me and stops playing with her camera. She scoffs, and
then shakes her head in a pitiful way at me. I look into her ocean-view eyes
and then away.

I knew she was observing. I knew it. And if I did give the usual passive
answer to that question in the past, now I can't.

I clear my throat and busy myself with trying to fake undying love for the
creamy liquid in my mouth. I hate coffee. But this is not so bad. I flick my
eyes about, not missing the eyes still on me. I have Eva’s full attention now.
I think I might now be enjoying the little game I'm playing. It feels ordinary
but amusing to me.
She starts to giggle now, and I join her.

“Not so great, huh?” She picks up the cup of tea I asked her to try and sips,
making a face to express how little she likes it.

“Not so great,” I try to digress.

She smiles and pours the tea out, the liquid wetting the granite floor, “You
are my friend, and I want to be sure you are fine.”

“I think I might be fine,” I pour my latte out. I like how neither of us is

talking about what we just did with our drinks.

“You think?”

“I'm marrying your father,” I narrow my eyebrows at her. “Do I have any
choice but to tell you I am fine?” I shrug.

“You do.”

“I'm just confused, and I don't know how to put how I feel into words,” I
smile weakly at her. “It's happening all at once, and it's just so…” I trail,
shaking my head, “I don't know, Eva,” I exhale sharply.

She nods, “I am sorry about Salvatore.”

“What?” I chuckle, “I am glad he is not the one I will be marrying.” I say

that too enthusiastically.

“My father is a catch,” she laughs, “He's got lots of fans on social media
swooning after him.”
“Does he, now?”

“But you are a catch too, so it kind of balances the scale,” she smiles. “And
let's look at the beautiful side to this,” she straps her camera around her
neck, then picks up a notepad on the bench. “You will make a stunning
bride.”

She is always looking at the bright, fun side of things. With her, there's
always a good side to everything. Maybe I should be more like that too.
Maybe I should find a way to see the good side to everything life throws at
me. Maybe if I act more like her, good sides will just be thrown at me.

“You are just interested in planning the wedding,” I say.

“Busted,” she laughs softly. “Since that's out in the open and I can't hide my
giddiness over this task, let's go over a list of what we need.”

“You wrote one already?” My mouth falls open.

“You are welcome,” she bows curtly.

I drop the cup on the bench and stand, “I have the duty of being the
beautiful bride, you take care of what is yours to take care of,” I try to pluck
myself out of the planning process.

Being too involved would make me nervous. I'm already anxious as it is.

She nods, “I see what you did there,” she drops the notepad back on the
bench.

“Making sure we both act our parts well?” I feign unawareness and begin
with one backward step toward the main building.
“Alright, fine. I will get to it,” she smiles, “I have things under control,
although there are a few I can't decide for the bride-to-be.”

Hearing that word makes me nauseous. I don't think other brides feel this
way. I accept I don't have a say in the matter, but it is all very real.

“Did you spike my drink?” I'm already moving towards the main building,
and she is coming after me.

She laughs, “That thing you feel right now, that's what you can’t put into
words.” She stops, “I will hang out a while; I see something I want to
capture,” she points at the blazing sun, and it's like fiery orange paint
poured on a sky of happy blue.

“See you later,” I finger-wave and turn to face the building.

This thing I feel?

It's fear. Fear of what my future will look like. Fear that I might have traded
an apprentice of the devil for the devil himself. That's what I feel. Yet I
hunger for what that future may look like.

I enter the main house, and Sabrina hijacks me.

“Your timing is perfect,” she pulls me by the wrist and takes me up the
stairs.

“Perfect for what?” I let her take me up. I was going that way regardless.

“Almost there,” she skates down the hallway and stops in front of
Emanuele’s—our bedroom.
“In here?”

She nods as she pushes the door open, “We thought this would be perfect
for the wedding,” she walks in, and I don't have a choice but to follow her.

She stops now, pointing to a beautiful white wedding dress another

housekeeper is holding up. It's lovely, if a little out of style, but still
beautiful. Something like an evergreen design. Puffy sleeves, A-shape, with
pretty embroideries on the train.

She walks to stand beside it, and her casual jeans and white shirt with navy
blue apron contrast the elegance of the dress.

I smile now, “It's beautiful,” I bite the inside of my lower lip while
observing the lush dress, “Oh, Sabrina.”

Sabrina is one of those people that confuses you. Whose age you can’t
really tell.

“It's from Aurora’s collection,” Sabrina scurries to the bed, a little too
excited now as she points to other things she has dug out from the same
collection, “You can make your pick.”

I shake my head, dismissing the idea in an instant. Aurora was Emanuele's

late wife. I don't want to wear anything that was hers on my day. It's my
day. No offense to the dead, but I'm not going to let her steal my thunder,
even as a ghost. I don't want to risk looking like her to him while wearing
this. I do not want him to see me and be reminded of her. I want him to see
me. Besides, I do not believe Emanuele would want me to.

“It will fit you well, you have the body, and you look a lot like…”
“No,” I clip. More than just for the dress. No to what she is saying because I
don't want to hear it. I know I have no right to feel this way, but I do
nonetheless.

Eva told me her father started wearing his daily outfit of black after her
mother’s death and has kept it up for ten fucking years. It makes me wonder
about their life together. She was very lucky. But I'm not marrying the man
she married. I'm marrying the widower she left behind—two completely
different people.

"If you just try it, you will see the magic," Sabrina grabs the dress from the
other housekeeper and moves toward me. "You already know you look like
you belong on a magazine cover. Imagine what the media would say!" She
is so into it, it sounds like she has been waiting for this moment her entire
life. "Plus, we don’t have a lot of time and we can adjust this dress quickly."

“It is beautiful,” I try not to sound offensive, “but I would rather not,” I
exhale, wishing Eva was here with me. She would have gotten me out of
this situation without making me look like I have something against her
dead mother. Because I don't.

The door opens, and Emanuele walks in. Wearing the usual grim reaper
energy he always gives off. He is dressed in black, obviously. Dress shirt
and pants.

His eyes move from me to the dress in Sabrina’s hands, to the things on the
bed, and then back at me. The instant change in his demeanor and gaze
show his disapproval.

“What are they doing here?” His voice is ice cold.

“We brought them out for Vittoria to…” Sabrina speaks slowly. He looks
like he might rip her head off.
“Get out,” Emanuele growls in a low pitch. Simple, cold, and dark.

Sabrina and Meryl start to scuttle to the door.

“Get these things out of here and never take them out again, ever,” his voice
thunders.

Sabrina rushes to collect the veil and some embellishments as quickly as

possible and scampers out. Meryl has already left.

I knew it was a bad idea. I snort and lift my eyes to Emanuele’s, but I freeze
when my brain detects the emotions I see in his eyes.

He looks angry, yes, but also… heartbroken.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Emanuele

A gut punch. A fucking gut punch.

Perhaps a mockery of some sort.

Not by Sabrina, but some cosmic bullshit out there waiting to let me know
how I might be making another mistake that might lead to the same fucking
end.
I know Fabio would disagree but he doesn't know how it feels. He wasn't
the one responsible for protecting his family and failing to do so. And worst
of all, I did nothing afterwards either.

I couldn't risk losing another family member. I had two kids to take care of.
Salvatore was barely eighteen, and Eva was not even twelve yet. Because of
that, I did nothing. But if I had done something, I wouldn't be facing the
problems I have now, worrying the same damn thing will play out again just
because I saw that dress.

“If it’s any consolation,” Vittoria exhales, moving away from me to put
some distance between us, “I said no,” she chimes smugly and waves her
chipped red polished nails about. “So we are on the same team,” she shrugs
curtly.

I don’t know her reason for rejecting the dress that belonged to my late
wife, but I know we do not have the same reason for not wanting to have
anything to do with that dress. We are not on the same team with this one.
I’m sure of it.

“Is that so?” Anger. Burning, scalding anger is travelling through my veins
up to my brain.

“I mean, the dress is beautiful, but it’s not my style,” she chuckles dryly,
“No offense though,” she adds carelessly.

Offense taken.

I cock my eyebrow at her, and she shrugs. Either she is oblivious to what is
happening or she is refusing to understand it.

Fuck it.
I cannot believe Sabrina brought out that dress after so many years. It
reminds me so much of what agony truly feels like. It reminds me of the
man I was then. A man who couldn’t save the one he had vowed to protect.
That dress is a reminder of my failure, and there’s no way I want to start
another marriage with that reminder.

I loved her.

Heaven knows I loved her. And I lost her. As much as I want to blame Boris
for taking her away from us, I blame myself more for being unable to keep
her. Everything fell fucking apart with her death. I blame the change in
Salvatore on what happened ten years ago.

“You’ve got some audacity, baby girl,” I chuckle, “It isn’t about you that I
asked them to leave.”

Her face falls a little.

“Good for you then!” she huffs.

“Relax, ragazza.”

“Please… the last thing I want is to argue over a wedding dress. If you
treated me like your fiancée this wouldn’t even be a topic for discussion.”

I clear my throat, “And this treatment involves what?”

“A proper wardrobe. I’m should be meeting with designers for my wedding

outfit,” she places both hands on her waist. “You are marrying Vittoria
Mancuso.” Her arrogance has no fucking end as she sashays towards me,
even though she is way shorter without her usual heels on.
“A wardrobe? Clothes?” I almost laugh at her dainty body in front of me.
She looks crushable, yet she stands like she is unbreakable, daring me.

“Why do you sound like those things are foreign to you?”

“Why get you clothes when I want you naked?”

“So we are going caveman style now, Daddy?” She snorts. “Well, good luck
with trying to get me naked.”

“You didn’t learn anything the first time?”

“That was hardly a lesson,” she looks over her shoulders, “Did you even
teach me anything?”

“Strip.”

She snorts, “Make me,” and turns to walk away from me. I stop her by
catching her ponytail.

“Get your hands off me,” she tries to slap my hand away.

“You know what to say if you want me to stop, baby girl.” I tug her
backward, and she slaps back against my now-hardening cock, “I won't ask
again, girl, strip.”

I will get her as many clothes as she wants, but because of this attitude
today, she is getting naked and staying naked for the whole day. That's her
punishment.

“If you think you can make me do anything, then you have something else
coming…”
I don't let her complete her sentence as my hand comes hard on her butt,
smacking a scream out of her. I let go of her hair, so she scrambles forward,
cussing at me under her breath.

“I've got all day,” I unclasp my first cufflink, toss it on the bed, and roll up
my sleeve to get to work. “You will strip. Now.” She will do as asked
whether she wants it or not. I uncuff the other cufflink and toss it on the
bed, but it bounces to the floor on the other side.

She is glaring at me now, one hand on the spot I smacked that I'm sure is
burning. Let’s see how much of that she can take before she gives in. Or
how much of that I can take before I give up and let my cock have its way.

I move to the door next and bolt it in place, making sure not to take any
chances with her.

“Ready?”

“Go to hell.”

“I will, but you are coming with me,” I take a step forward, and she doesn't
retort.

“You don't own me,” she huffs, puffing her chest out so her breasts are right
in front of me.

I do own her.

I unhook my belt, and this time, she stumbles back. Now I've seen
something she doesn't like.

“Just do as you are asked, and I will put the belt away, baby girl. Once you
are fully naked, you will crawl on all fours for me, keeping your pussy
where I can see it.”

She looks both stunned and intrigued by my brazenness. I can see her face
heating up and her breasts lifting and dropping with each of her heaving
breaths.

She folds her arms across her chest, “I'm still waiting for you to come down
from your high horse, prince charming.”

I want to smile. She fits the darkness inside of me. Perfect for everything I
had in mind to do to her from the first day I met her. I had thought she
would let me down. But she is exactly what I wanted and even fucking
better.

I take one step forward, and she takes one back.

“Stay the hell away from me,” she stabs her finger at me.

I know she is not expecting me to go. But she is a mouse, and I am one
hungry cat.

I dash after her, catching her off guard. She tries to run but slips, and I'm
quick to clear her off the floor before she hits the ground. I throw her over
my shoulder while she squirms and wiggles, kicking her legs and
deliberately kneeling at me. I don't budge. I keep at it.

So she likes to talk back. She hates the belt. She hates being told what to do.
I will use all this info in my favor.

I get to the sofa and throw her on it. She tries to get away, but I'm quick to
grasp her by the hair, and she steps back.
I pull her by her dress, unintentionally grabbing her breast in the process. I
love it. It is so soft my cock pulses. I lay her down on her belly onto the
armrest of the sofa. She keeps fighting me off, but I'm holding her still.

I place one knee on her back to pin her down, and I draw out my belt.

“If you want me to stop, use your safe word.”

“Go to hell,” she grits.

“Belt it is, then.” I snort and gather her dress up to expose her butt covered
in lace underwear. I rip it apart and give in to the temptation of running a
finger from the line of her butt crack to her pussy. She is wet, but I can
make her wetter. I want her dripping when my cock goes into her. That's my
compensation for this stress.

“Get your hands off me, you…”

Again, I don't let her finish her sentence when I strike with my belt. And I
don't give her time to think about the pain or let it register. I strike again.
And again. And again.

“Stop!” She screeches.

I don't answer. She knows her safe word. So, I keep at it. Her ass is now
almost the same color as her dress.

“Please…” She wriggles, scratching my leg and trying to get away.

“That's not it,” I strike again, “Please what?”

“Please, I will be a good girl…” she keeps wriggling because I keep
striking, “Daddy!” she yells the last part like she found the missing piece to
make the whole.

I stop. I let go of her, and she scrambles off the sofa, stumbling on the floor.

“I will rip you apart,” she glares at me, but as I start to stalk toward her, she
quickly takes off her dress and tosses it at me. So bratty.

“On all fours,” I stalk back to the sofa and sit.

She cusses at me, but I don't care. She will learn eventually. She is learning
gradually. She drops down on all fours, eyes shooting fire arrows at me.
Some of her pale skin is sprinkled with redness from her struggle.

“Come to me,” I spread my legs apart. She does as told, still fuming. It will
take a lifetime to tame her fire.

She crawls towards me, wild and fragile.

“Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?” I stroke her face, and she flinches,
pouting. “You will find that I can be as generous with my reward as with
my punishment.

I caress her from her cheek to her mouth, and she presses her lips tighter to
keep my finger out. She is in luck because that's not what I want now.

“Go on, crawl around naked, fetch me a bottle of whiskey from the bar and
a glass, then crawl back to me,” I flick my fingers, and she starts to crawl
away. “Keep your legs apart, I need to see that wet pussy, always.”

She spreads her legs further apart, and it's all I can do not to bring out my
cock and start to fucking myself with my fist, just watching her. The work
of my hands. Hot angry butt and her glistening pussy.

Naughty girl.

She reaches the bar, and smart girl that she is, she stays put. Waiting.

“You can stand.”

She stands now, trembling but still cussing under her breath.

“What did you just say?” I curl my upper lip, and she turns to look at me.
Her face drops. I'm waiting for her to bite back so I can have the
satisfaction of gagging her with my cock, but she doesn't.

“That’s what I thought,” I study her movements as she plucks out a bottle of
whiskey and a glass. She goes back on her knees and begins to crawl back
to me, struggling now more with the items in hand. Once she is between my
spread legs, she kneels to hand me the whiskey and glass.

“That’s my good girl,” I let her hold it for a little longer, wanting to show
her what I can give her if she obeys me.

“I am not your anything.”

“No?” I take my fingers to one of her nipples and begin to knead gently,
“You like that?”

She nods, and I notice she is trying to hold back her moans. I continue
kneading delicately. "Come closer," I whisper. She creeps deeper between
my legs, and I gently pull her so she can sit on my knees, then lean forward
to begin sucking her breast with my tongue. I suck hungrily, swirling my
fingers around the other nipple. I grab both breasts and squeeze firmly,
circling my thumbs around her nipples. She sinks into it, all gasps and
suppressed whimpers. Every part of her body is trembling, and I enjoy how
it feels against my touch. "Put your hand between your legs and touch
yourself," I want to see the look in her eyes when she touches herself.

Without fail, she drops the whiskey glass and does as ordered, and oh, her
eyes are beautiful as she loses herself in the pleasure. They flutter lazily,
and her mouth opens slightly, with her tongue suspended in the air.

“Will you be good for me?” I'm still playing with her nipples.

She nods repeatedly, now rocking her fingers back and forth.

“I don’t care how close you are or how much you think you need it. No
matter what, don't come unless I say so,” I suck on her nipple, and she nods
again, “your orgasm is mine.”

She keeps going and as her eyes spread wider and lines mark her forehead,
she retrieves her hand and lifts it. She is breathing heavily. I can tell she was
about to come. The look in her inky eyes is one of need. One that is begging
for a release. And I will give it to her for her obedience. That's how this is
supposed to be. She disobeys me, and I punish her for it. She obeys me, and
I reward her generously. I can give her the pleasure she craves, even if it
means that we have to go through the pain first. Either way, the pain will
heighten the pleasure she will be getting, not take away from it.

I feel a sense of pride swell inside of me. For the mere fact that her body
responds to this exactly as I want it to. The way she breathes tells me she is
as turned on as I am. That she is as wet as my cock is hard. Continuously
ticking against the fabric of my underwear.

I let go of her breasts now and stroke her cheeks gently. Good, naughty girl.
She deserves this reward. She has earned it.
“Give them to me.” I open my mouth, and she gives me her pussy-scented
fingers to lick. The scent and taste do everything to my body. Like fire to
fireworks. I'm cracking all over, and it's all streamlining to my cock. The
fabric of my dress pants is now soaked with precum. I want to reach down
and palm it. I want to pull it out and stroke it. But a little delay won't make
a difference now, would it? Especially when I'm savoring the taste of her
delicious pussy.

I suck her fingers greedily until I'm sure there's no trace of slickness on
them. Sweet deliciousness. Mine to devour. I suck again, only this time to
hear more of the moans she seems to be holding in. I return the favor,
running two fingers through her fold to get her juice on them. I take the
fingers, my fore and middle fingers, to her lips, and she clamps them.

“Open up,” I prod with one finger, but she presses her lips tighter. “Have it
your way,” I use my free hand to grab her cheeks, my thumb and index
finger digging in to make her part her lips. She gasps, wanting to get away,
but my legs lock her in, and I shove my fingers into her mouth. Defeated,
she sighs and licks snarkily. I am watching and reading the rise and fall of
her chest and how she closes her legs, and her eyelids flutter lazily.

“Stand, take the whiskey glass on the table, and pour me some while giving
me your ass.”

She has earned more than just foreplay. I thought she would go ahead and
get her orgasm, but her obedience is going to make me give her more than
one.

She stands, picks up the glass, puts it on the table, spreads her legs apart
without me needing to ask, and starts to pour me some whiskey.

“Stop.” I stand, and she obeys. I strut to her, dragging out time as she shifts
on her feet, yearning for my next move. I had other plans for her pussy, but
now that it's staring at me, begging me to fuck it with how wet it is, I can't
help but rise to the occasion. I trace my fingers on the ridges on her back,
worshiping each scar, and she sucks in a sharp stuttering breath. I take the
whiskey bottle from her, and she cranes her neck, holding my gaze over her
shoulder with dreamy eyes. “One leg on the table and spread open for me,”
I unzip my pants and fish out my cock from my underwear. It springs as I
let it drop, heavy and meaty. Not to mention hungry for its own meal.

She places one knee on the table and arches her back, lifting one side of her
butt to open better. Glossy pink sumptuousness stares back at me. I take the
rim of the whiskey bottle and circle it around her wet pussy.

“Fuck,” she sputters shuddering, her legs trying to keep their balance.

I keep circling, getting her wetness where I want my mouth to be. Then,
very tenderly, I prod, and she hmphs. I push the rim further in and start to
twist it in her slick pussy.

“Baby girl,” I grit, savoring every bit of this filthy business. “Watch me,” I
retrieve the glass, and she gasps trying to keep her fluttering eyes open. I
take the bottle to my lips. I stare into her eyes as I lift it to pour some
whiskey into my mouth, intentionally making it spill.

She licks her lips and gulps. I lean forward, kissing her to share the luscious
taste of her wetness and whiskey. It’s a new combination that has now
become my favorite drink.

Then, I break the kiss and place one hand on her butt cheek, gripping it. I
use my free hand to nudge my cock against her opening, and she goes still.
Waiting. I plunge, driving my cock inside of her and feeling her relax,
opening up to let me in deeper.

Her moans are like a war cry. My groaning blends with hers, and our sound
fuses to make the perfect soundtrack for our filthy pleasure. The air is thick
with unabashed sounds, the strong spiciness of whiskey, and the distinctive
sultriness of sex.

I learn her body language. She is teaching me to listen to her body, to hear
what she is saying. I'm listening, and she is speaking so loud right now that
it's deafening. The way her pussy clenches around my cock, the way she
pushes her ass up some more, the way she arches her back to give me that
maddening hollow. All of it. Too bloody loud.

“Your pussy feels like paradise,” I slide out and in slowly, and it makes a
slurping sound because of how wet she is. “It feels like you were made for
me.”

I push all the way in, and I hear her groan deep and hard. That's another
language. She doesn't like that all too much. I push out and slide forward,
not going so deep, and she sighs. That's her limit. I'm too long for her. I
know this. Seeing she can take all of me is something of a fucking miracle.
I slam in and out, thrusting in circular glides.

“You like how I fuck this pussy?” I growl, not recognizing my voice.

“Yes,” she sputters, “Yes.”

“Your pussy is amazing,” I spank her, “Who is your pussy for?”

“For you,” she moans loud.

“Who is your Daddy?” my thrusts are feral now, and I can feel sweat
tracing down my face, down my legs, and even drenching my shirt.

“You,” she balances both hands on the table.

“What do you say to Daddy when he fucks you this good?”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

She is a natural.

“And?”

“I love your cock.”

Bloody Saints.

“Daddy loves your pussy,” I let out a guttural sound as I feel my orgasm
skating through me. Tingling my spine and muscles, “Will you come for
Daddy?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she screeches.

Bloody Saints, she is sweet to fuck. She is warm and soft. She wraps my
cock like a fist.

I look down on our bodies joining, and damn it, her wetness is such that it's
now froth at the base of my cock.

Sweet, naughty girl.

“Fuck… shit… your perfect pussy… is mine… Saints,” I spew, making

guttural sounds as accompaniment.

“Yes, Daddy, yes.”

“Come for Daddy.”

Shit.

Like she couldn't be any tighter, her pussy is milking the cum from my
cock, and she arches some more, cussing her way to an orgasm. She
spasms, muttering and trembling, scattering the bottle of whiskey. It spills
over, and the scent of ethanol mixes with the poignant scent of sex and raw
bestiality. It's a scent I will not forget easily.

“Thank you, Daddy.” She gasps as she comes.

I join her, my legs going weak and my stomach brick hard. My orgasm
spurts through me like a tidal wave, spilling out and out and out. I continue
to thrust until I'm empty, and my muscles cave. I slam into her once and
stay there.

I pull out gently and sweep her into my arms, melting into them as I cradle
her and take her to the bed.

I'm halfway there when she lifts her head, wraps her arms around my neck,
locks eyes with mine, and kisses me.

You are welcome, baby girl.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Vittoria

I feel crazy.

Emanuele is nothing like anything I had thought he was. I guess it is crazy. I

never even knew what I was expecting, but somehow, he surpassed it.

I thought he was a beautiful man, but I hadn’t seen his divinity yet. And I
saw it today. I felt every inch of it. It was not enough to see him; I felt his
beauty and how it exposed mine when he made me to climax.
It was the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. Beautiful pain. Completely
different from any kind of pain I had ever experienced.

I wanted the lashing to never end because it felt like a build-up for
something so intense, I would burst when it crashed on me. And I did.

He completely shed me of everything I was and made something else out of

me.

He is anything but what I had thought he was. He is more. He is deeper. He

is encompassing. It makes me both confident and shrinks me. He makes me
tremble, but all the while, I want to run into his arms with my shaky legs.

I smile weakly into his sweat and whiskey-sticky chest as the tender skin of
my ass begins to prick, and I feel my sex heavy between my legs.

I feel like a junkie. Caught between wanting to like the thrill and not
wanting it.

Sore? I feel it everywhere. Every part of me feels exposed and used, but I
will do it again. Even now, as he takes me to the bathroom, I want to do it
again.

My legs are wrapped around his waist and my arms around his neck. I feel
so small, wrapping my limp, dainty body around his buff, sky-high figure.

My eyes absorb the regal black bathroom with champagne-gold lights

around the corners of the wall. I hiccup and sigh heavily, letting my head
fall to the side and my teeth now scraping his array of gray beard.

He sits on a ceramic-like stool beside the bathtub and stretches to turn on

the tap. He keeps straining to do things like close the drain with the stopper
and fill the water with a body wash that has a woody-tropical scent. Then he
delicately lifts me, lowers one leg, and drops me into the bathtub.

As the warm water touches my skin, I deflate, melting into a relaxed mood.
It feels so damn good.

He retrieves his hands, and I can’t help the disgruntled sound that slips past
my lips. To confirm he heard me, he brushes my cheek tenderly with the
back of his middle finger before standing to get out of his clothes. My eyes
fall to his cock stuck between an erection and wanting to sleep. Smooth
skin, veins like thunderstorms, and blushed pink foreskin.

My dizziness evaporates the instant his pants and underwear land on the
floor in a heap. Strong muscled legs with a tattoo of a falcon on one thigh. I
only see its beak and piercing eyes, as part of its spreading wings disappear
under his shirt. Its claws look like they are spread at the back of his thigh.
He takes his time unbuttoning, and the bathroom suddenly feels like a sauna
as he reveals every bit of his bricked stomach and the stretched spiky wings
of the falcon, one slashing across his stomach, while the other reaching
towards his shoulder blade.

Does he know how he looks? Is he even remotely aware of the chokehold

he has me in? Standing naked, towering, strong built biceps and muscles.
With night for eyes and his gray hair and beard like streaks of lightning
around his eyes.

He keeps his eyes pinned on me as he starts to wash me. There is nothing

sensual about how he washes me, but still, everything about what Emanuele
does strikes a chord of arousal in me—it reverberates through every core of
my being.

“You were a good girl today,” his hands move up to wash behind my ears,
and I close my eyes as he strokes, massaging the nape of my neck with his
free fingers, “You took your punishment well.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I roll my eyes, and even though I mean to sound snarky,
it comes out as a drawl.

He chuckles, saying nothing else as he continues to wash me. He looks

present. Enjoying every bit of the service he is rendering. He looks like he
has all the time in the world to do this, and his patience draws me deeper
into relaxation.

I open my eyes now to say something, but the right words seem beyond
reach. I just keep our eyes locked, and if there’s anything I have come to
know about Emanuele in the short while I have been here is that he will
never back away from my probing. And right now, he knows I’m searching
him with my eyes, trying to make this, him, us, make sense in a less
frightening way.

Done with cleaning me up and wrapping a towel around me, he carries me

in his arms back to the bedroom and lays me on the mattress. He knows he
has a body that would get anyone drooling. There’s no other explanation for
how he walks so confidently around me naked.

He comes back with body oil, rids me of the towel, and turns me on my
back. It has a tropical scent, and he dribbles a little onto my body. He pours
it, from my calf to my ass and then my back. Wherever the oil lands on my
body, I stiffen because it’s subtly chill, and then it tickles as it glides down
my sensitive skin.

“You are beautiful,” his hands trace along the scars on my back, and for the
first time in a long time, I don’t feel the urge to hide them away from sight.
“Never forget that,” he slides his careful touch from one scar line to
another, massaging gently.

With each caress, I feel like he is reshaping them. The memories of how
they came about seem faint now, and the only thing I can think of is the way
he touches them like some newly discovered treasure map.
He confuses me. No, he doesn’t. I am confused. I am conflicted. There’s a
part of me that is giddy at the prospect of marrying him, but there is also the
part of me that hears a danger alarm ringing endlessly in my head.

Some part of me keeps reminding me not to lean in too much before I find
myself free-falling from a skyscraper onto a platform of broken bottles. Or
even worse, before he pushes me off the edge himself.

I sit up abruptly with that thought and look at him suspiciously, “I am

good.” I wrap the towel around my chest to cover myself up, almost feeling
shame for enjoying this too much.

“How many times do I have to say it for you to understand that I take care
of what is mine?” he growls.

“You weren't allowed to own pets or toys as a kid?” I chuckle.

“If you want to consider yourself my toy, be my guest. Now, get back on the
bed, I’m not done with you yet.”

“But I am done with you,” I fold my arms across my chest. “We are done,”
I pout, “I have my own hands, and I can put them to good use.” If I was
being honest with myself, even for just a moment, I would be able to accept
that my body is now branded by his.

“You will put them to good use, baby girl; there’s no need to hurry,” he
smirks slightly, and I sneer, “but now, don’t make me repeat myself,” his
tone is commanding as his eyes drop to the spot I was lying on.

I hurriedly get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom,.

He nods, standing from the bed, "For every disobedience, there is a

punishment," he walks towards me, and I rush towards the living area, but
then he reaches out one arm as if to grasp me, causing me to cry and run
into the sofa. He softly laughs. I guess he didn't mean to grab me.

I clench my teeth as my gaze scans the bedroom. My red dress, the armrest,
his belt, the whiskey glass and bottle. Everything elicits another strong
wave of desire. I look at the door for a while, wishing I could find a way
out. But I know it's a fool's errand, so I just curl up on the couch and hug
myself.

After what feels like an eternity, he prances out of the bathroom, this time
with a black towel hanging lazily around his waist. One slight tug and the
towel would come off.

He strides into the walk-in closet and leaves the door wide open as he tosses
the towel aside and starts to change into another set of black dress shirt and
pants.

He slides into his shiny black designer shoes, fastens his gold watch, and
adjusts his knuckle rings to fit his tattooed fingers. He never takes his rings
off, and I have yet to look closer to see the tattoos he has. He smoothes his
hair with his fingertips, making me want to do the same. I wonder whether
he will ever allow me to do it.

I blink again, shoving the poison away while keeping my gaze fixed on him
as he applies his cologne.

It's fascinating to see him transition from that tremendously hot,

naked caveman to this gorgeous prince-of-the-night appearance.

He notices my expression in the mirror, and I pout, refusing to look away

and seem silly.
He prances out, “We have our engagement party in two days, you will go
get your dress tomorrow, and I am coming with you to make sure you pick
an appropriate one for the occasion.”

I roll my eyes and snort loudly. “Right,” I spit out bitterly.

He nods and closes the distance, “Yes, right,” he hauls me and throws me
over his shoulder before I get the chance to decipher what he intends to do.
He takes me into the walk-in closet, opens something, and pulls out an
object; all the while, I wriggle and punch him.

“Put me down, stronzo,” I knee his chest, but he holds me firmer.

He walks back to the bedroom and tosses me on the mattress. I try to

scamper away from him, but his hand clasps around my ankle, and only
now I realize that he is holding a pair of cuffs. He drags me down and cuffs
my ankle to one of the short poles on each side of the bed, trapping me.

“Get it off me, you son of a bitch,” I try to punch him, but he stops my
punch midair and clasps another cuff on my wrist. I punch with my free
hand as he clips the other end of the cuff to the pole on one side of the
headrest.

I'm struggling harder now, wriggling with more force, but he ignores my
punch and kicks, doing the same with my free hand and leg. Now that he is
finished, the chains are long enough not to overstretch me.

The cuffs lock me in the middle of the bed, preventing me from turning to
my sides. I tug, but even I know I can't get out of them.

He pauses in front of my spread legs for a bit, admiring his job, then moves
to the side. I follow him with my gaze.
“When I say jump, you ask how high.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I spit at him, but it lands on the mattress.

He chuckles, rests one knee on the bed, and lowers his body so his lips
hover on mine. He picks my lips between his teeth and bites. Hard. The
sting rushes to my head and my sex. I scream. He licks the blood, swiping
his tongue across my face to get some of my sprinkled saliva off.

“Language, baby girl, language,” he stands, “Now, sleep,” he struts out of

the bedroom.

I sink when I hear the lock click. And I am so wet.

How the fuck am I supposed to sleep like this?

God, I hate him.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Vittoria

T hat son of a bitch cuffed me.

Granted, he came around to make sure I had something to eat, but even
then, I had to eat from his hands. The motherfucker handfed me. I don’t
know why I even tried to make a fuss and fight for my freedom.

“If you spill it, you will be sleeping with cuffs and alone in this bedroom.”
“Is that the worst you got?” I go ahead and nudge the tip of the tray with
my foot, and the content of the plate he brought me spills a little on the tray.

“As you wish, brat.”

I slip into my black pump heel, muttering as I glide my fingertips around it

to help my feet fit.

I stamp my foot and huff at my reflection, and my eyes shift to the faded
pink markings on my wrists. I grimace. In the end, I was unable to last the
entire night. At some point, I began calling out his name. When I could no
longer keep back, I screamed. He returned to the bedroom so quickly that it
felt like he was waiting for me.

And only tenderness followed after. Tenderness like feather strokes on my

bruised heart from all of the evil I'd witnessed in my father's world. He took
care of my body and gave me another orgasm. This one was special.

I draw in a deep breath to quench the flicker of a flame now picking up in

my stomach as I feel his strong arms around me, pressing me to his chest.
His breath is like a soothing sound, sending me to sleep. I feel it all over
again. I would give anything to have that happen every night.

I trace a finger along one wrist, and the sickness of what the sight does to
me swirls in my stomach. It makes me want to do something else that will
make him punish me, but also be good for him so he rewards me. I pout,
still stroking the now-fading scar. I want to be good for him. I want a
reward today. But where is the fun in that?

I blow raspberries and press my palms flat against my black mini-flare

dress.
The dress is backless. It's the first time I'll be wearing one outside in the
daytime without makeup to conceal the scars on my back.

He made me feel as if I should wear my scars as confidently as I do my

gowns, and I want to explore that. I won't lie: one of the reasons I believe I
can make such an important move is that I will be going out with him to
buy an engagement dress today.

I have never put much effort into trying to look sexy, but now I want to. And
I want his attention on me throughout our date. If we can call shopping that.

I pick up my black designer clutch and give myself a quick look in the
mirror before strutting out of the walk-in dresser. I huff dramatically as I
sway past the closet where I think Emanuele keeps his tools. I have tried
opening it before, but it’s locked. As expected.

I step out of the room and take the stairs down to the sitting area. The
expression of sourness on my face when I see Salvatore walking in from the
main door in gray sweatpants and a black wife beater is reflected on his
face. I haven’t seen much of him, and in all fairness, I want to keep it that
way. I place one hand on my waist and size him up. He stops to scowl at
me, and since I don’t have time for his bitterness, I walk past him, making
sure to add a little extra sway on my hips so I bump him in the side as I
walk out.

“See you around, son,” I holler over my shoulder, and his bitter grunt is as
delightful as witnessing the first flake of snow. I will make sure to keep
calling him that and have him keep sulking, knowing there’s nothing he can
do about it.

Stronzo.

I click my tongue as I walk to the BMW waiting by the sidewalk. A soldier

holds out the door to the back seat, and I climb in, rolling my eyes and
smacking my tongue loudly as I see Emanuele already sitting there. My
reaction is more to hide the effect he has on me than it is to spite him.

I. Can. Never. Get. Used. To. Emanuele.

Never.

I drag in a deep breath of his scent, tearing my eyes away from the
sculptured side of his face and the diamond-studded earring on his ear to
stare at Fabio in the passenger seat, who is staring at me in the rearview
mirror.

Busted.

“Fabio,” I harrumph and sit straight.

“Vittoria,” he nods and keeps his eyes on the road.

Emanuele seems to be a little guarded. He is not much of a talker, but at

least he can say something to me. Or am I supposed to be the one to say
something to him? I shake my head and resolve to keep quiet, too.

The soldier who held the door for me turns around and climbs into the
driver’s seat. He is a lot younger but still suave in a dark gray suit. I might
be seeing a pattern with how men of the Teso clan like to appear. The
soldier starts the car and drives down the long, narrow road to the estate’s
main gate, which opens after the sensor approves.

I keep picking at my nails and smacking myself mentally so I don’t turn and
look at Emanuele. He seems comfortable in the silence. Too comfortable.
His lighter is in one hand, but this time, he is not flicking it; he is just
holding it. And in a way, I want to be the lighter right now. Yet, I am a
breathing, pulsing thing sitting beside him, and he seems not to notice me.
I pout and flick my eyes around. It's as if they all held a separate meeting
and decided not to speak to me.

I groan, exhale sharply, and toss my head backward. Los Angeles is boring.
My gaze shifts to the window and back to Fabio's black hair. I begin
flicking between Fabio's hair and the soldier's bleached blonde hair.

I move in my seat until I am closer to Emanuele, at which point I insert my

index finger into the pocket of his jeans. He seemed unaffected.

Nonsense.

I prefer quiet places, but being in one with Emanuele will drive me crazy. I
rest my head on the side of his upper arm and put my other hand around his
arm. I don't see his smile, but I can feel it as he brings his free hand to the
front of me and holds me against his body.

Better.

I snuggle into his upper arm, then settle in his hold to enjoy the rest of the
drive, making sure to avoid Fabio’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

The soldier drives into the building of a boutique and parks the car in front
of another one that looks like it’s been waiting for us. Two more soldiers
step out of the car behind us and survey the environment. The soldier with
us opens Emanuele’s door and Fabio alights to help me with mine. I climb
out, but he walks away before I can thank him.

Den of brooding men. I force a smile at him regardless and walk beside
Emanuele towards the boutique. He brings one hand to the small of my
back possessively, and his thumb strokes my scars. I tilt my head to look up
at him, but he doesn’t look back at me. Instead, he dips his head, and his
lips brush the tip of my ear.
“Now be a good girl for me, and you’ll be rewarded,” he croons in a deep,
sultry voice, and goosebumps sweep across my skin with a wave of heat
that makes my stomach flip.

I can’t help the smile threatening to break out of my face. He slides his hand
further into the opening of my dress, and his fingers scrape the side of my
breast. I take a deep breath, trying not to stumble over myself as I walk into
the boutique in his arms.

“Welcome,” an overtly enthusiastic fashionista in an exorbitant deep blue

jacket, pants, and heel boots swings to my side. He smiles at me, swinging
his hands like he is performing a magic trick as he talks. “This way,” he
leads us to the door of a private dress room. “I checked your style and came
up with a collection you will love,” he presses a button on the door. “I
finally have a lady to dress for Emanuele. Eva will never stop disappointing
me with those denim and God forbidden t-shirts.” Fabio grunts behind me,
and the fashionista huffs, “I’m Chris.”

Fabio and the rest don't follow us inside. Emanuele goes to sit on a cherry
pink couch facing another door draped in thick white velvet. The inside
features a dash of white and cherry pink. Mirrors cover one-third of the
wall, allowing you to see yourself from every angle.

“This way,” Chris leads me inside the changing room. He makes his way to
a stand in the corner, where gorgeous garments in red, black, and white are
displayed. He rolls the stand with wheels to another corner, revealing a
mirror.

“How long have you known Emanuele?” I fish since Chris is the only
person I am meeting that might have something unbiased to say about him.

“Long enough to know he’s a catch,” he pulls out a red dress with a high
waist slit, then comes to stand behind me. “Long enough to know you have
nothing to worry about,” he brings the dress to my front and holds it up.
“Congratulations, darling, I was beginning to worry for the man,” he takes
the dress out of the hanger. “This first?”

I nod and take it from his hand. I change into it and he surprises me by not
looking. He keeps his eyes on his boots, tapping them on the floor. I
instantly like him for that.

“Made for you,” Chris gasps and helps me to zip the dress up.

I smile slightly, I do love the dress, and the high waist slit is… naughty. My
smile expands.

I step out of the changing room. I thought I would see him busy with
something else but he is just sitting there, waiting, and flicking his lighter.

“So?” I place one hand on the frame of the door and lift one leg to the point
where my ass can be seen from the side of the slit, “Good enough for you,
Daddy?”

He groans low, looking me up and down like he is running his tongue

across my body. I strut to him and lift the same leg to place it beside him on
the sofa. His upper lip curls. He leans back in his seat, spreading his legs
apart. I smile, wetting my lips as I spin to go back inside for another. I am
not one to want to indulge in multiple changes of dresses to pick one. But
with Emanuele staring at me, I want to try out every outfit in this boutique.

I return with a white dress. This one has a low neckline that falls to expose
my belly button, followed by an A-shaped flare. I swagger towards
Emanuele again, but this time I lean forward and yank at the rim of the neck
cut, revealing more of my breasts. I tap my fingers on them, straighten, and
return to the dressing room, enjoying myself too much.
I keep walking in and out, making a huge display of each garment. I'm so
focused on the game that I’m not sure which one I'll choose.

I'm down to a black dress. I know he won't let me wear this one, but I want
to push him even more. As I step out, sooty eyeballs expand in their
sockets. The dress is scandalous. It's a translucent fabric with one shoulder
sleeve and a slit that begins at my hipbone, revealing the black lingerie
thong I'm wearing underneath. I have no bra so my breasts are veiled by the
fabric.

“I like this one,” I place one hand on my waist and one on the door frame,
not going to him this time.

He cocks his eyebrows, “If you’d like me fucking you in front of our guests
and killing them for looking, you found the dress indeed.”

He says that with no hint of a joke. I know he is capable of these things, but
the fact that he would consider doing them for me is arousing.

I laugh softly and strut to him, “I think I would like to see you in action,” I
bite my upper lip, still smiling slyly at him.

“You would like that.” He drawls as he stands up to match my height.

I shrug, “It will be good to feel like Helen of Troy.”

“Feel like Vittoria, Emanuele’s Vittoria,’ he lifts his index finger and lines
my lower lip, “Vittoria Teso,” he presses his finger on my lip. I open up to
take him in. “No one comes close, not even Helen of Troy,” he pulls me by
the neck in a chokehold with his free hand to smack his lips against mine.

For a minute here, I wonder if that can ever be me.

To be the one loved enough for anyone to lift a weapon to go to war for.

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 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Emanuele

I t’s how she heats up under my voice. How she burns under my gaze.
How she melts under my touch.

She loves my attention, and I spoil her with it.

I slow the kiss to a halt and stare deeply into the sea of cold molten that is
her eyes. The scars on her cheek are now faded to tints of purple on her
alabaster skin. I run the back of my forefinger down her bare shoulder, and
she shudders under my touch. I capture it all because that is the reason my
body reacts to hers in the way it does.

She breathes in so deeply that it feels like she will take whatever oxygen is
left in the room. I wonder if she knows she does that often.

This petite body pulls at me to hold and shield it. To care for it and protect
it. Her scent reminds me of what summer was like in Italy—evoking long-
buried childhood memories erased by the darkness of the underworld.

I inhale her and smile inwardly, remembering her mood in the car. I saw her
leaving the building almost immediately after Salvatore walked in. I looked
at her the entire time she walked towards the car. It is nearly impossible not
to look at her when she walks the way she does. But that black dress was
maddening, and I wanted to touch, spank, fuck, and defile every part of her.
I inhale sharply, and the air feels like a pointed knife connecting with a
hollow in my loins.

I gulp, and she mimics me. Her body language tells me she is waiting.
Anticipating. Needy. She stands upright now, and again, I delight myself in
scouring what is mine.

Mine.

That’s what she is, and I don’t care how many times her snarky mouth tries
to debate otherwise. She is mine to ruin and remake in the best way
possible. Mine to show the best between intense pleasure and pain.

She lifts one leg and places it with her heels beside me on the sofa. My eyes
slip to the mirror by the side, and her pale peachy ass is covered with lace
fabric. Now, I trace with my lighter from her ankle to her knee pit. It’s still a
bit hot, but not enough to cause any damage. I was flicking it at some point
when she was in there getting changed into this dress. I needed to because,
with each outfit, I was beginning to worry that the blood gushing to my
cock would make the dam explode. I press some more, and her lips part, her
eyes now begging to be fucked.

There are so many ways to keep corrupting her and teaching her body to
want only the dirtiest of things when she is with me. So many ways to make
sure that the marriage between us does not necessarily need to be an
unhappy one. We will claw at each other, no doubt. She will fight me every
step of the way. I will be on full duty taming her, this I know. But still, we
can find a common ground. We are already finding one, starting from how
much she wants my cock and how badly I want to bury myself in her pussy.
She affects me as much as I do her. She wants me in all the ways I want to
give myself to her. And I want her in all the ways she will have no choice
but to enjoy when she gives herself to me.

I flicker my free middle finger to gesture for her to lean forward, and she
does, dipping her head. I grip her by her ponytail, tightly. Tight enough to
make her eyes flutter in an awakening, but before she says anything, I kiss
the words out of her.

“Son of a bitc…” she tries to groan out, but I press down and deepen the
kiss by shoving my tongue into her mouth. I want to taste the back of her
throat. I want her to gag on my tongue.

My hand loosens its grip on her hair, but it’s only so I can grip the nape of
her neck and hold her in place to keep pushing further in with my tongue.
Scavenging for her lust. She bites down on it, and the pinch sends more
blood rushing to my cock.

Fuck it feels good. So damn fucking good. I position her head to continue
kissing her and tasting her. Warm, tea-flavored mouth. She lets herself lean
into the kiss, moaning into my mouth in beats that thrum in my chest and
tick my cock. Her tongue plays shyly, and I latch onto it. Returning the pain
with a measure that tilts the scale. She screams into my mouth and tries to
squirm away, but if she continues, she will taste her blood. And maybe
some of mine.
I let go of her, and she folds her hands into a fist, almost lifting one.

“I dare you,” I goad her.

She seethes, the fury watering her eyes, “You are sick,” she grits her teeth.

“You and me both, baby girl.”

I believe we are corrupted by the same virus, and if anybody ever comes up
with an antidote, I will find them, kill them, and burn the fucking lab to the
ground.

She sucks her tongue, gulps, and cusses under her breath. I like her slur of
Italian words when she is pissed.

In all her anger, she stays planted. She makes no move to recoil or run
away. If anything, she looks even more attracted to me. Now that it's barely
warm, I change the course of my lighter and move it to her inner thigh,
dragging it across her knee. I keep our eyes cinched, and with that, our
desires fuse.

I trace my fingers very slowly up her inner thigh and feel every muscle
tighten. Her breathing is slowly stuttering, and her inky eyes can no longer
stay wide open. It makes me want to see how they would open wide when
she takes the whole of my cock into her pouty mouth. How they would
water. It will be a sight to watch her face go blushed pink as I fuck her
mouth and occasionally slip out to fuck her face. Smearing some of the
slipperiness from her mouth on it and slide back in to reach for the back of
her throat. Making her gag words I will never know.

My finger inches at the rim of her string, and I don’t even need to prod to
know she is wet. The scent of her pussy is slowly filling the space between
us and dulling out every other scent, even the scent of new clothes in the
dressing room. Or maybe my senses are just focusing on what is important
to me.

I tease, and she leans forward, but I retrieve my hand before it grazes her
pussy through the lace fabric. Such thin fabric. Along with the trouble she
has on as a dress. The combination that will make a man think with his
cock.

“If you are going to finger me, just do it; the tension is killing me,” she
sucks her teeth in a fit of aroused rage.

“I will take as much time as I want with this pussy.”

“Not when it’s my body.”

“You seem to quickly forget who owns you,” I chuckle dryly. “A little
reminder, maybe?”

She tries to pull away, but I grip her by the rim of her string, and it rips. I
pull her forward by it, close enough that her stomach is now pressing into
my face and I am rewarded with the heavy waft of sultriness seeping from
her pussy.

In another place, maybe I would punish her. I keep that thought in my

memory log. But for now, perhaps this is enough punishment. Making her
almost combust with arousal.

Only I don’t know who it is I am actually punishing. I feel it as much as she

does. Perhaps I drag it out because the orgasm will be even more intense.

“Vittoria,” I groan, her name like a line from a favorite poem. I slide two
fingers inside her pussy now, and she turns slushy. I stroke in and out,
adjusting on my seat to find a comfortable position for my cock. A position
that will reduce the heaviness. I keep stroking her, my thumb circling her
clit and my tongue watering to taste her.

The frustration of wanting her so badly makes me growl low and close my
eyes. “I want to fuck you here,” I palm my cock through the fabric of my
pants, “I want to fuck you everywhere,” I squeeze my cock and groan, “to
bury myself deep inside of you and watch you drip from my drilling,” I
hold her slippering eyes, “you were made for my pleasure,” I add another
finger, “this pussy was made for me. And I want to fuck what is mine,” I
pinch her clit.

She gasps, and I can feel she is close.

“That’s it, baby girl,” I swirl my thumb on her clit in a jerky motion,
dipping my fingers in and vibrating through instead of stroking in and out,
“Don’t come yet.”

She whimpers, biting her lower lip and breathing raggedly, “I can’t…” she
inhales sharply, “I feel..”

“You only come when I tell you to. Your orgasm is mine, your pleasure is
mine, and trust, baby girl, I will flood you with it if you deserve it.”

She nods, “I deserve it,” she pleads with gritting teeth, “I do… I have…”

“Beg for it.”

She wastes no time yelling, “Please,” her voice a little high-pitched.

I want to give it to her. I should. But…

“Capo.”
Fuck!

She folds her fists and grits painfully as I retrieve my fingers at the
intrusion of Fabio. He wouldn’t interrupt this if it weren’t important.

He clears his throat, “I will be outside,” he says, his eyes locked onto the
ceiling, hovering everywhere but never landing on either of us. He tips his
head and stomps out the same way he stomped in.

“Don’t you dare leave me like this,” Vittoria’s voice is shaky, and her
pleading eyes do something to me, but who is she to tell me what I can and
cannot do?

I smear her pussy juice on her lips and kiss it off her as I stand. I lick the
rest of my fingers, and I tssk as my cock ticks again. I will go rogue from
the heaviness of my cock.

“Sit,” I peg in a tone that leaves no room for argument, and she obeys. I
adjust my cock and stomp out to Fabio standing by the door.

“It better be worth it,” I shove the hand that has been inside her pussy into
the pocket of my dress pant.

“Bratvas are at it again.”

Damn those lots. “What is it this time?”

“Knight Life was attacked last night, and people died.”

Fuck.
“They are asking for war,” I grind my teeth against each other. Knight Life
is one of the clubs in my territory where we have been selling the drugs
supplied by La eMe. Boris knows what this means.

“Maybe it’s high time you give them some?”

I exhale, “Where is the club owner?”

“In the clinic.”

“Alright, I’ll go to him. Assign soldiers to watch her,” I point with my chin
at the dressing room and stomp out of the boutique.

Maybe. Just fucking maybe, it’s time I give Boris what he wants.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Vittoria

U nbelievable.

Un-fucking-believable.

I sink into the sofa and wrap my arms around my exposed body for a
minute. I drag in a deep breath, trying to simmer the burn of my arousal. I
am swinging between frustration and anger.
I suck my tongue, and the pain from his bite returns and stirs my insides
again. The orgasm would have been one of a fucking kind. I suck down on
my tongue and close my legs to rub them against each other.

“You only come when I tell you to. Your orgasm is mine, your pleasure is
mine, and trust me, baby girl, I will flood you with pleasure if you prove to
deserve it.”

I whimper, kicking and punching the air hoping it can take some of my
frustration with it.

He left me hanging. Again.

I scoff, ignoring my swollen sex, sit up, lean back on the sofa, and huff in
frustration. I glare at my reflection all around me and avoid looking too
long, before my appearance mocks my frustration. I stand as I hear a knock
on the door. I don’t bother to check who it is, and the person does not bother
to come in. Perhaps just announcing their presence. I walk into the
changing room, feeling stupid for the show I put on for him, only to be left
like this.

Who the hell does he think he is?

Chris is sitting on a white fluffy loveseat in the corner as I walk in. He

narrows his eyes at me and bites his lower lip, holding back a smile.

“That was…” he clears his throat, fanning himself with his gold ring-
covered fingers. His knuckle rings are shouty and fancy.

“That was nothing,” I pout and start shrugging out of the outfit.

I am sulking, and I have every right to sulk. Before Emanuele, I didn’t

know sex could feel this intense. It was more of a chore and a necessity, one
rarely indulged. I had concluded that I would maintain that mindset with
Salvatore.

All of this is a whole new territory to me.

I hate and painfully like this game. I deflate, feeling the intensity of my
arousal slowly fading. I want to hold on to it because it will keep me angry
for when I see him next, but I also cannot do this to myself. It’s too
frustrating.

“Done?” Chris grunts.

“Done.”

He lifts his head, still retaining the smile he had on his face. I roll my eyes
at him.

“Let it go,” I laugh softly and look away from him.

“Look at yourself in the mirror,” he stands, and I turn to look.

I'm unrecognizable, with wild eyes and flushed cheeks. My lips are fuller,
and some of my hair has come out of the band I used to tie up the ponytail. I
look just as torn as I feel. Fucking turned on.

I am more mortified than angry or frustrated now. I never had friends to talk
about sex with. I have been told, and am aware, that I walk around with a
stick in my ass. However, seeing Chris willing to broach the subject is
embarrassing but also something I want.

Eva is another breed of inexperienced. We have never gotten to that part in

our conversations, and I don’t think I have heard her say anything about
even being in a relationship. Besides, she is Emanuele’s daughter. It would
feel weird talking about my sex life with my husband’s daughter. But if she
is to be my step-daughter, shouldn’t we have these kinds of conversations?

Chris swings some clothes in front of me bringing me back to him and the
changing room.

“He frustrates me,” I grunt.

“That is expected between daddies and their brat,” he holds out the clothes
and stare blankly at him, “You know, this thing between the both of you.”

“I know what it is,” I clear my throat and pretend to be checking out the
dresses.

I have heard and know about certain things. I read a lot, despite being pretty
involved in the family business back in New York.

When I saw Emanuele for the first time, I almost called him Daddy in my
head. I didn’t know if it was something he would fancy, but I felt that he
might be that kind of a person.

I don’t know why or how, but, it’s like I already knew Emanuele, like we
are different ends of the same stick. After the first night in the parking lot, I
saw how he reacted to our closeness. But I shut it down immediately
because I refused to fantasize about him while being forced down the aisle
with his son.

I exhale warm air and caress the silky fabric of a dress between my thumb
and index finger. Just to keep me from talking. I wanted to talk about this,
but I am not so sure anymore.

“What have you decided?”

“I have to find a way to get back at him,” I puff, “no way am I letting it
slide,” I exhale limply.

“I meant the dress, but you do you, love,” Chris chuckles, “do whatever you
have to do to keep the rays of sunshine in your life.”

I shut my eyes and chuckle at the fact that I just revealed so much. I nod to
myself and then shake my head, smiling slightly. Emanuele is everywhere
in my head. Even in my sleep. I open my eyes and observe the dresses.
They are all beautiful, and I find it difficult to choose one.

I pause. Why do I have to choose one? I want them all and even more.
Retail therapy seems like something that will give me the release I need
while also making sure to bite back.

“I will have them all,” I smile tightly.

“Your wish is my command,” Chris feigns a bow.

“And more,” I shrug.

Chris laughs now, “I will have this packed for you,” he goes back to hang
them on the clothes stand, “Do you want to look around, or would you like
me to pick some more out for you?”

“I will look around,” I say, hoping this will release some of the bubbled-up
tension.

He nods and rolls the clothes stand out, leaving me alone. I don’t like my
company so much, so I follow after him, but we go our separate ways as
soon as we both step out of the dressing room.
A soldier is waiting by the door, and he follows me as I walk around,
shopping to my heart’s content. I pick a few things for Eva, too. No, not a
few. I pick some dresses she might never want to wear and then a few for
Sabrina. The store is exquisite, everything in here is just how I like it.
Luxurious.

Done with shopping and after saying my goodbyes to Chris, who I no doubt
will be seeing again, I strut out of the boutique with so many bags I can
barely carry them, even though the soldier with me is carrying most of
them.

Emanuele won’t know what hit him.

I smile at myself as I dump the bags in the car, precisely on the side he was
sitting on earlier. I climb in and throw my head back in exhilaration. I feel
better for now.

The drive back to the estate feels different. For one, it feels farther, and
second, the soldiers decide to play some pop songs.

I’m both giddy and a little sullen when the car parks in front of the estate. I
cannot wait to see Emanuele’s face when he sees all the clothes I bought.

I climb out of the car and turn around to get some of the shopping bags.

“You are back,” Eva pokes her head over my shoulder, and I almost have a
heart attack.

“Eva,” I chuckle and exhale.

“Let me help you,” Eva offers just as the soldier walks over to us. I step
aside after filling my two arms, welcoming her help.
“Thank you,” I nod at the soldier, and he tips his head.

This one has black shades on it. The both of them, one by the driver’s seat
and the one out now, are dressed in ragged jeans, blue and black, and black
t-shirts. I was wrong about thinking the men from the Teso clan had an
official appearance earlier. I think it’s just the men that work closely with
Emanuele. No, just Fabio. He wears a suit every damn day. The driver must
have been a coincidence.

“This is a lot of shopping,” Eva chimes as we walk into the apartment. She
sounds excited about it, “I should go shopping sometime soon too, but for
equipment.”

“I will come with you if you’ll have me,” I smile.

My smile remains plastered as we enter the apartment, and the first eyes I
encounter are Emanuele’s. He is standing behind a sofa as Fabio climbs the
stairs to the studio. They’ve probably just ended their meeting.

“Which was it?” Emanuele shoves both hands in his pockets, and I try to
command my eyes not to swoon, “I was waiting for you to get home so I
could see the dress you chose.”

I snort, “It was hard to make a choice, so I bought them all. You can choose
yourself, like you initially intended to,” I try to swing the shopping bags in
my hands. His eyes leave my face to look at the bags on my and Eva’s
arms. He cocks his eyebrows and his nose flares.

“You did what?” His tone is grating, and it pleasures me all the more.

“Is he angry?” Eva whispers so only I can hear, and I shrug.

What do I care? If he is, good for me, because anger is what I want him to
feel right now.

“Uh oh, someone is in trouble,” Eva mutters as Emanuele struts over,

scowling.

He grabs me by the wrist, making some of my shopping bags on that arm

drop. He drags me up the stairs and the fright that washes through me pools
at my sex, stirring the business we left unfinished.

Here we go.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER NINETEEN

Emanuele

S he is at it again, and I have just the perfect punishment to reprimand

her.

She keeps squirming and wriggling as I drag her up the stairs. She stops,
refusing to move. I know that if I pull any more, she will get injured. So I
stop, and before she can take that as a cue to run back down, I catch her and
throw her over one shoulder.
More shopping bags drop on the floor as she tries to fight her way to
freedom. Her squirming makes my cock twitch, and the thought of branding
her ass sends heat waves pouring into it. I push the door of the study open.
Fabio lifts his eyes from the screen of his laptop to me. Without needing to
say a word, he stands, packs up his laptop, and exits the study, making sure
to close it loudly so I know he is gone.

She keeps testing me, and I want her to know I was ready for her even
before I knew she would be mine to tame.

Maybe I knew to a degree from the first day that she was mine. Maybe
there was something there. Maybe that was why I got the things I would
need for her and had them stacked in the bedroom and the study all this
time.

I wanted them to be customized for her, and they are now. Never used on
another, the ones that were used having been disposed of. I smile slightly at
my favorite. I told myself when I bought it that I was doing it for a whole
different reason, but I can’t remember what it was.

She continues to strike and kick as I bring her to a locker between two
photographs of teary eyes. I punch the code, and Vittoria kicks me in the
gut. There is no reason to rush it. She will get what she craves.

I pick up a vibrator, a clit pincher, and nipple clamps. Then leave the locker
open as I walk to the sofa and toss her on it. She tries to scramble away, but
I catch her by her pony tail and hold her with it like it’s a leash. I start to
walk to the desk, and as much as she is fighting to get away, she is left with
no choice but to come with me, limping now because she has lost one of her
heels.

“It’s just clothes, for fuck’s sake,” she pinches my wrist, scraping.
I stop in front of the desk and let go of her hair. She huffs, not seeing the
toys I am placing on the desk since my back is to her.

“You left me alone,” she places both hands on her hips as I turn to her.

There it is. The reason she went on a shopping spree.

“I had business to attend to,” I unclasp my cufflink and start to fold the
sleeve of my dress shirt.

She stares at my fingers working on the sleeve and inhales sharply before
moving her eyes back to my face, “If you have a problem with all the
money I spent, I can call my father to pay for it,” she swings her hand in the
air, “We can afford to take care of our own, unlike some, even after so much
talk…” she makes a yapping sign with her fingers, “...about taking care of
what is theirs.”

I cock my eyebrows at her, and my upper lip curls in amusement. She sure
knows just the right strings to pull when she is out to get something out of
me. “So, save this show for any broke bitch but me; I will refund you the
money,” she pouts. “Are we done now? Can I go do something else,
Daddy?” she snorts the daddy part out.

I’m done with my sleeves. I start to unbuckle my belt, and she laughs softly,
mocking me.

“That grand show because of your belt?” She takes a step closer. “Is that all
you’ve got?”

I drag the belt out of the loop and lay it on the desk, then move away so she
sees the toys on the desk. She stumbles back.
“How many items did you come back with?” My tone is benign, with no
hint of anger because I am not. This is only to make her know that when she
misbehaves, she gets punished, I don’t care how many times I have to teach
her that simple lesson.

“I don’t know,” her answer is quick, a mixture of dread and amusement

flickering in her eyes.

“For your sake, I hope you remember,” I smile quickly, “Better start
counting.”

“Who counts the number of garments they buy when shopping?” She
moves back again, “I deserve those clothes. It was about time you got me
clothes,” she pouts.

It’s not about the clothes or the money. I will move the damn store to this
estate if she wants. What would I care about spending my money on what is
mine? I take a step towards her, and she stumbles back, not watching as her
leg hits the sofa behind her. The quick second she flips her eyes to look at it
and change gear, I am on to her. She tries to run away, but my hand grips
the nape of her neck, and I drag her to the desk.

“Let go of me, let me go, you sick bastar…” I don’t let that word land as I
let go of her neck to spank her hard on the butt. So hard she screams and
tries to scuttle away from me, stumbling into the desk.

I pin her there. Just the place I need her to be. My body is pressing into her
ass. I fall for the temptation to grind my cock against her bottom, and she
squirms, shaking her ass from side to side to help my grinding.

Naughty girl.
I hold her dress, rip it from the back, and then help her out of it. I reach for
my belt. She holds the other end, and I reach for her wrists with one free
hand, then dig my fingers into her skin until she screeches and releases the
belt. I secure her hands behind her back, holding her by the wrists with one
hand, and I wrap my belt around her wrists with the other.

Since she is distracted by what she is doing to me with her butt, I hook her
around her elbow with one arm to her back, so her chest sticks out, then
pick up the nipple clamps and secure them on her beady nipples. And as
soon as they clamp on, she screeches.

I don’t know what she was expecting, but this was not it. I toss her on the
desk, and she continues her round of kicking, unable to punch now that her
hands are tied behind her. I reach for the clit pincher and kick her legs apart
with my knees, but she keeps fighting. I run a finger through the folds of
her pussy to confirm she is already wet. The temptation to just bury my
cock inside her and forget about her punishment is stronger than the scent
of her wetness, but despite that, I am able to collect my thoughts. So
instead, I let go of the clit pincher and pick up the vibrator. I turn it on, and
the whirring matches her thrashing. I pin her with my body, circle it around
her slick pussy, then drive it into her.

“Let me go and face me, you brute,” she hisses at me. “I will fight you,” she
insists.

I hold back the laughter that stirs in my stomach and busy myself with
securing her legs, then I readjust her so her feet are on the floor and she is
bent over. I observe my handiwork. She looks perfect. The position is the
beginning of her punishment. Her hands tied behind her, the nipple clamps
giving the right amount of pain, and the vibrator supplying her with intense
pleasure.

“Now, I will ask again, how many clothes did you buy?” I trace my fingers
along the curve of her back, and she grits back her moan.
“I said I don’t kno…” I cut her off with a slash of my hand on her butt, and
she seethes, wriggling to the side.

I drag my forefinger up the curve of her spine, and she shudders. “Try
again, how many?”

“I don’t fucking…”

Another spank lands on her same butt cheek. She grits, hissing at me as she
scrambles to turn her face up. She gives me a look as if it will stop me. It’s
just how I wanted her—a blank canvas for me to brand.

“Go at it all day, sure,” she clicks her lips, then flutters her lashes,
shuddering from the work of the vibrator. For her sake, I hope she has
learned that her orgasm is mine to dish out.

I nod, “I will go at it all day, and you will eventually give me the number.
Start thinking.” My palm lands on her bare breast, and before she can
wriggle away, I clip my fingers on her nipple to keep her in place. “How
many?” I let go, and she quickly turns, thrashing, but I manage to get her
back in the position she was in before and spank her butt cheeks. My cock
hardens as a red mark appears on her pale skin.

Her screaming fills the study, and her wriggling is uncontrolled now.
“Fifty!” She yells, groaning as the last smack comes on her. I keep my hand
there and tease the spot, then drag it down to curve her swollen pussy,
teasing her lips.

“Fifty?” I scoff.

She nods eagerly, “Yes,” she shudders “fifty. Can I come please?” She
whimpers.
She is lying. And I am convinced that she will give me an accurate number
if she tries harder.

“Try again,” I flick my fingers against the vibrator. She screams. I keep at
it. I drag her wetness along the curve of her ass and stop at her opening and
tease the spot as I would want my tongue to. As she exhales into it, I smack
her, and she wriggles away. I pick up again, the swooshing sound of my
palms against her skin, battling with her squealing.

She begins to mumble something, and I feel her stiffen against me. “One
hundred and sixty-two,” she barks.

“If I go to count them and…”

“I am sure,” she turns to her side, staring at me with those dreamy eyes.
Bloody hell, she looks beautiful. All feisty, red, and sweaty. She looks like
she has been dipped in red ink.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I lean forward and plant a soft kiss on her
lips. She takes my lips hungrily into her mouth, and I lean in better to
deepen the kiss. As my hands come to cup her face, she shudders under my
touch.

I slow the kiss down and swipe my tongue across her face as my fingers
find her pussy. I pull the vibrator out and toss it on the desk. She is not just
wet, she is dripping. I flick my fingers on the slick, swollen flesh, and she
gasps.

“Wet. For me.” I will reward her for concentrating and giving me the
number that I need. I will compensate her for being so fucking unbreakable.
I undo the bind of my belt, setting her free. She scrambles to me, making
me lose my balance for a second as she wraps her arms around my neck and
presses her body against mine.
“I am a good girl,” she bites my shoulder blade, “Tell me.”

“You are, and I will reward you now,” I reach for my zipper and let it down.
I pluck my cock out of my underwear and nudge it around the slippery
opening of her pussy. I slip into her, and the soft sound of exhalation that
escapes her mouth into my neck is my undoing. She wants me. She was
made for me. I slide deep inside of her and begin to move in a slow, gliding
motion. She matches me by straddling my cock.

The tempo gradually begins to pick up.

“Fuck me harder, Daddy, please,” she whines, and I live up to it.

She is learning her manners by using the magic word, and I have to make
sure she sees how effective that can be.

I grip her butt and start to hammer into her, “Like this?”

She nods, “Hm hm,” and bites into my neck. “Like that, yes, thank you,
Daddy.”

I keep plowing, our moans fusing like our bodies. I slip a finger down the
curve of her ass to her pussy, cream it, then drag it back to her ass. She
stiffens as I prod, but as the finger slides into the tight walls, she milks it,
clenching around it. I keep it in there, and it is her undoing. Her pussy
clenches around my cock, and she bites down harder on my neck, branding
me in her own little way.

“Let me come, please,” she pleads out in a shaky moan.

I can barely keep either. “Yes, baby girl. Come for Daddy.”
She unfurls, convulsing in my arms as she pummels from her orgasm. I
follow after her, slamming and slamming, wringing my cock dry of the
semen that spurts into her. I hold her to my body, and If I could, I would
meld her into me. I feel the sudden urge to be one with her.

I walk with her in my arms to the table, retrieve my finger from her butt
hole, but still leave my cock inside her pussy. I find a way to get out of my
shirt with her snaking around me and not letting go even the slightest bit. I
cover her with my shirt, then wrap my arms around her. I rain kisses on her
forehead as I take her out of the study in my arms.

She has learned her lesson. Now, she needs her daddy to take care of her
after accepting her punishment so bravely. That and the simple fact that I
don’t want to let go.

I want to hold her until and after she is asleep.

I hear a sick bastard whisper tonight and always in my head.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY

Vittoria

“S tunning,” Emanuele holds my gaze in the mirror and circles one of

his strong arms to rest on my stomach.

Even though the compliment is for me, I believe it is more fitting for him.
Or maybe it’s just me and my Emanuele fever keeping my temperature
above forty degrees every single time I set my eyes on him.

I roll my eyes at him, pretending his compliment doesn’t make me feel

more beautiful than I felt some seconds before.
“What is it?” His thumb circles around my belly button lazily and even
though the touch is distant because of the silk fabric of the black, elegant
dress I have on, the effect is ever-stirring. I can’t stop myself from leaning a
bit and pressing one side of my back against the taut body behind me.

“Tell me, why are we having our engagement party with Salvatore and his
mistress?”

I hate it. Everything about today borders on depressing. I wanted to slow

down the past two days to the point that today never comes, if that were
possible.

“That?” He shrugs, but it’s more of an action to adjust his shoulders in his
black suit.

“Yes, that, Emanuele, that,” I go closer to the mirror, tearing my body away
from his and hating myself instantly for the move. He comforts me.

It’s odd, but I always want to lean into him whenever he is around. I want to
curl into his arms at night, because I almost can’t sleep anymore unless he
is in bed with me.

“It’s happening because I decided it, and the least you can do is put on a
pretty smile,” he slips one hand into the pocket of his black dress pants.
“Otherwise, I will take it you don’t want to be married to me.”

I scoff, “I don’t want to be married to you.”

“No?”

“No,” I affirm, ignoring the voice inside my head that is about to call my
lying self out. I am not lying. I didn’t want this. Undoubtedly, it is so much
better than whatever I had with Salvatore; still, I never asked for this.
“The sounds you make when I make you come never had me guessing if
you liked it.”

“Lucky me,” I give a Cheshire smile and flutter my lashes like some doll.

“Say whatever you need to, to get all your brattiness out now,” he stalks
towards me, “but whatever it takes, just make sure you behave yourself
tonight,” he lifts my chin with his free hand. I try to turn my head in a
different direction. Still, his grip is firm. “I can just as easily make your
wish of hating this marriage come true,” he dips his head and kisses me
tenderly on the lips. “Meet me outside, baby girl,” he retrieves his hand and
prances out of his bedroom, that is now ours.

As he struts out, I burn holes in his broad shoulders and towering frame.
Beautiful bastard. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in a suit, and although I
never thought I needed it, it makes me wonder how I’ve lived without it
now that I’m seeing it.

As I have been asked, I give myself the best pep talk ever as I stare at
myself in this heart-stopping dress. Fuck Them All. I smile slightly and
shrug. It’s still my day, as much as I hate sharing it with spice-smelling
Salvatore and his stupid whore.

I take a step back and swing from side to side, observing my dress.
Emanuele chose this one from the many dresses I brought back with me.
Dresses I will make sure to wear even if just to walk around the house,
considering the punishment I got because of them. I still feel sore
everywhere. But somehow, I don’t want any of it to heal yet.

Emanuele has been doing everything for me. Bathing me, making sure I eat,
and just this morning, he gave me an orgasm without wanting anything for
himself. I suck my teeth and huff at my blushing reflection. Shame on you.

That’s if I have any when it comes to him and his fingers.

I retrieve my black clutch from the bed, and then I take another look in the
mirror because, damn, I look gorgeous. I love to look good and suck up the
attention when I walk into a room. Even though I did make a fuss when he
chose this dress only because I didn’t want him to think he could go making
decisions about what I wear. But when I put it on, I knew it was the dress
for the night. It’s a combination of a diamond-designed mini silk dress
inside and a transparent black lace flowy wrap dress.

It highlights my tiny waist and slender legs. And the bold blood-red lipstick
and smoky eye makeup I have on do justice to the outfit. The sleeves are
butterfly and long enough to conceal the fading purple scars from
Emanuele’s sweet punishment.

“Stunning.”

His words echo in my head, and this time I nod as I walk out of the
bedroom. I take chin-high steps down the stairs, scoffing when my gaze
falls on the door of Salvatore’s dungeon. I would prefer sharing my day
with a dog celebrating its birthday than with the two of them celebrating
their love. I detest dogs. I detest pets. They’re unpredictable. But I would
pick one over the duo of doom.

I swing out of the apartment to a limo, and the door is being held open for
me by the soldier with beach blonde hair, Marcus. He doesn’t look like a
Marcus. He looks like a Chad.

“Marcus,” I give him a chin lift smile, and he does the same. I’m not
surprised. Emanuele somehow seems to attract his type.

I step into the car, and, as expected, Emanuele is already seated, talking
with Fabio in Italian. He hushes as I climb in, and somehow, it makes me
feel like an outsider. My father always involved me in the family business,
while Emanuele seems to want to keep me out of it. I detest it. I hate the
idea of being just a trophy wife. I like to be involved in things. But I guess
he doesn’t trust me enough; after all, I am still Giuseppe Mancuso’s child.

The car starts moving and everyone is silent. I am left to sulk and stew.
Every residual sting and soreness I feel each time I adjust makes me want to
go back and relive the moment in the study. To ponder on his scent. I chew
my lips and consider what exactly is wrong with me.

The car drives into the parking lot of a luxurious hotel and as expected,
another soldier who has arrived at the scene before us comes to hold the
door for me as Marcus does the same for Emanuele.

Fabio climbs out, “Vittoria,” he tips his head at me.

“Fabio,” I smile politely at him.

“You look good,” he keeps his eyes on the hotel entrance, and if I didn’t
know better, I would think the compliment was for someone else.

Does he ever talk about anything but business with Emanuele? I have seen
him talk a few times to Eva, but even then, I can count on both hands all the
words I have heard him say so far. They are mostly a yes or no.

“Shall we?” Emanuele asks. I pout and roll my eyes at him as he gives me
his arm. Even though I know he said I should behave myself, I wonder what
it would be like to misbehave today of all days. What would my punishment
be? My pussy clenches at the thought of a spanking or maybe strong arms
marking my skin in a way that marks places inside me and provokes the
best of orgasms I’ve ever experienced.

Have I always been this way, or is it just with him?

“You will fall if you don’t look where you are headed,” his sultry voice
snaps my mind back to reality. And reality is that I have been staring at him
instead of walking. I nod, clear my throat, and focus on the road ahead.

As we walk into the hall for the party, I try to stay out of my head and be
present. My eyes scan the luxuriously decorated hall. I see some familiar
faces from New York, and I am sure they only came to witness the dragging
in the mud of Vittoria Mancuso. My father is not here, but I see some of the
men from the Mancuso clan with their wives or mistresses. He must have
been informed by Emanuele or Fabio about the change in plans, because we
haven’t talked since he left. I presume he doesn’t care either way.

“Vittoria,” one of the wives from the Mancuso clan waves at me, and I nod,
forcing a smile.

I would give anything to evaporate into thin air. Instead, Emanuele leads us
toward them. I reach for a glass of champagne from the champagne tower
on a table as we approach the group. I swig the entire content. Emanuele
clears his throat beside me as a warning, but he is not the joke here, is he?

“You look good, as always,” the woman says as we reach them. She looks
too young for the man she is with. My inside punches me in the gut at my
double standard.

“Thank you, you look good too,” I return her compliment. She does. Dark
hair on a burnt orange dress.

“You are marrying the father after the engagement with the son didn’t work
out?” Her date smirks and I hate him instantly. He and his overdyed black
hair. He looks like he badly wants to stay young, not bold enough to accept
the beauty of aging like my Emanuele.

My Emanuele?
Shit.

“Judging by your consumption, you might be offered the position of

ambassador for the hair dye market,” I snort and roll my eyes.

Emanuele clears his throat. “Let’s talk business,” he moves on to a different

topic that they seem to be communicating in codes. I can understand them.
It has something to do with La eMe and the fucking Russians. But I’m not
interested. If I am to survive this night, I need more alcohol.

I see Salvatore in the distance, alone and bouncing on his feet in his navy
blue suit. His eyes shift to mine, and he scowls, but as I think about how to
react, Nina struts past me, brushing against me aggressively as she
approaches him. Then, I notice his scowl wasn't directed at me. He hasn't
spotted me or is indifferent to my presence.

They start speaking and it is clear they are arguing. I smile to myself. I like
chaos to be the order of the day in their paradise.

“Hey you,” Eva comes to stand in front of me and my jaw drops.

“Eva?”

She looks breathtaking. Simple, but damn it, girl. She’s in a red ankle-
length dress that slits to show a fair amount of olive skin. It accentuates her
small waist and shows off the curviness of her hips; she will have everyone
gasping for air. I won’t be surprised if men start trooping into Emanuele’s
compound to make marriage proposals after tonight.

“You look beautiful,” she smiles at me, holding her gold clutch to her
stomach like it’s a shield from the eyes on her.
“Eva, you look stunning,” I reach out and smoothen my hand on her bare
shoulder, “Heads are turning.”

“They might be rolling,” Emanuele gruffs, and try as I may, I can’t stop the
soft laughter that pours out of me. Overprotective.

“Situation report,” Eva leans forward, “Nina just got here alone, there is no
one at the table for her family, and just so you know, a guest came with her
pet. You said you don’t like pets,” she straightens. “I will go do my planner
duty and maybe take a few pictures.”

“No holding the camera tonight, Eva,” Emanuele clips, “And stay close to
your bodyguard at all times, I don’t want to see men around you.”

Eva inhales sharply, “There’s my father,” she smiles, “I will keep praying
for you, Vittoria,” she chuckles and then walks away.

I will need her prayers, but for entirely different reasons.

Emanuele and I walk over to Salvatore and Nina. As soon as they notice us,
they adjust, and Nina plasters a smile on her face. I am not one to shame a
woman just because I hate her. Nina, annoyingly, is pleasant to the eyes, but
she looks like she didn’t want to be here. She is wearing a dreary mini white
dress and has no makeup on. Even her hair looks all over the place.

“Salvatore,” Emanuele is the first to speak. “Nina.”

“Emanuele,” Nina smiles some more, “thank you for the lovely party,” she
slurs in her accented voice, “I appreciate you welcoming me into your
family.”

She speaks the right words. I say nothing; there’s no need to pretend to be
family now, is there?
“Your family insulted me, Nina,” Emanuele looks around and then back at
her, “is there a reason they didn’t show up?”

“No, no,” Nina chuckles, “I was just telling Salvatore they are not well.”

Emanuele arches his eyebrow. “All of them?”

“Not all, but they have the flu and didn’t want to risk spreading it to all the
guests.”

She is lying. My guess is they don’t approve of the engagement. No sane

family would want their daughter to be married into this kind of world. You
have to be in it not to care, but outsiders would have a hard time accepting
the idea.

Emanuele is about to say something when he is interrupted by a guest, and I

seize the opportunity to slip away and go find something that will help me
sustain the sneering glances around me.

I know. I am the joke. It’s easy to see, and even though I keep my head up
and my spine straight, I cannot help but feel the spasm in my stomach.

I was rejected again, and Emanuele only stepped in to keep me because of

what was at stake. I grab another champagne flute from another tower,
trying to water down the sting.

Ten flutes later, I'm sitting beside the table, nodding to the orchestra's
classical pop while caressing a golden retriever in another seat. I am not
sure how we became friends, but it is the only being here that does not
appear to be having a good time at my expense.

After every jeering comment about my engagement, I answered with a taste

of my bitterness. Some people will be planning to see a surgeon for Botox,
I'm sure of it.

My life, as I know it, is pathetic. I drink down the contents of the

champagne flute in my other hand and exhale forcefully. I've had too many,
and everything seems to be moving in the same sluggish way Nina speaks.
Everyone is blurry now, but I can still see the derision on their faces all too
clearly.

Emanuele is constantly being approached by guests, while Eva seems to be

busy ensuring that the night runs properly while avoiding the soldiers who
are following her. Even Fabio is watching her in the corner where he sits
with Marcus.

I exhale again as my eyes follow some of the guests on the dance floor, then
swipe to Salvatore talking to the annoying black-dyed hair man, and then on
Nina as she sways past the table of champagne flutes beside me, then back
on Emanuele. I take another champagne flute. It’s one of the last six on the
table. I am doing justice to the tower. Five more, and I will be the champion
for the night.

I lift the drink to my lips, but something knocks it out of my hand, and it
spills on the floor, with the glass crashing in the distance. The golden
retriever hurls down to lick it off the floor as I lift my sloping eyes to
Emanuele standing in front of me.

“I am not allowed to drink or what?” I belch, “It’s my engagement party,” I

laugh softly, “No, wait, it’s our engagement party.”

He seems unaffected by my display, just staring at me, maybe even pitifully.

“Is it such a bad thing to be married to me, Vittoria?”

“Says the predator to its prey,” I snort and reach for another glass. He
knocks it out again, and the golden retriever keeps licking champagne off
the floor.

It starts to whimper and bark lazily at Emanuele. I reach down to lift it and
stroke it, but it slips, whimpering and twisting on the floor in a circle. I
don’t understand dog language, but it looks like it’s expressing something.

“The dog hates you. At least I have an ally,” I reach down to stroke it but
halt.

I lift my eyes to Emanuele, and we both drop our eyes to the dog on the
floor. It is wheezing now and foam is coming out of its mouth. It’s dying.

“The dog is dying?” The realization smacks me to sobriety.

“Bloody Saints,” Emanuele gnashes.

Was the champagne poisoned?

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Emanuele

I squat in front of the struggling dog, staring at it.

Someone calls the veterinary emergency aid, and they come within ten
minutes.

My perception of time slows down as I struggle to realize what this means.

This could have been her. She could have been poisoned. She could have
been fucking dead, and it would have been under my bloody watch. The
dog twists and turns, and even though I know it’s a sad sight to behold, I
keep my eyes on it, thankful it’s the dog and not her that is on the floor
fighting to stay alive.

My fingers squeeze tight into fists, my stomach spins, and my veins are
filled with hot, scalding anger.

The music in the hall rises to a crescendo, then stops, just like the bloody
world around me as the veterinary aid arrives and the dog is finally given
medicine and taken away to safety. They manage to save him, but they need
to take him to the animal hospital for a complete rehabilitation.

I feel her trembling beside me, unsure whether to touch me or run away. Or
maybe I’m just imagining it.

She should run, because I again failed at my fucking duty to protect my

family. It was pure fluke that nothing happened.

“It could have died, Emanuele,” her voice is shrill. She sounds like it’s both
a question and a confirmation.

I nod to myself, conflicted, as torrents of emotions slap me from every

corner.

I am furious that somehow, someone dared to slip into my engagement

party and tried to poison my fiancée. How fucking weak am I perceived as a
leader for this to happen?

This hits harder than a slap to my fucking face. Absolutely no bloody

person should be able to try to mess with me to this point in Los Angeles,
especially in my territory and on a fucking day like today. My blood boils in
my ears, and I grind my teeth to keep myself from screaming at the guests.
There is pure shame at the mere thought of nearly losing someone else
placed under my care..

My mind ricochets with fear, the most potent of all the emotions I’m feeling
at this point. It rings through my veins. I loathe it. It’s not a place a man of
my caliber should be found. But here I am again.

Hell.

This is Hell.

Fuck it.

“Get up,” I can’t bring myself to look her in the eye as I stand.

Fabio is by my side now, and I see Marcus already marching out.

“Capo,” Fabio starts to say.

“We are leaving, alert Salvatore. Get someone to take Eva out of here and
meet me in the car,” I stretch out my hand at Vittoria, and she places her
frail fingers on mine. Her trembling subsides as I wrap my hand around
hers and stroke softly with my thumb on the back of her hand.

It’s more for myself than for her. My eyes survey the room and the clusters
of guests oblivious to what just happened. It drops back to the spilled
champagne on the floor.

I stomp out, holding on tightly to Vittoria. With a flick of my forefingers, I

signal that no other soldiers should follow me. I don’t need them right now.
Whoever tried to kill her is still in here, and the last thing I want is for
anyone to see me sweat like some wimpy teenage boy.
Marcus is already by the limo, holding the door, and Fabio is behind me.

Vittoria halts and tugs me back weakly. I stop just a few feet away from the
car. To be honest, she is handling it better than I am. It’s her life that an
attempt was made on, but she seems to be doing okay.

I turn to her, unsure what I will find in her eyes if I dare to look into them.
Not sure I want to see it. I don’t want her eyes to show me the fucking truth.
That I cannot be trusted to protect her. That I have failed to keep her safe. I
know that there is no man alive in their right mind that would attempt this if
she was under her father’s watch in New York.

I keep my eyes above her head, a little agitated about the fact that we are
outside and exposed. Fuck me. I am agitated in my fucking territory. It has
gotten this bad.

I inhale the chilly night air and will myself to stay collected. If they used
poison, it is only because they know they cannot break through the
barricade surrounding my territory to get directly at me. That should count
for something and make me feel better.

“I don’t feel good,” she whispers, and now I force myself to stare into her
eyes. She looks scared. It’s the first time I have seen such emotions in her
eyes. She shouldn’t feel fear. She is about to be my wife. Fear should be the
last thing she should ever fucking feel.

“I promise you, baby girl, everything will be ok,” I reach out to cup her
cheek, and she closes her eyes for a quick bit, rubbing her cheek on my
palm.

She retches, “I don’t feel good because I had too much…” She turns her
face away, spins quickly to give her back to me, and pukes.
That.

I puff, dipping both hands into the pockets of my dress pants as I let her do
her thing. Fabio prances to me and hands me a bottle of water and a white
washcloth. He puts some distance between us, and I let my shoulders relax
a little, knowing he is watching me as I watch over her. If needed, he is
skilled with the weapon that is always present under his suit. He is both
book-smart and street-smart.

Vittoria stops throwing up and turns to face me with a coy expression, “I am

sorry I drank too much,” she retches again. “I feel like shit,” she groans.

It seems to be the right way to feel at this point. But that feeling is mine
alone to feel, not hers. I cock the cap of the water, wet the cloth, and close
the distance to help dab her mouth before handing her the bottle of water.
She rinses her mouth with it and spits it out, then exhales tiredly.

“Do you know who it might be?” She mumbles, and I nod.

Without any question, I know in every fiber of my bones that this is the
handiwork of the Bratva. I know this night has something to do with Boris
and his crooks. What I need to find out is how they were able to make it
into a party that was exclusively for family and trusted alliances. Trying to
wrap my mind around this is driving me crazy.

It is him. It is them. But how the bloody hell did they get into the party
unnoticed? Fuck. Someone in there was planted to do this.

“I will fix this.” I have to. “You have nothing to fear,” I try to soothe her the
best I can.

“It is you I am worried about,” she drags in a deep breath. “Well, also, your
party was shit. You should ask my father about how to host a party where
everyone feels like they will be shot in the head if they make one wrong
move,” she chuckles. “Sometimes I wonder why they even honor his
invitation and show up when you can tell from their body language that
they would rather be anywhere else,” she yawns. “At least your guests were
dancing, ours don’t even eat.”

“I will ask him next time,” I assure her, even though I won’t. Drunk Vittoria
seems to be between snarky and somber, not to mention she has said the
longest sentence to me since I have known her. I have only heard her
speaking like that with Eva.

“Let’s get out of here,” I put my hand on her lower back, and she nods, then
gulps. Without a protest, she walks in front of me till we get to the car. I
reach for the door and open it for her, waiting to make sure she is settled in
before walking over to the door Marcus is holding open for me and
climbing into my seat. Fabio comes in next, followed by Marcus.

Marcus hits the road, and as the hotel building begins to turn into a
miniature in the distance, the unsettling torrent in my stomach begins to
simmer.

I pull my cigar case and lighter out of my suit pocket. “Get me a report on
everyone that was present tonight,” Fabio knows he is the one I’m talking
to. He turns in his seat so he can face me.

“I’m sorry, Capo, I should have been more watchful,” his eyes tell that he is
beating himself up over it. I know it’s hard for anything to slip past him. He
is always quick to notice funny movements and sense changes in a room.
There’s a first time for everything, and even though it will be a relief to
blame someone for this, I don’t want relief.

“We should have all been watchful,” I flip my lighter open and closed while
caressing my cigar between my middle and index fingers, “I want you to
give me something and give it to me fast,” I flip again, “leave no stone
unturned,” I flip closed. “Give me down to all their businesses, I want to
know everything on anyone that might have been doing business with the
Bratva.”

I flip open and take the cigar to my mouth this time as the blue flame comes
on.

“The only person in there that wasn’t family or a trusted ally was Nina, and
even though I am trying to keep my mind open and not judge her unfairly, I
cannot shake the thought that she is a Russian who showed up for her
engagement party without any family member or even a fucking friend,” I
light my cigar, repeatedly puffing till the cigar picks up. I flip the lighter to
put out the flame, drag my cigar in, relish the comforting taste of tobacco
and cinnamon, let it dance on my tongue, and then puff out through my
nostrils. I take the cigar between two fingers, “She seemed out of place; she
always has, but I so badly want to be wrong for Salvatore and my
grandchild’s sake.”

“I will do that, Capo,” Fabio assures me, and I know he will live up to his
words.

“Have you found anything about her and her family?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“Make it fucking quick,” I click my tongue, and he tips his head. I need to
get that out of my way to be able to accept her and trust her as a family
because that’s what she is becoming. That’s what she is, now that she is
carrying my grandchild, fuck it.

I place my arm on the armrest of the limo, and when my eyes flip to Vittoria
beside me, my heart does another spin. The image of the dead dog reminds
me that she is not dead, but she could have been.
I beckon for her to come closer and into my arms. She slides to me and
wraps her arms around me, then exhales, deflating, like she has been
waiting to do that all night. I cradle her until she throws both her legs on
one of mine.

She is here; I just have to make sure she is always here. I have to make sure
I don’t let anything or anyone that should not get to her get to her.

“I’ve got you, baby girl,” I cradle her tightly to my body, and she interlocks
her fingers to keep me secured in her embrace.

I’ve got her. Forever.

It’s less of a promise and more of an oath.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Vittoria

“I think Eva should wear more dresses. What do you say, Fabio?” I
prod, even though I know the big guy wants to be anywhere but in
Eva’s studio, talking about how she looks in this sordid mini
maroon dress I forced her to wear in exchange for being her model for the
entire day.

It’s a worthy bargain. She wanted a model, and I wanted to play

matchmaker ever since what I observed a few days ago at my engagement
party.
It’s exciting to have something to do around here other than trying to dodge
the many bodyguards who keep taking turns to protect me. I have always
had many bodyguards around me, but coming down here, I loved being able
to take a walk around alone. Now I can’t, and it’s because of some damn
bloody Bratva. In Emanuele’s words. The man and his bloody Saints.

“Speechless?” I tease him, and Fabio adjusts his tie around his neck,
keeping his eyes on a picture of a middle-aged woman kissing what looks
like a black rose with so much passion you can taste the love by just staring
at the picture.

Eva’s studio is monochromatic. The walls are white, and then everything is
between black and white, just like in her pictures. We are the only bright
colors in here. I am in blue jeans, a lily print t-shirt and black suede boots.
Fabio is in a navy-blue suit with gold embellishments, like his wristwatch,
cufflinks, lapels, and lip ring. Eva is in the maroon dress that stops above
her knees and tightens around the waist, with gold sandals. Whenever I
need Eva to try something new, she makes sure to make me try something
new as well, hence the reason for my outfit, as if being her model wasn’t
enough.

“Fabio knows I feel uncomfortable wearing dresses,” she tugs the rim of the
dress, trying to pull it down.

Good luck with that, Eva.

I smile wickedly to myself because this outfit is purposeful, and if they both
allow it, I will nudge them along until neither of them can resist what I can
taste between them simply by looking at them. The same goes for the
majority of her photos.

Since the engagement party, I've been convinced that what I witnessed
wasn't just Fabio following Eva's movements because Emanuele told him
to, but that he was doing it because he couldn't take his eyes off of her. And
because Emanuele has been hell-bent on having bodyguards everywhere I
go, even though I rarely walk out of the estate, I have made it my mission to
ensure that whenever Fabio is watching me, I spend time with Eva.

“You look good with anything, but this one,” I click my tongue repeatedly,
“will have heads turning.”

“And rolling,” Fabio clears his throat, and I almost laugh at the fact that he
is using the same words as Emanuele. What is better than having a man that
would protect the way your father would?

“Can you and my father stop saying that?” Eva clips, “I am not a kid, and I
can date if I want to,” she moves to a high stool and picks up her camera. “I
am yet to begin, but don’t make it sound like I can’t.”

Fabio turns his attention to her now, “Why are you talking about dating?”

“I am just letting you know that I can if I want to.”

“You found someone you want to date?” He keeps his face expressionless,
but I can feel the jealousy.

“What if I had?”

Fabio nods, still having no tell on his face. It’s a little misleading because I
can’t say if he is this way because he watched her grow up and has always
been protective of her or if it’s exactly what I’m trying to fan into an
inferno.

“Does he have a name?” He walks to another picture, now putting his hands
back and clasping his wrist.
“Why?” Eva scoffs as she walks to her desk to open her laptop, “You are
interested in my love life now?”

“You do not have a love life,” Fabio retorts too quickly.

“I am not like you, I don’t live miserably.”

Way to go, Eva, I bite my lower lip, holding in my smile, but failing. I have
come to notice that when I smile, I smile better now, broader. It’s a good
thing that neither of them is staring at me.

“His name then,” Fabio struts to another picture, this one of a teary
adolescent with his hands stretching out like he wants to touch the sun.

“Nice try. So what, you will show up at his apartment and do what? I don’t
even know who is worse between you and my father.”

He shrugs, “It will be good to know him and maybe pay him a little visit,”
he turns to me. “What do you think, Vittoria?”

Me? I nod, wiping the smile on my face off, “Yeah, Eva, we care about you,
and we would want to know If there is someone. You can’t keep him
hidden, we would feel betrayed,” I know there is no one but this is too
much fun to let go.

“Whose side are you on?” Eva snits.

“I am to be your stepmother,” I smile at her, winking. She is clueless, he is

clueless, I feel good.

“There is nobody,” she types angrily on her laptop, “Happy now?”

A soldier comes to knock on the door. The door is see-through, so we can
see him just waiting patiently after knocking. He knows we have seen him,
and he won’t come in here.

“I will be with your father,” Fabio announces, and he is already walking to

the door. He halts, turns to me over his shoulder, and adds “and no, Vittoria,
she shouldn’t wear more dresses, it will make my job of keeping her safe
more difficult than it already is,” he stomps out.

Oh, My Fucking Days.

This place feels sauna-hot right now. But again, what does that even mean?
It’s both a compliment and something else. Something that I cannot make
out yet, but I will. After all, I have nothing better to do around here, yet.

“I hate him,” Eva grumbles, then she flattens, leaning back in her seat, “Not
that kind of hate, but he vexes me half the time.”

I nod, “The men in our lives have that in common,” I sip my orange juice. I
had even forgotten I was holding the thing.

“I will pick my favorite and edit it,” Eva lifts her eyes from the screen of
her laptop, “I cannot wait to show you,” she smiles brightly now.

“What does that picture mean?” I point at the one with the boy because
Fabio looked different while staring at it.

“That,” she sighs heavily, “is titled ‘if I could’,” she looks at it and smiles
sadly. “It’s a boy wishing he could have the sun for himself; he wants all
that light, because it might remove the darkness lurking around him,” she
flicks her fingers in a circle and I see the background of the picture is that
of a dark storm coming at the boy. He is not scared of the storm. It’s like he
is leading it.
“He wants to chase the storm away?”

She shakes her head, “He wishes the storm and sun could exist together in
his world,” she looks away from it, “If only he could get them to.”

If he could. I smile now, understanding something I might have no right to

understand.

“It’s beautiful,” I gulp down my orange juice and stand from the high stool I
was perching on. “I’m gonna go read while you work.” I put the glass on
the stool. “Off topic question. What would you want if you could have
anything in the world, with no limits?”

“You are a genie now?” She laughs softly, and I roll my eyes, “I would
want…” she trails, “I’ve never thought about it,” she chews her lips. “Can I
think about that one?”

“I will too,” I laugh, and she joins in.

The question is more to myself than to her. But I may already know my
answer. Maybe I know what I want to have if I could, but I doubt Emanuele
is capable of giving that again. “See you later,” I blow her a kiss, and walk
out of her studio, the soldier trailing behind me as I walk to the main
building.

As I leave Eva's studio, my mind wanders to the last thought I had in there.
It's too much, and I know I won't accomplish anything by lingering on it. I
had no idea I'd reached that point. I never thought I would want what I want
from him now.

I shake my head as I take the next step around the bend to the path that goes
up to the main building. Nina walks in, wearing another bland eggshell little
flare dress and carrying a gift package. I can't help but think she is a bitch.
I step in and find her seated on the sofa, a smirk on her face directed at me.
I check over my shoulder to ensure she is smiling at me and not someone
behind me.

“He knew you would be like that,” she stands, “I told him it’s a bad idea.”

Him who? What is she even saying?

“Emanuele,” she stretches the gift box to me, white and with a red bow on
it, “He got this for you and thought it would be a way for you and me to
bond if I delivered it to you,” she exhales. “I know we got off on the wrong
foot, but I want you to know that I did everything I did from a place of love
for Salvatore. I knew him before you came along, and I didn’t want to let
him go,” she places one hand on her stomach. “I wanted this to be our
family, and I saw you as the enemy,” she comes closer to me. If I am being
honest, I understand her. Still, she watched him hit me. “I am sorry about
that night, I was angry and bitter and didn’t do anything to stop him.”

I deflate now. I had done worse to Alejandra. She did nothing to me, and I
was going to send her back to being a slave. I doubt she would ever think of
me as a victim, but I had felt like one at a certain point. She was the one
who came in and interfered. She was my enemy, and I was, like Nina,
propelled by my bitterness and anger.

“It’s fine,” I take the gift box from her.

“We can have a cup of coffee sometime.”

“No,” I shake my head, “I hate coffee,” I add, and she laughs softly.

“Fair enough,” she nods. “But all three of us, Eva, you and me, can do
something together one day then. I am sure the men would be happy to see
us get along. It will give them respite to know there is peace in their house
while they fight the enemy.” I nod. I know it will bring Emanuele peace if I
try, at least for his sake. “I will see you around,” she turns to leave.

“How is the morning sickness?” I pry, a little curious about pregnancy, “We
can make that date shopping for the baby, and I could organize a baby
shower for you.”

“That is meant to be a surprise,” she chuckles.

I laugh now. I have limited knowledge of these things. I shrug, “We will do
it our way.”

“Fine then, I should start practicing my surprise face,” she laughs as she
walks away. Not going into Salvatore’s suite but walking out of the
building.

I look at the box in my hand. Then eager to see what Emanuele has gotten
me, I sit on the sofa and undo the bow. I open the box. It’s a six-inch, black
and red soled pair of shoes.

I pluck the note placed under one of the shoes.

Please, would you wear these to dinner tonight?

Dinner?

I smile, feeling my cheeks heat up and my inside swell as I flip the card to
see the address for the dinner and the time. I look over my shoulder in the
direction of the study and smile harder than I ever have in my entire life. It
would be the first time Emanuele has asked me out on a date. It feels good
to know he is making an attempt, even with everything that has been going
on.
I throw the card back in the box, and as I am about to cover the box, it hits
me. A white box? A question instead of a command? That doesn’t sound
like the man in that study. I have a dejà-vu, it is the same ploy I had used to
kidnap Alejandra in my attempt to get her away from Massimo.

Could this be that? I look at the soldier standing there, not paying any
attention to me.

Nina is trying to set me up.

I jump from my seat. I am a snake, and I should know my kind. I chuckle,

biting down on my teeth. She was trying to set me up, and for a moment
there, she got me.

Bloody Russian Bitch.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Emanuele

“I did what?” I arch my eyebrow at Vittoria as she waves a note in the

air, smiling at me. She is holding a white box that contains what she
claims is a gift from me. I am a little too tired for games, I haven't
had a proper night’s sleep in days.

“You asked me out on a date,” she shrugs, “and you did that nicely, which is
the only reason I will be showing up,” she sways before me, drops the box,
and plants both hands on the desk to look me squarely in the eyes, “You
used ‘please’.”
I keep staring at her, trying to understand where she is going with her little
show. I would never use ‘please’ when talking to this spoiled woman, not
even with a gun pointed at me.

“I don’t have that word in my vocabulary for you, and you know it,” I lean
back and take my cigar to my mouth now, waiting to see if this is another
game. I might enjoy it. But she looks a little serious and mischievous. It’s
not the usual mischief she has in her eyes when she wants to play.

“No?” She slides the card towards me, “Then what is this?” She stands
straight now and folds her arms across her chest, smiling smugly. I lean
forward, never taking my eyes off her as I pick the card up, “Go on, read it,
and see how you begged me to wear your gift for our dinner date tonight.”

My eyes drop to the note in my grip, and I read the words on it. My brows
shoot up.

“This is not from me,” I grit pointedly.

“But your dearest daughter-in-law gave me this a few seconds ago and
made a very charming speech about your silent wish to have all the women
in your family at peace with each other.”

I sit up now. I would like that. I had spoken to Salvatore about it some days
ago, precisely the day after the incident at the engagement party, when I
was feeling morose. Nina was there, although she seemed busy with other
things. And more so, I wasn’t speaking English when having that
conversation.

“She gave you this?”

“Have you not been listening, Emanuele?” She sucks her tongue, “Nina was
trying to get me out of the estate, and only the saints know why,” I almost
smile at her choice of words. She doesn’t even notice how she is beginning
to sound like me. But I don’t. This is serious. “I know this move, I used it
on Alejandra, and she fell for it,” she smiles sadly. “I initially fell for it
myself, but something just didn’t add up.”

“Nina is trying to set you up?”

The door of the study opens, and Fabio enters, “I got word from the
streets,” he darts his eyes between Vittoria and me. “Nina,” he clears his
throat, “is Boris’ daughter.”

I shoot up from my seat instantly, bumping my knee against the frame of

my desk. Bloody Saints.

“How is that possible?” My eyes shoot open. Vittoria is masking her

surprise better than I ever could at the news. I have been housing the
daughter of my nightmare, and she is having my grandchild?

“That is not all,” Fabio closes the door behind him now and enters further
into the study, “She is gone, and Salvatore is gone too.”

“Gone where?”

“A soldier just saw them leave. It looks like they won’t be coming back
anytime soon.”

“First, she gives me a gift that she claims is from Emanuele just to get me to
go to a place where I would no doubt be kidnapped, and now she is gone?”
Vittoria chuckles bitterly, “I swear if I catch the bitch, I will rip her apart
with my bare hands,” she grinds her teeth, and the fierceness in her eyes
reminds me of the woman I had seen the first day. I don’t want anything to
ever take her back to that place.
I puff my cigar, trying to think before acting on impulse. Salvatore is a lot
of things, but there is no way he would willingly go to the Bratvas and turn
his back against his own clan and family. He would only be compelled to do
that if Boris was threatening him or to stay close to the woman he loves and
his unborn child. Nina, on the other hand, will do anything she has been
asked to do because Boris is her father. They are both young, and young
love can make people do stupid things.

“Boris is holding my grandchild hostage and has kidnapped my son?” My

voice thunders in the study, and Vittoria jerks.

“I don’t think that is the case,” Fabio begins to say but straightens, “But it
might be,” he adjusts his suit and clears his throat, “Now that I think about
it, that is an option.”

“You know what this means, Fabio?”

He nods, “It means whatever you want it to mean, Capo.”

It means war.

My son and my grandchild. Boris is trying to sabotage my legacy.

Something drops on the floor, and Fabio and I turn swiftly in its direction.
Vittoria lifts both her hands and goes down slowly to pick up a book. She
was surfing through the library.

She picks the book up and places it back in its place, “Sorry,” she chuckles
and rubs her hands against each other.

“You should excuse us,” I swallow, wanting to keep her safe.

Her father let her know too much; I don’t think it did her any good. I want
her to have a chance at normal in the best way that I can provide. She
should live away from this life while I do the dirty work needed to keep
them all safe.

“I want to stay,” she is not being bratty about this one, she is saying it
firmly, “I can help out somehow.”

“No,” I grate, “Go find Eva. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I am going to be your wife,” she fights back.

“The more reason you should start listening to me.”

“Capo,” Fabio breaks into the building feud, and I turn to glare at him, “I
think it is better if she stays; that way, she can protect herself. It seems all
the recent attacks have been directed at her.”

I let his suggestion sink in. I nod and sit, “Very well then,” I lean back in
my seat, “here is what we will do.”

Fabio drags a seat in front of the desk and sits. Vittoria walks over to me,
still holding her fists. She leans her butt on the desk and tilts in a way that
she is both facing me and Fabio. I drop my cigar on the ashtray and take her
hands in mine, opening her fists.

Something about the mere fact that she is taking this as her fight and
wanting to be involved makes me feel connected to her in a different way. A
strange way. She covers one of my hands with both of hers and squeezes
tightly.

I nod and turn, giving my attention to Fabio, who is trying hard to pretend
he is not seeing our tender exchanges. “We have to find a way to get Nina
on our side,” Fabio knits his brows. “If we let her know we can protect her
and the child, I am sure we could convince her. Our side is where she wants
to be. She is in love with Salvatore, and we can exploit that. We use her to
get as much information as possible?”

“But first, we must get Salvatore back; if there is anything I am sure of, it is
that he is there against his will. Whatever must be done, whoever needs to
die, I don’t care, get my son back.”

“Yes, Capo,” Fabio nods.

“When we get him back, we will use him to get Nina; he will do anything to
convince her to change sides and she will be easily convinced.”

Fabio nods and stands, “I will get the others to start working on it,” he tips
his head and walks out of the study.

I need his efficiency now more than ever. War is upon us. I have been
running away from it, trying to avoid it because of the people I care about,
but there is only so far a man can run from the inevitable. To protect them
like I need to, war is a necessary evil.

I tilt my head to stare into Vittoria’s eyes, needing to find something in

there that will make me feel like I’m doing the right thing. But they are the
same as my mind. They tell nothing. They refuse to pick a side.

She clears her throat, “With everything about to happen, and that has
happened,” she clears her throat again, “will there still be a wedding?” She
drops her eyes to where our hands meet and swallows an inhale.

“There will be a wedding.” I don’t know if it’s a good thing for her or not.
I don’t know if she was asking because she silently wishes all of this to be
over so she can return home. And I don’t know why I feel like my heart is
made of spikes and is now tearing into my chest at the thought of her not
wanting to be married to me. “We need to get married to make it official.
For war, I need allies, and your family is our best bet at the moment. Our
marriage will mean strength for the Teso clan, so it has to be sped up now.”
Maybe I also want to have her as my wife, by my side, when I go into war.

She nods, “I need a wedding dress then, and I am getting the best.”

“You need to get a dress in the next two days. Choose your favorite styles
so when you get to the boutique, you will know what you want and won’t
need to waste time. The days ahead will be dangerous.”

“You won’t be choosing my dress for me?”

“No,” I shake my head slightly. I want to see the kind of dress she chooses.
It will tell me what kind of bride I will be getting. A happy or sad bride.

“But will you come with me,” she stands and invites herself to sit on my
lap, then drops her chin on my shoulder blade, “Tell me you will, please.”

I rub my beard against her temple and smile inwardly, “I will come with
you.’

She pulls away to look at my face with a coy smile, “Promise.”

I nod, “I promise.”

And for the first time, she dips her head to kiss me on the lips. It’s a shy
kiss. Almost like she can’t believe she is doing it.

That makes two of us.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Vittoria

I 'm grinning.

I should not be grinning, but I cannot help it. I cannot help the smile
spreading on my face. I feel it warm in my chest and a fluttering in my
stomach.

I start to pick at the chipped red polish on my nails, chewing on my lips

while Marcus thrums his fingers on the steering wheel to music only he can
hear.
Not even the disappointment of not having Emanuele do this with me as he
had promised can ruin my mood. When he told me Salvatore was back and
needed to see him for something important, I felt it was for the best. That
way, he would only get to see the dress I picked on our wedding day, as is
traditional.

I grin some more, and the bubbly feeling streaming through my veins
makes me plaster my head against the tinted glass of the car, staring at
people on the sidewalk and wondering if they feel the way I feel.

While Emanuele was not the man I ever pictured doing this with, it does not
sound or feel like such a bad idea. Even though I do not want to give him
more reason to walk like he owns the world, not even in my head.

It only took one look at the dress, the morning after what has been the best
punishment of my life, to know it was meant for me. My excitement rose as
I imagined myself walking down the aisle to Emanuele wearing it. I didn't
have to wait for him to encourage me to look into wedding gowns. Our
wedding. My wedding. It was like a task that I couldn't fail at. I wanted to
pick the best, not just because I love to look good. It was more than that. I
felt as if I had the responsibility of finding The Dress. And I focused on that
objective until I found it. Or better yet, it found me.

“Your phone,” Marcus breaks into my wandering mind, and I turn my eyes
to see he is staring at me from the rearview mirror.

“What?”

“Your phone is ringing,” he points out.

I nod at him, then reach for my white clutch across from me in the backseat
of the car. I look at the screen, expecting it to be Emanuele, but I’m not
disappointed when I see that it is Eva calling. I swipe and accept the video
call.
“Hey, you.”

“Eva,” I smile.

“How is it going with the dress?”

“I am not there yet, but I will be soon,” I sound every bit as excited as I am.
This is Eva. There is no need to hide my excitement with her.

In all honesty, this dynamic is new to me. In a matter of weeks, she has
become my friend, and if I want to stretch my luck, I can even say we are
sort of best friends now.

“What are you doing?”

“I was editing some new stuff, and then it hit me that you never showed me
the dress you chose!”

I didn’t. I had complained about my frustration in not finding the right

dress, but when I did, I was too busy daydreaming and I forgot to tell her
about it.

“I can show you now if you want,” I smile broadly as I minimize the video
call window on my phone to go to my gallery and select the screenshot of
the dress I picked. As I scroll the images, I notice some pics I took of
Emanuele as he was getting dressed this morning. God, he’s hot.

“God, Vittoria, stop ogling at pictures of my dad,” she chortles now as if

she can scan the filth in my mind just by my expression.

“What? Am I sharing my screen?”

“No, girl! But you wear your mind on your sleeve, and I can tell what
you’re thinking about when your face looks like that!” She mocks me. “And
it’s gross, honestly.”

“Vittoria,” Eva’s voice is an echo as I picture myself pressing my lips on

Emanuele’s.

“You did it again. That zoning out thing when my father is mentioned.” She
feigns disgust to mock me.

“I don't do that!” I try to argue even though I know the truth is, I have been
doing it a lot lately. One minute, I am listening, and the next, Emanuele is
taking over my mind.

“No need to argue about the obvious,” she waves it off. “You were about to
send me a picture of your wedding dress!”

“Oh, right... I was going to do that, but you know what? Let’s just continue
this call till I'm there so you can see for yourself because no matter how
good the picture is, it wouldn't do it justice.”

“Mh... Okay. Can you at least tell me what color it is?”

“Take a guess,” I smirk, “If you get it right, I will let you see me wear it but
if not, I will only send you pictures.”

“That's not fair,” she pouts and leans back.

“Why should I be fair?”

“Fine,” she rubs her hands against each other like it's something physical
instead of cognitive, “Is it the color you have on?”
I shake my head too fast because it is the color I have on. A crimson silk
dress, but my wedding dress is sparkly lace.

“It’s not red?” She scrunches her nose, “I know white is out, but red is out,
too?”

“Are you asking or saying?”

“I bet it’s red,” she leans forward and smiles at me, “It has to be, that's like
your thing, and last time I checked, you hate conventi…”

Something heavy hits the side of the car, hauling it and slamming it hard
against the floor, causing me to smack my head against the headrest in front
of me and the window beside me. My phone slides and everything is
muffled save for a whistling sound in my head. Then, another huge thud,
followed by a shrieking sound. Through blurred vision, I can see that I am
jammed to the side and that the car has tipped over.

“Vittoria…” Eva’s voice ricochets, but my eyes are failing me. I am

struggling to breathe. I may have fractured something, and I feel a liquid
sliding down the side of my face. It all feels like an out-of-body experience.
"Vittoria," the sound is muffled. Or perhaps it's just my mind twitching as I
try to stay on this side. As I fight to own my body.

I try to move but cannot. I'm trying to remain awake but failing. I want to
reach out to Eva. I want to return to Emanuele. I want to do so many things
right now that I won't be able to.

I want to live, but I'm dying.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Emanuele

I am physically present, nodding in agreement with whatever Fabio is

saying, but every other part of me is somewhere else. The part of me
that should be here, listening, is with Vittoria. She has an odd grasp
on me, and it gets stronger with each passing day.

I inhale my cigar and pretend it is the woodsy taste of tobacco that has me
breathing deeply rather than the reality that I have just seen a dry stain on
the surface of my desk from her cum. On this desk, where I watched the
vibrator penetrate her luscious pussy, heard her scream my name, and had
to pull out my cock and pump the heaviness out of me since it was
impossible to just watch.

“Capo?” Fabio is beside me now, and I hadn't noticed, “here are the
numbers,” he drops his laptop in front of me, but the screen is blank. He
taps a button to bring it up. I see what looks like one of Eva’s photos as his
wallpaper before he quickly punches in the password to open the laptop.
“There.” It's not like what Fabio is analyzing isn't important at this point.
Still, I cannot get my bloody mind to stay on the subject. It's sailing on its
own, and it doesn't make it better that we are having this conversation in the
study.

I nod, shackling my mind to pay attention to what is of importance right

now and check what he wants me to check. What we do is no different from
the business of conglomerate firms and I work with professionals. The only
difference is that mine are trained men who know how to use a gun. Like
Fabio, for instance.

“What do you think, Fabio?” I am looking at the spreadsheet and the

numbers.

“I think it's a good thing,” he zooms in so I get a clearer view.

I am asking about Salvatore showing up. I am relieved he is here and in one

piece, but I cannot shake that Boris had my heir and did nothing to or with
him. Not even give him so much as a black eye.

I lean forward and twirl my cigar between my fingers.

“Dad!”

I jump up from my seat as I hear Eva screaming from outside the study.
Fabio jumps up too. She bursts into the study, trembling, tearing up,
breathless, and holding up her phone in horror.

“Sweetheart…” I am stomping to her as she tries to catch her breath to be

able to get a word out.

“Take a deep breath, Eva,” Fabio is beside her now, avoiding touching her
even with his hand suspended in the air just a few inches away from the
small of her back.

“Vit…Vitt…” more sobs and croakiness, “Vittoria,” she shoves the phone
with trembling fingers at me, “Accident,” she breaks, “She…”

As my body becomes sharper, so does my mind. The components already

fit, but they don't form a complete sentence. I'd snap at her, but this is Eva.
When she is like this, it is preferable to let her find her own speed rather
than risk her having a breakdown. But…

“I was on a call with her and then…” sharp inhale, “she had an accident,”
she screams that part. And then, everything coming out of her mouth is
muffled.

The only thing my mind fixates on is the word accident.

I watch Eva continue speaking while Fabio tries to get her to breathe. She is
yelling at me, and Fabio is also saying something, but what...?

“Dad!” She finds a way in, and I come up to the surface. Back to the
present. To what my reality is.

“Capo?” Fabio wears his concern uncoated on his face. He is not masking
his emotions like he usually does.
“Where is she?” My voice feels like pricking pins as the words pour out of
my mouth.

“I called 911,” Eva swats a tear off her cheek and sniffs. “She will be fine
dad, she has to be fine…” she hiccups. “Not again, please,” she breaks.

She will be fine. She has to be fine. Not again.

This will never end if I don’t do what I am supposed to do. I have allowed
this to go on longer than I should have. This is not an accident. I know
Boris when I see him.

“Get some soldiers ready, we are ending this and for real this time.” The
band keeping my mind from going berserk is weak, and any moment from
now, it will break. “Meet me at the open golf course,” I dip my hands into
my pocket and retrieve my phone. I dial the bastard’s number.

“On it,” Fabio gives a seemingly passive look at Eva, more like a worried
one, then walks out of the study.

Eva hugs herself, but I pull her to my side and wrap one arm around her
jittering body.

This is not an accident. Deep down in my guts, I know this as I take long
stomping strides out of the study, and Eva hurdles beside me.

“I will meet you at the open golf course, Boris,” I clip as he picks up the
call.

A quick pause.

Then, “It’s about time.”

It’s about bloody time.

I end the call, toss my phone into my pocket, and take the last of the stairs.

Eva's sobbing infiltrates the strong façade I am trying to hold up. It was like
this the last time. She was crying in my arms, vastly aware of the situation.
The tension was just too much for her to bear, and she started to cry.

Boris has cost me too much pain, and I will deliver the same pain to him
and every fucking thing he holds dear to his rotten heart, if he has any.

I stomp out of the building, and a soldier opens the door of a car for me. I
don’t look at him but snap my fingers for the keys. I am going to her, and
that spoiled brat better be alive. She has to fucking be alive.

The soldier hands me the key, and I climb into the driver’s seat, seatbelt be
damned. Eva climbs in too, and from my peripheral, I see her fasten her
seatbelt. She pulls up her phone in front of me so I see the address of the
clinic where Vittoria has been taken, and I nod. I see it is not in my territory.
It’s actually quite far from it, but I dare anyone to get in my way right now.

I slot the key in and drive as crazed as I feel. At this point, anyone in my
way will be a fucking casualty.

“Dad, slow down.” Eva is holding one of my arms, not to stop me, more as
an anchor.

I nod but do not slow down. It feels slow, even though I can scarcely make
out the cars and the people I'm driving past.

“She is fine, Dad.”

Is she? A rational part of me knows that Vittoria is not the one I'm begging
to return to me. Cruel pictures from the past, of my Aurora, flash before my
eyes. My first love. How is any of this fine after I broke my promise to her?
I promised her I'd keep her safe. I promised her that no harm would befall
her. She decided to spend her life with me, but I failed her. She is not fine.
She is dead. This is my fault. I should have protected her. I should have
defended what was mine. That was my first obligation, and I totally fucking
failed.

I tighten my hold on the wheel, my knuckles aching from the pressure.

Sweat has soaked my black dress shirt, and my head is on fire. My heart is
repeatedly shattering. The ache is horrible. It is physical, and I can feel it
everywhere. Yet it is also emotional, consuming me, devouring every aspect
of me from the inside out. But I deserve it. I deserve it all because I failed
again.

“Watch out!” Eva screeches louder than the tires of the car as I hit the
brake, and the vehicle halts, bloody close to running down a nurse.

I am out of the car, and Eva hurries to me. She is all I have now. I just need
to end this before she gets caught in this crossfire too. I will fucking hang
myself if anything happens to her. My precious daughter. I wrap my arm
around her and stomp into the clinic. If looks could kill, the nurse I almost
ran over would be dragging my body on a stretcher this instant.

“Vittoria Mancuso,” Eva slaps her hands on the reception counter, and
another nurse behind the counter points her the way.

Following the nurse’s instructions, I’m racing down the corridor with
curtains on both sides. I begin to open each curtain, scowling at everyone
who is not her.

“Over here,” Eva calls behind me and I dart to where her voice comes from.
As my eyes meet Vittoria sitting up on the bed, bandage wrapping one arm
and one around her head, I remember to breathe. She has a few scratches
here and there, but she is alive.

I swallow dry saliva and drag in a deep breath as Eva brushes past me to go
to Vittoria. She wraps her arms around the parts of Vittoria that she can, and
Vittoria holds her with her free hand, then drops her head to the side to rest
it on Eva’s.

She is alive. My mind chants the words as I take cautious steps toward her,
as if any sudden movement will take me into a different reality where she is
lying dead on this bed.

“It took you forever to get here,” she pouts.

She is alive. I stop in front of her, feeling instantly lightheaded as all the
energy I used to come here dissipates, leaving me with nothing to hold on
to.

“You are alive,” I huff out a slight smile, drag the chest of drawers over to
the bed, and use it as a stool because my legs are beginning to feel like they
will fail me. “You are alive, baby girl.” She moves toward me and I hold
her face in my hands, stroke her cheeks to feel her skin against mine to
confirm further she is here with me. I come up and press my lips on hers.

She is not Aurora. She is alive.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Vittoria

C ertain things have the power to make you see life differently.

As much as I love the idea of being alive, I never knew I cared so much
about life until I was lying down in my blood, fighting to feel my body and
stay conscious. Not for my sake. But for him.

I hate to admit how I could not stop picturing myself in that red dress
walking down the aisle. I could not stop seeing the look on his face when
he’d see me for the first time. That look that makes me feel like the only
person in the room and, hell, maybe the only person in the world. It took me
to almost die to realize how much he has my heart in a spin.

He was the reason I kept screaming internally at myself not to slip away.

Emanuele wants you.

It was a stupid and maybe flimsy motivation, but it was all the motivation I
needed. Nothing and nobody else mattered. Nothing and no one else have
ever mattered before him.

I drink Emanuele in. Every moment with him feels surreal right now. I
inhale deeply. His poignant scent is now mixed with sweat. His black dress
shirt is damp under my palm, and his heartbeat is still hammering as I rest
my hand on it, savoring the kiss.

His kiss is tender.

Nothing like the usual kisses he gives me. He is kissing me like I could
break. And I am kissing him back because, for a second, I thought I would
never get to see the beautiful man who stops my heart every time he walks
into a room again. I was certain I would not be around to bug him and fight
him. For a moment, I felt screwed over by life because I had only just
started to live. To enjoy life, to smile and mean it, and to let my laughter
have a sound. Only to have it all taken away from me.

I lean further into the kiss, letting him take me to the place he wants. He is
opening up to let me in. I have always felt safe around him and protected,
but right now, I feel different. I feel needed. He wants me here, alive with
him. He cares about me, making me want to tear up. Emanuele pulls back,
resting his forehead on mine, still keeping his eyes closed, but his long dark
lashes are twitching. I can tell he's having some internal dialogue or maybe
even a conflict.
“I am here, and I can see,” Eva clears her throat, and I chuckle, pulling
away to rest my back on a pillow. “Seriously, both of you, tongues and all?”

Emanuele opens his eyes, and his upper lip curls at the edge.

“Next time, when you want to go wild, ask me to step out,” Eva clicks her
tongue in a playful way.

“You didn’t have to watch,” Emanuele beats me to a response.

“I tried not to, but it is a small space.”

She bumps me with her elbow, and I laugh while shifting to the side to
make room for her to sit.

The bright colors in this room and the stench of mixed chemicals and
antiseptic make me want to leave as soon as possible. I want to go home
with them, and then spend every day after today with them, making the
most of every minute. Making sure I no longer hold back. Gossiping with
Eva. Doing my best to get Emanuele as furious as I can the next time I
fight. Making sure I lock Fabio in a room with Eva, until they both admit to
something. Anything.

Eva’s eyes dart from me to Emanuele. She points at the curtain and clears
her throat, “I should leave you both to it,” she waves a hand at us.
“Whatever you do, please, Dad, this is a clinic,” she rolls her eyes.

“Sweetie, stay where I can see you,” Emanuele lifts his brows.

“Sure,” she smiles at him and steps out.

He keeps his eyes on the curtain for a while, making sure she is not moving
before turning to face me. I can see his fears. And I share them too, because
nothing must happen to Eva, I don’t care what I have to do to protect this
new family that I have. My family.

“I am fine, I promise,” I let my head drop to the side, staring at his worry-
masking soot eyes, “I feel sore and in pain, but I am fine,” I reassure him,
because that’s what I know he truly wants to hear.

He inhales and nods. “I know,” he stands and sits on the bed instead,
moving one of my legs gently to make room for himself. “Thank you,” he
squeezes my feet gently and lifts his eyes to the bandage around my head.
“Thank you,” his eyes drop down to hold my stare.

“For what?” I ask. “For almost getting killed?”

“For staying alive,” he makes it sound like I have done a great job. But I
should be thanking him for giving me the right reasons to want to. I don’t
say it, though. It’s too much for one day. I will keep the rest for the life we
have ahead of us. The one I am now looking forward to.

“Marcus is badly injured and might have fractured a bone, but nothing
surgery will not fix,” I offer instead, changing the subject.

He chuckles, “I didn't even remember,” he shakes his head. “What are you
doing to me, Vittoria?” That one comes more like a whisper. It was not
intended for me to hear it.

“What have you done to me, Emanuele?” I sit up, saying mine boldly but
with a sassiness that makes him smile more than I have ever seen him do.

My God, the man is beautiful. Wickedly. Sinfully. I must add, devilishly. He

smiles in a way that darkens his eyes even more and hides every other color
around, leaving just the black. The side of his eyes wrinkle a little bit, and
his chin lifts to close his eyes.
“I will take care of Marcus.” I know he will, “But there is something else I
need to take care of, and then we can go home,” he reaches over and strokes
the side of my mouth.

“You want to leave me here?” I snort in disbelief.

“I am not leaving you, I need to…” he clicks his teeth at me, “I will be
back.” There is something about the way he says that part that makes me
want to prod and ask what it is he needs to do. It sounds more like a
promise. Like he might not make it back, but he will make sure to try to
make it back.

“You are in no place to do anything, you look tired and angry,” I hold his
hand to my face, “Stay with me, there is room enough for two. Please.”

But I know he will not stay. I know Emanuele enough to know he is

stubborn. When he sets his mind on something, he will stop at nothing to
get it done. I might not know what this is, but if he is willing to leave me
here after what just happened, then I know I won’t like it. So I don’t poke
him any further. I want to make this one easy for him. I want to show him I
trust him to do what is right for our family, and I do.

“Eva,” he stands, and Eva comes back in, “stay with her.” Eva nods. “Stay
here, don’t move about, I will send someone to watch the both of you, but
neither of you must leave this room before I come get you myself.” Eva
nods, and I roll my eyes. Oh, please. He gives me his behave look, before
bending to kiss me on my cheekbone. He struts to Eva and does the same
for her. Then, with one last glance at the both of us, he walks out.

“What do people do for fun in hospitals?” Eva comes to sit on the spot she
had gotten up from earlier. I am lost in thought as I listen to her ramble on.

I can’t help but think that we are on different ends of an experiment. One of
us was molded with love, and the other without. It makes me want the same
thing she has. Not for myself anymore but for my… for my kids. The ones I
want to have with Emanuele.

I can’t believe my mind actually went there. It feels so absurd it makes me

laugh.

Truly, what has he done to me?

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Emanuele

“I t’s about time.”

Boris’ words drum in my head. The nerves. The arrogance. The gloating. He
sounded too sure of how today would end. He sounded like he has lived this
day a million times and every single one of those times, he was the one to
walk out alive. If only he knew I had no interest in playing fair. Duels come
with certain rules, and I look forward to breaking every one of them.
I hover, hearing Eva talk about something that makes the both of them
laugh.

I am standing here to be sure they are both fine, but I am also standing here
to collect this moment and keep it safe, just in case it is my last memory. I
want never to forget why I am doing this and remember instead why I must
come back, no matter what.

I have to make sure I come back to them. I might have had shortcomings
keeping up with promises in the past involving the people I care about and
their safety, but this is one promise I will keep. It won’t end with my death.
I will make sure of that. Otherwise, Boris would gain all the access he
needs, and I am not so sure about Salvatore being capable of taking on the
responsibilities of a leader. If anything, the Teso clan would probably burn
to the ground under his leadership. I refuse to relive that incident with
Aurora. I stopped sleeping in my bed at night because of the nightmares. I
only rest in the study, and never more than three hours, so that the memory
never haunts me again.

I look away from the shadows on the curtain, adjusting my focus on the task
at hand. Killing Boris. I take giant strides to my car. I climb into my
vehicle, pull out my phone and connect it to the Bluetooth as I drive out of
the clinic.

Vittoria is safe. Eva is with her. Salvatore is back at the estate. I can strike
now. There was never a more perfect time to strike.

I dial Fabio, and he picks up almost immediately.

“Capo,” Fabio’s voice churns through the speaker.

“Are we ready?” I know the answer.

“Yes, we are waiting for you to arrive at the meeting point,” his tone as cold
as I need. Not a sign of weakness or fear. He has always been like that. If I
told Fabio to walk through fire with me, he would roll up his sleeves, no
questions asked.

“Stay out of plain sight.”

“We are,” his answer is sharp.

I end the call and take a U-turn.

The place I have chosen to meet with Boris for the duel is neutral. It’s an
abandoned golf course that favors neither of us.

I open my dashboard and pluck out a cigar case. I fumble to open it with
one hand while the other stays on the steering wheel, and my eyes sway
between it and the road. I get one out, dump the case on the passenger seat,
take out my lighter from the pocket of my dress pants and flip it open.

I should light my cigar and just get it done, but I linger for a second,
watching the blue flame. The sound of the flicking lighter has been my
totem for as long as I can remember. It has been a way to pull my thoughts
together. And for most of my life before Aurora's death, my thoughts had
been along the line of staying fucking invincible.

Everyone knew me back then. I was Emanuele Teso. I felt deserving of the
title. It had the weight. I was young and reckless, I didn't back down from a
conflict. I charged in headfirst. In all honesty, Salvatore reminds me of my
wild days, but at least I was doing it to protect the clan that had
been handed over to me at such a young age. I had a heritage to safeguard,
and I lived up to that self-imposed duty. My arrogance knew no bounds, and
with someone like Fabio at my side, mayhem became a sport.
However, after Aurora, everything changed. I switched from offensive to
defensive. For years, all I wanted to do was protect what was left. I was
living on the brink of fear, and the man I used to be was locked up and left
to rust.

I light up my cigar and drag.

Vittoria is my awakening. Where I was a cut-down tree by the Bratva,

Vittoria was the water I needed to regenerate. From the very first day I laid
my eyes on her, there was something about her that called to the part of me
that had been left to rust away. She felt like a wake-up call. She brings out
the youthfulness in me; only this time, I have the advantage of the wisdom
of my age.

Boris was right. It’s about time. While I might be a few years late to this
fight, I am still the man.

I pull up behind some cars in an alley just by the side of the golf course.
Fabio steps out of his vehicle and walks over to me. He changed his outfit
to a charcoal suit and tied his hair. His holster is in plain sight since the
jacket of his suit is left open. I turn off the ignition and bounce out of my
car.

“A soldier is already there watching for Boris’ arrival,” he starts to button

his jacket.

“We are doing this.” He nods.

“We will leave as soon as there is word of Boris being there; it gives us the
upper hand.” His gaze is void of emotions. Fabio doesn’t back down from
anything either, but seeing that he cannot keep eye contact shows me how
he feels.
“If anything happens,” I chuckle, shake my head, and think for a moment
what I am about to say. I want to tell him he must get out of this alive
because he is the only other person I trust to keep not only the clan but Eva
and Vittoria safe. He is the only one who I know will give his life up trying
to preserve the things I would. But I don’t say those words. It feels
contradictory to promise coming back alive and then prepare to die.

“I’ll die first,” he clears his throat, straightens his shoulders, and nods at
me.

“No one is dying,” I add quickly, “Except for Boris.”

“That’s a given,” he says conceitedly. He has been waiting for this moment.
If he was not a man of integrity, he would have gone behind my back to kill
Boris himself. But he allowed me to get to this point on my own, and he has
been loyal through every decision that I made.

“You think it is my fault it got this bad?” I take my cigar to my lips and
puff.

“I can’t say that. I have never had what you have, Capo. If I ever do, I don’t
know what choices I would make to keep it safe.”

“I knew you would say that.”

“I never want to know what it feels like to be you, but I respect you,” he
tips his head.

I wish he knew, though. I say nothing to that, and the comfortable silence
that always surrounds us takes over. He turns his back to me, and I continue
with my cigar and lighter.
A few seconds later, Fabio taps the micro earpiece he has on and nods. He
turns to me, “Boris has been confirmed with five of his men and…” he
gulps. “After you, Capo.” Something is off, but I let it slide.

I get back in my car and sit in the passenger seat while he slips into the
driver's seat and takes us to the golf course. As we draw nearer, the wrath in
my stomach grows. I want it to burn all the way up my throat. I've lost a lot
because of the bastard.

We park away from where I see Boris standing at a distance. We climb out
of the car. My soldiers file out in front of me while some come after me. I
let the scorching sun register somewhere in my head. Every day from now,
when I feel the sun against my skin, I will remember this day. This day I
have chosen to put a stop and reinstate myself and my clan as untouchable.
This day, I have decided to remind the underworld that there once was a
man called Emanuele Teso.

I take my time walking the distance to Boris and his team of five men. I can
see his dark eyes eating me up from a distance. I cannot remember the last
time I saw him in person. He looks older now. We are both older. It’s good
to see that old age has not been kind to the bastard. He is bald, and his nose
is botched. The scar that slashes from his eyebrow to his lips is the same as
I remember. It sits on his face as ugly as I hoped.

“Emanuele,” he butchers my name with his accent. I hate the sound of my

name on his lips. I hate anything that comes out of his mouth.

My response is a grunt. I let the rage glide through my veins, and I own it,
taking control of it instead of letting it control me. I can see his effort to try
to intimidate me. First, how he stands, his legs spread and his chest pushed
out. And then the color of his oversized, tasteless suit. Red. He is telling me
my blood will be spilled, and it will not be noticeable on his outfit.
“Shall we?” His underboss, another tasteless idiot in an oversized, purple
coat, a goat with a goatee, pulls out a box containing their weapon choice,
which is only normal since I challenged him to the duel.

Fabio steps forward as my underboss and opens the box to reveal two
pistols. Fabio picks one and a bullet. He slips the bullet in and cocks the
gun. They do the same.

“Before we do this, I have a little something for you to see, old friend,
something you should at least know,” Boris blabbers in his slurry accent,
“At the point of death, a man should be given the mercy of knowing his
enemies, no?”

I don’t know what the idiot is saying and will not engage him in his
foolishness. I stretch out my hand, and Fabio hands me the pistol. I get a
little carried away making sure the gun is authentic , so I do not see
Salvatore coming at us.

The question hangs on the tip of my tongue, and the answer stings worse
than a snake bite as Salvatore stops to stand beside Boris.

“Do you need time to lick your wound?” Boris lifts both eyebrows and
smiles dryly at me, “I am generous. After all, I waited for you for years, so
a few minutes to cry won’t change anything now, no?”

I cock one eyebrow at Salvatore, the father in me waiting to see if there is a

chance that he was manipulated into this, but the brashness in his eyes
shows me he wasn’t. Then again, he is dressed like me. Black dress shirt
and dress pants, and a few knuckle rings, but his pinkie finger is bare. He is
not wearing the signet ring for the Teso clan. He wants my place. He thinks
the cloth makes the man.

I don’t know which hurts the most. That my son is taking sides with my
archenemy or that Salvatore is choosing to fight beside the man who
murdered his mother.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Emanuele

F oolish boy.

I scoff quietly, keeping my eyes on Salvatore, waiting for him to shrink, but
he doesn’t. He stands straighter and maintains eye contact.

I always hoped he would stand up to me at some point, but this is nowhere

near how I had imagined that day would go. Who could ever imagine my
son, my heir, the one would give my life to protect, siding with my enemy?
The same enemy that killed his mother and constantly insulted his family.
“Let me help you, that way we can get over the crying and we can finally
get down to business.” Boris is gloating. “First Nina, my daughter, seduced
your son, and that part was the easiest.” A chuckle. “Then, the poison at
your engagement party.” he holds up his fingers. “I’ll admit that your new
toy was smart about the dinner invitation. I may keep her for myself after
this is over,” he is goading me. “And then the accident. Not bad, eh?”

It was a well-orchestrated plan all along, I give it to Boris. No wonder he

had me at every turn. No wonder he cornered me and disrupted my
business. He had someone on the inside getting information for him. Nina
was using Salvatore and he, being the idiot that he is, was giving her
everything she needed. I did notice Nina hanging around Vittoria during the
engagement party. She is the one who poisoned Vittoria’s drink.

Then the kidnapping. That was probably when Salvatore went to Boris after
finding everything out, and a deal was struck. He went to Boris instead of
coming to me. Did I fail as a father?

“Ah, you get it now,” Boris laughs like the lunatic I have always known
him to be.

I will kill him. But now, I should kill the idiot I call a son as well. The
abomination that I have raised. The urge to do it is so strong that I almost
pull the trigger on him instead. But I have come this far with Boris, and I
will not let Salvatore and his betrayal get to me.

I take a step back and remember the reason I am here. In the grand scheme
of things, I care more for Eva's safety than his. It is her I truly cannot stand
to hurt. I always knew he would find his way in life, but I also knew that he
would never be able to take care of her if anything should happen to me. I
have always known he is incompetent, but he is my son, so that never
stopped me from wanting to give him a chance.
“Are we doing this, Boris, or do you want to bitch about it all day?” I
position myself directly in front of him now.

He thinks I will play fair. But with a man as despicable as him, there is no
way I will be playing fair. Besides, I am no saint and I am not new to this
game. He is cornered, he knows it. He is outnumbered, and even though he
is trying not to show that it affects him, I can see it does from how the eyes
of his bandits keep scanning my men.

I take two steps back, and he takes his. This dance that we are performing
around death pumps me. I have missed the thrill of living on the edge. I
have missed the recklessness that comes with poking death. I have missed
the satisfaction that comes with winning. I have missed walking into a place
and having people gear up because the Grim Reaper is there. I have missed
the man I thought he had killed, and this dance around death with him is the
final ritual for my resurrection.

We both stop and lift the pistols at each other. Our fingers wrap around the
trigger. Boris smirks, and I scowl. One shot in his head, and he will drop
dead. But that is too quick a death for what he has put me through. I will not
give him the mercy of a quick death.

There is no timer. We know each other so well that we know when the other
will pull the trigger. I am waiting, and he is waiting too. But I am waiting
for a completely different reason. I fiddle with my lighter, narrowing out
every other distraction. Even the distraction of a traitorous son. I let only
one thing fuel me, and I am surprised it is not Aurora. I am not doing this
for the dead but for the living.

I flip open my lighter, and as I close it, Boris starts to pull the trigger. On
cue, I duck, then pull my trigger, aiming at his wrist and hitting it. His pistol
falls from his grip, and he cusses at me in Russian. His bandits start to pull
out their guns to shoot.
“Now,” I bark at my men, and it doesn’t even take a second to gun them
down. They have been waiting for this moment for years. There is no way
they will fuck it up. Gunshots fly in the air, and bodies drop. Fabio waltzes
past me, two guns in his hands. “Get Salvatore and pin him.” Fabio is
already going after Salvatore, who is now retreating. His former demeanor
of bravery is gone, and all that is left is a scrambling boy trying to pick up a
gun from the dead hands of Boris’ underboss.

Stupid boy. He came to a fight with no weapon.

Boris is trying to pick up a gun from one of his dead men when I pull out
the gun behind me, the one that I hooked to my belt while in the car, and
shoot at his shoulder. He grunts and then crawls away from the body. I was
never going to play fair, and his downfall was that he underestimated me.
He killed Aurora and kept biting at me for years. When I proposed a duel,
he showed up underestimating me. I shoot again at his second shoulder. The
smell of gunpowder feels like a customized drug. I have forgotten how
much of an addict I was.

Boris picks himself up again and begins to run. I shoot at both his legs, and
he caves, knocking them against each other as he drops to the ground. I
walk closer to him, taking my time. From my peripheral, I see Fabio
holding Salvatore at gunpoint. I stand over Boris, then squat to be at his
level, watching him writhe in pain. I watch the face that has tormented me
and my family for years. I look at the reason I always had to watch my back
when stepping out of my estate. I watch his freckled, slackly-shaven face. I
point my gun at his forehead and then drag it down to the croak of his neck.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I pull the trigger, shutting him up
forever.

He gags, sputtering blood, fighting for his life. The pain is in his eyes
subsides slowly.

“This is how you die, Boris. By my hands. I’m keeping my promise.” He

whimpers, writhes helplessly, and then, dies.
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Emanuele

F inally.

I will let myself enjoy the feeling of knowing Boris is dead later. For now, I
have Salvatore to deal with.

The punch from his betrayal hits harder now that I see the dead bodies
around us. This could have been me and the men from his clan, and he
would have watched it all happen. He would have fucking watched his
father die. I wasn’t that bad of a father. Was I? Is this my fault?
I clench my teeth as the line of my thinking smacks me in the face. He did
this, and yet I am trying to find a different explanation because it feels
better than accepting that my son, my only son, my heir, the boy that I held
in my hands and blessed the Saints for giving him to me, was about to
watch me die.

No. Even worse. He teamed up to kill me.

What would Aurora think of him? I never thought one day I’d feel grateful
that she is not here anymore, but right now I am.

I clench harder and hold it back in. We were so happy when we had him. I
took him everywhere with me, I shared everything with him. I would have
given him anything. No matter how much of a disappointment he became.

I stalk towards Salvatore, who is now on his knees with Fabio holding a gun
at him.

I smash him across the face with the back of my palm, and the impact is
more forceful due to the bezel of my rings. My wrath and disappointment
are intertwined. He clenches his teeth, straining his jaw as that part of his
cheek turns crimson and his eyes water. Blood drips from a cut.

“At what point was it, Salvatore?” I am standing before him now, “At what
point did you decide that I was such an incompetent father that you had to
take sides with our enemy was the only way?” Based on how he is looking
at me, I don’t think that was the reason.

There is no remorse, only fear. Fear that I will kill him because he deserves
it. Because he betrayed me for no other reason than his gain. But I am his
father first. And because of that, I want to believe that he did what he did
because he wanted to preserve our legacy. I want to believe he applied what
I have taught him. To side with the winners. In the underworld, there are no
good or bad sides. Just the winning and losing side, and I want to believe he
thought Boris was the winning side.

I lift my gun and point it at him. I close the distance and nuzzle his temple
with the barrel. I feel the urge to kill—the urge to purge my lineage of this
abomination. I wrap my finger around the trigger, but he lifts his eyes to
me, and this time, I see a flicker of the boy he was.

“I disown you, and from this moment, you will never identify with the Teso
clan. You are an enemy and will be treated as such,” I retrieve my gun. I
can’t do it. I cannot kill him. I wouldn’t survive it. “Keep him alive,” I turn
away from him to face my men. As I walk away, I hear a heavy smash and a
thud.

I said keep him alive; I never said it had to be in one piece. If he is lucky, he
will have a life when he wakes up, but with the curse of an outcast, chances
are the police will find him before he gets to open his eyes.

They better find him. It will be better for him if they do. The sharks in the
underworld will stop at nothing.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY

Emanuele

I should feel nothing but exhilaration after ending the reign of a

lifelong enemy.

Boris haunted me over the years. While he had a scar on his face from me,
he left one in my heart. I should be elated. I should feel lighter now that he
is dead. I should celebrate with my clan. But I can’t. I killed an enemy, but I
lost a son. Even after his extinction, Boris left me with another scar. A
parting gift. A souvenir for this long-lasting war. He gave me a shattered
heart for spoils.
I bite my teeth and inhale sharply.

Cars drive to line up in front of me, and a soldier scurries to open the
passenger seat door of the same car I had driven down here with.

I am not one to normally look back after wreaking havoc, but this time I do.
I turn and look. Salvatore is lying limp on the floor, and a part of me wants
to go back and pick him up. A part of me wants to hold my son and take
him back home with me. But that part of me also knows that I will regret it
in the long run. He felt no remorse. He was only scared I would kill him. He
did not look at me as his father, he never asked me to forgive him as a son
would. He stood his ground as an enemy.

An enemy. A man fighting to the end. Isn’t that what I have always wanted?
Have I not always wanted him to have an iron fist and to be unbreakable?

Fabio crouches and says something to him, then stands and walks to me. I
owe him, he has earned a reward, I hear a faint voice chime in my head as
Fabio walks down to me. I don’t think about what that means yet, but soon,
I will try to decipher what he has earned. It is not what he did today. It is
how he has been every single day from the first day we made a pact.

I drag in a deep breath as I settle in the passenger seat, and Fabio climbs
into the driver’s seat. He starts the car and drives in a different direction
from the rest. They will return to the estate, but he knows I want to go
somewhere else and is driving me down there. I want to go bury my head in
the croak of her neck and breathe her skin in like a drug to help sedate the
storm that is still lingering. I want to hold her in my arms because it feels
like, until I do, this is not over yet.

I know Boris is dead, but somehow, it feels like seeing her is how I will
accept that I won. That we won. Holding her in my arms will be the
transition that I need to confirm that I kept my promise of coming back
alive.
Fabio and I sit in silence as he drives. I have a sudden urge, like before, to
drive because it feels like he is not driving fast enough. But I know he is.

I clear my throat. “We won,” I start with that, and he nods.

“Yes, Capo. We did,” he keeps his eyes on the road.

“And I lost a son,” that part will keep hurting till the day I die.

“I know,” he clears his throat now, and then opens his mouth to say
something but shuts it.

“I have no heir,” I’m getting there; when I do, he will take it however he
can.

“For now,” he throws me a passive look with no emotion in his eyes and
then looks back at the road.

Bullshit. He will not play smart and divert what I am about to say. The way
his hands tighten around the steering wheel and his knuckles turn white
from gripping it hard, I can read him like an open book. He knows where
I’m headed, and he does not want to go there, but he also does not know
how to stop me from doing it.

“You will marry Eva so you can become a part of my family, and the both
of you will give the Teso clan an heir,” I’m staring at him. He’s pretending
he doesn’t know I’m waiting for an answer. Or a reaction aside from
gripping the bloody steering wheel like his life is hanging on it.

Silence.

He heard me. I won’t repeat myself. He is single and he has earned a place
in my family, and it is only fitting that he takes that place. I want him to. I
want to reward him for his loyalty. But also, I don’t think there is any man
alive that I won’t want to shoot when he shows up at my door to ask for my
daughter’s hand. They will all want her for something selfish. Especially
now that the Teso clan will be sitting on the apex seat of power in Los
Angeles. I own this city now.

No one will care for her like he would. No one will take her and respect her
like he would. He respects me, and he would respect her the same way. I am
certain of it. And again, neither of them has anyone in their lives .

He clears his throat, “I… um… I don’t…” another clearing of the throat and
a deep breath as if I have just asked him to kill her instead of marry her.

“You’d be a great husband for her,” I need to convince him first and be sure
he has it together before I try to talk to her about it. I don't know how she
will take it. The last thing I want is to hurt her beyond repair but I have a
strong conviction, although I cannot put my finger on it. I feel like I am on
the right track somehow. I feel like I am doing the right thing by proposing
this.

“Eva is…” he nods, “She is perfect, and I know she will…”

It’s the first time I’ve seen him lost for words. He wants to be anywhere but
this car right now, and maybe I should let it slide, but a part of me wants to
get something about his reaction off the table first.

“Why are you upset?” Although he is not putting up a fight, I was not
expecting any resistance from him. But his resistance also goes to prove my
point that he is an honorable man. He is not jumping at it like he has been
nursing the idea and that makes me want to make him marry her all the
more.

He turns to look at me, and when he sees I’m still staring at him, he clears
his throat and nods, then gives a dry smile before looking forward, “I don’t
know, Capo, I think…”

“I am not asking you to think,” I clip as he drives into the street of the
clinic, then I decide to let it go for now. I will come back to it, and when I
do, neither of them will have a say in the matter.

I guess I am a horrible father.

Fabio plucks his phone from the inner pocket of his suit, types something
into it quickly, and then drops it back on the dashboard.

The silence comes back, and this time, it’s the same as always.
Comfortable.

He drives into the clinic but doesn’t go to the parking lot because Vittoria
and Eva are already standing outside, waiting. They are muttering
something that seems to be making them laugh, and my heart feels warm, a
feeling I want to keep having forever.

They both walk to the car. Vittoria looks a lot better and is now in the red
dress she was wearing before leaving the house. They are now standing by
the car, waiting for Fabio to open it.

The thought of Eva and Fabio becoming a couple is now an obsession. I

open my door and climb out of the car. From now on I will get them to do a
lot of things together.

“Dad,” Eva throws her arms around me, and I lift her off the floor, holding
her by the waist. She is a grown woman now, and I’m coming to terms with
it. How and when did it all happen?

I drop her gently on the floor and plant a kiss on her forehead. “You feel
better?”
She nods and steps aside. Vittoria doesn’t waste a second. She rests her
head on my chest, and I wrap my arm around her gently, so as not to cause
her any more pain than she is already in.

“We won?” She mumbles into my chest, and I chuckle. I thought I was
hiding it well from her, but apparently, she knew. She has seen the pattern in
her father’s business.

“Eva, sit up front with Fabio,” I open the door of the back seat for Vittoria,
and she goes in. Eva stands for a while, contemplating. The back seat can
take all three of us. To drive my message further, I climb in and shut the
door. Vittoria narrows her eyes at me, and I clear my throat. She bites her
lips and smiles.

“I like that,” she drags her butt until she is almost sitting on my lap, her legs
thrown over one of mine, like she does, her head resting on my chest.

Eva climbs into the front seat, puffs out air, and fastens her seatbelt,
“Fabio,” she throws at him.

“Eva,” he throws back.

Vittoria vibrates against me, and I sense she is holding in her laughter. I
would laugh, too, but I don’t want to give anything away. Not yet, at least.

Let us go home now to count our wins and mourn our losses.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Vittoria

“W e are home,” Eva announces grudgingly. It’s more of a grumble

than anything. I would think she does not want to be home, but I
know that is not the case. I think she is beginning to sense that
her father is up to the same thing I was up to. I will ask him for
confirmation when we are alone, and if he is, all the better.

I remove myself from the knot of snuggling I've formed with Emanuele,
and he grunts as if it's the last thing he wants. It is the last thing I want, too.
“Can you drop me here, I want to take a walk,” Eva tells Fabio, “please,”
she adds the last part quickly. The gate opens, and Fabio drives into the
estate. If he heard her, he doesn’t show it. “Fabio?”

She turns to her father with an expression that screams she is about to be
sulky over the situation.

“It’s a long way from here,” Fabio answers finally.

“I said I want to walk,” she turns back to him.

I chew the inside of my mouth and lift my eyes to look at Emanuele.

Emanuele sees I am about to laugh, so he pulls me back to himself and
wraps me there. I giggle into his chest. I might be rooting for Eva and Fabio
to be an item, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want her to give him hell. He is
too serious, like nothing can move him.

“I will drop you at your studio, how about that?” Fabio keeps driving. Her
studio is just beside the main building, which defeats her plan of taking a
walk.

Eva glares at him, and I can tell she has a lot to say but is keeping it in
because of her father. Fabio seems unfazed, not even sparing her a look.

“Why can she not take a walk?” Emanuele asks calmly.

“Because,” Fabio inhales quietly, “I want to take it with her, and if I drop
her here, I won’t be able to, Capo,” Fabio holds Emanuele’s eyes in the
rearview mirror. “To watch over her that is,” he adds.

Right. She needs protection in the estate. I snort. Someone is coming on

strongly. I smile hard and use my teeth to scratch Emanuele’s nipple
through his dress shirt. He stiffens and growls. I don’t stop. I miss him.
“What about Marcus?” Emanuele changes the conversation.

“It should be up to Eva if she wants you to take a walk with her or not; after
all, she is safe here,” I switch us back to the conversation at hand. It’s partly
to get a reaction from Emanuele but also to make my girl feel like she has
an ally.

“He is being transferred to a clinic in our territory,” Fabio answers

Emanuele.

Eva chimes in frustration, “Vittoria is right. I don’t want to take a walk with
you. You are always watching over me like a hawk… and you never talk…”

“Will you go to see him later?” Emanuele continues with what is of

importance to him.

“Yes, in about an hour,” Fabio blows out air now.

“Take Eva with you,” Emanuele drops, and just like the deafening silence
that comes after a bomb hits, the car goes quiet. I lift my eyes to look at
him, and Eva glares at her father. “Stop the car,” he flicks his index finger,
and Fabio stops the car. “We will get out here,” it is directed at me, meaning
Eva should remain in the car with Fabio. Emanuele opens his door, steps
out, then holds it for me. As my legs touch the ground, he scoops me up,
one hand under my knee and one across my back, “See you around,
sweetheart,” he throws at Eva stopping by her door.

She winds down the window. “Is there some conspiracy I don’t know about
going on here?”

“I don’t want you to be alone tonight. It’s been a rough day, and you had a
mental breakdown. It’s been a long time since you broke like that,”
Emanuele leans forward, “Please, let him take care of you tonight because
my hands are full,” I think I might be feeling the smile in his tone as he says
that last part.

“Fine,” she sucks her teeth. “Goodnight, Vittoria,” she ruffles my hair, “I
will see you around, Dad.”

“Hey,” Emanuele’s voice lowers, and so does his posture, “I love you. I
want what is best for you, always.”

“I know,” Eva puffs.

“Have I told you that you are the best thing in the world today?” Emanuele
leans, and I hear the sound of a quick kiss.

“No, but you did sentence me to a night with Fabio,” she laughs softly.

“Forgive me,” Emanuele steps away from the car.

Instead of walking away, he waits for the car to drive off. He loves her. I
can feel his internal conflict as strongly as I can feel the smooth surface of
his dress shirt against my face.

“I can walk,” I chime in to break him from the state.

“I know, but I don't want you to,” he starts to walk, holding me like I weigh
nothing.

“Yeah, no ‘have I told you that you are the best thing in the world’ speech
with me, just same old same old,” I click my tongue and drop my head to
the side to look at the estate thrumming with warm lights.
He doesn’t respond to that. He lets me stew on it. I don’t want him to say
that to me in that exact way, but I did hear him say he loves her, but it’s
different with us.

“You should let me use my legs,” I vent, quieting my thoughts as he corners

the walkway to the house.

“You don’t have to,” he is in front of the main building now, “I want to do
this. I want to care for you.”

“And if I don’t want you to?”

“Do you not want me to?” he walks in.

“Why would you think I want that?” I want it. Are you kidding me? But he
is not hearing me say that.

“It’s a good thing your mouth isn’t damaged,” he starts to take the stairs.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?”

“How would you swallow my cum then?”

I gulp and at the same time my sex pinches.

He manages with the door of our bedroom, and I have a flash of the first
time he brought me here. How time flies. How long has that been? Just
yesterday, I hated him when my father dropped me off, and now I’m calling
him and his estate home.

He walks inside and sits on the bed with me in his arms. He lays me gently
on his lap, and I stay there. My sex is pinching for him, but my heart is
longing for something that is not physical.

“Vittoria,” his voice dips, vibrating against the side of my breast that is
pressing into him. He clears his throat and drops his sooty eyes on me. I
stare into his eyes. If he won’t say things, he should at least let me see them.
“You are a horrible woman,” he says with a faint smile. I chuckle, “my
horrible woman,” my heart does a backflip, and I gulp. “You are not the
best thing in the world; you are a nightmare,” he chuckles softly, “my
favorite nightmare,” he leans his head to rest his forehead on mine.

“You are a terrible man,” I laugh softly, my eyes twitching from prickling
tears, “my terrible man,” he nods, “I hate you,” I blink and sniff, “I hate you
so much,” another sniff because my eyes are full. Any minute from now, the
tears will come rolling down. “I hate that you never smile, I hate that you
walk like you own the world,” I chuckle, and he nods, “I hate that you can
see me, I hate that I couldn’t stop thinking about you from the first day I
saw you, I just… I just hate you.”

He nods, scratches his beard against my temple, and inhales sharply, “It’s
mutual, baby girl.”

I search his lips and kiss him. We are different. This is how we are, and I
hate that. I love how different we are. My tears run back inside, and I close
my eyes, kissing him better. His hand cradles my face, and he takes charge
of the kiss. Warm breath pours into my mouth to slide down my throat,
forming a swirl of heat in my stomach. His tongue explores my mouth like
a tourist wanting to get the most out of a new location. Our lips blend.

He groans into my mouth as I start to sway back and forth on him, and the
moment I feel his erection growing under me, I grind harder.

“Vittoria,” he grunts, and I grind harder.

“Yes, Daddy,” I nib at his lower lip. I want him. I always want him. But
tonight, I want him more than I have ever wanted him.

He chuckles, then traces kisses from my lips to my temple. His hand drops
to my breast, and he searches with his fingers until he finds my nipple. He
pinches. My sex clenches. I close my legs and grind his erection harder. He
groans low and thrumming, then pinches harder.

“Naughty girl,” he lets go of my nipple, comes down to lift my dress and

twists it till it stays above my bare breasts. He traces his fingers along the
curve of my sex, and I shudder physically, waves heating me on every side.
He finds the rim of my thong and pulls it down. He wraps his free arm
around my waist to lift me, then with one hand, manages to work his belt,
button, and zipper. When he lets me drop back on his lap, it’s to nuzzle his
cock at the opening of my sex. He keeps pushing until he is fully in. Filling
me up.

I settle into the position, and he feels bigger than usual this way. But also
good. He always feels good.

“Go on, take it,” his arm pins me down, and then he takes my nipples
between his fingers. “Grind my cock,” his voice strains. I do as ordered and
start to straddle him. “That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, “soak me up with
your juice,” he pushes further into me.

I intend to go gently, to ride myself calmly to climax, but my body has other
plans. I increase my tempo, my chest heaving as I begin to go in short
circular movements, back and forth.

“Yes, baby girl, keep fucking my cock like that,” he pinches my nipple,
“you are doing so good.”

My breasts are bouncing, my mouth is hanging open, my eyes are screwed

shut, and my moans pour out unhindered from my mouth. The feeling of
him inside of me is so good. It’s like sprinkles but also like an electric
surge.

“Can I come, Daddy?” I am close, “I am…”

“Hold it,” he starts to flicker my nipple, and I whimper, now biting my

tongue, trying to obey him.

I don’t know if I can keep up. I am beginning to feel myself break apart.
The feeling of pleasure in my sex is too intense. It’s pushing to burst
through me.

“Plea…”

“Come for me, baby girl.” The pleasure swells and bursts through me,
shooting like a thunderbolt inside of me.

I continue rocking him, but I’m also shuddering, no longer in control of my

body or mind. I rock and rock until I feel all of the heat inside of me pour
out. I drop, turning limp in his arms. I rest my head on his chest and inhale
sharply. He didn’t come with me, but he is not chasing his orgasm either. He
just stays still. I tilt my head back to look at him.

“Hey, there,” he winks at me, and I smile lazily.

My terrible man that I cannot wait to marry.

OceanofPDF.com
 EPILOGUE

Vittoria

“M assimo and Alejandra?” If I could rip Emanuele apart, I would. I

glare at Emanuele standing by the window of the swish hotel
room. He seems unfazed by my anger, and it enrages me the
more. “I am talking to you, big guy.”

I cannot believe he added Massimo and Alejandra to the guest list. And I
would not have known if I hadn’t, out of curiosity, asked Eva to let me see
the people I would be celebrating with. Okay, maybe out of pettiness,
because I wanted to make sure everyone who had mocked me was going to
be present to watch me.
“I still hate them,” I sulk.

No answer still. I rasp and burn holes into the gray walls of the hotel room.
The room is a decadence of gray and black. It is his room. Mine is down the
hallway. It’s one of the properties owned by the Teso family, and when Eva
showed it to me, I knew I had to have my wedding here. Fast forward to a
month later, and here we are at the reception of our wedding, and Emanuele
is still being Emanuele even on a day like this, which is good and not good.

“Behave,” he sips from his whiskey.

“I don’t want them at my wedding,” I close the distance as fast as I can in

the sparkly crimson lace dress I have on. It’s a sleeveless ball dress that is
corseted from under my breasts to my waist. I now feel confident enough in
my skin and with my body to not want to hide it, and it’s all thanks to
Emanuele. I wake up mostly naked every morning, and there is no morning
that he doesn’t make me feel like my body is to die for. Still, I want to
throw him out the window right now. A girl can dream.

“They will be here,” he turns to me now and my anger takes a back seat so
my heart can spin in the way that only he knows how to make it.

He is in a swanky charcoal tux that sits on his body perfectly. His shoulders
are broad and his chest is buff. My mind undresses him because I cannot
help it, and the outcome of that image of Emanuele naked in front of me
makes me wet. I am naked underneath my dress, but he doesn’t know that
yet.

Then it’s those eyes that match the black of his tux. His eyebrow ring is
back on, and his snowy hair is styled to one side, favoring the ear he has
where his piercing is. I gulp and drop my eyes on the whiskey glass he is
wrapping his strong ring-decorated fingers around. He tightens his grip
around the glass, knowing where my mind is going as I watch him. I want it
to be me. My neck or my ass. I want those fingers inside me and then in my
mouth so I can taste the fluid that’s making me sticky under my dress.

He lifts the glass to his lips and slowly takes a sip. I swallow with him, and
he smiles. He calls me to him with a wink, and I silently walk over to him.

“Baby girl,” he places his hand on my waist. He leans, dipping his head,
and I tip. I will need back surgery at some point because this height
difference is a thing to worry about. He presses a wet kiss on my lips, keeps
his lips floating on mine, and stares into my eyes in that way that sends my
mind to overdrive. “Behave,” another soft kiss before he steps aside to
stand behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist in a way that keeps his
fingers digging into the fabric of my dress, “If you misbehave there will be
a punishment for it,” he drawls on my shoulder blade and my stomach flips.
The threat of punishment sends tingles all over my body.

“And if I am a good girl?” I gulp, itching to hear his promise of a reward.

“You will be rewarded generously,” he takes his hand up, tracing the open
line on my dress from above my belly button to the curve of my breasts.

I nod, “I am wet,” it comes out as a whimper. I am frustrated, too.

“Good,” he steps back.

The door flies open, and Eva pokes her head. As her eyes flip between her
father and me, she holds up her hand, “I did not know you were here. I was
looking for you.”

Being turned on is a little frustrating, but I smile back at her. “What time is
it?”
“Reception O’clock,” she chimes, doing an effortless waist dance in the
body-hugging black ankle-length dress she has on.

“Officially, my stepmom,” Eva clinks her champagne flute against mine and
tips it before taking a sip.

For the past month, all I could think about was getting married to
Emanuele. All I could think about was today and how everything would
come together, even though I wasn’t the one making the preparations. And
now it’s here. I am married. I can’t hide my smile. It is impossible to.

“Does being your stepmom come with a downside?” I sip my champagne.

“Should it? I can be trouble if you want me to,” she smiles warmly. She
huffs dramatically and swings her hair from side to side, trying to show
sassiness, “You don’t want to mess with me.”

“Oh, no… I would never dream of it,” I feign fright. We laugh and then go
quiet.

My eyes drop to the wedding ring with a gigantic ruby on my ring finger.

I woke up on a different side of the bed this morning. I woke up feeling

different. I kept bouncing my head from side to side, dancing to a self-
composed beat even as the makeup artist was trying to get my makeup
done. It made it harder for the hair stylist to get my hair styled in the
ballerina bun I now have. Slipping into my red dress was a different chore
because I refused to stop wiggling and dancing. I feel good. There is no
other explanation for it. My life feels good.
“Congratulations, Vittoria,” Eva chuckles, shaking her head mildly as she
observes me, then turns, facing the hall and the few guests in the lobby who
are loitering around in high-class fashion. They are mostly just arriving, and
the ceremony has yet to begin.

“Thank you, you made it easy,” my eyes scan the hall and move from
person to person, both the faces I remember and the ones I don’t know. I
crane my neck and find my father talking to Emanuele. He is not tall, so
Emanuele seems to be towering in a way that blocks him out. Both men are
wearing tailored tuxedos in contrasting colors. White and black. Snow and
charcoal.

Thanks to Eva and Sabrina, the hall is lushly decorated. Petals, round
tables, chandeliers, banquet, orchestra, you name it. Everything glitters.
From the red roses used to decorate the place to the synthetic candles on the
walls. And they all fit. The music, the people, and most especially me.

“Where is Fabio?” I brush my hand over the lace of my dress, looking

around for him.

“He should be outside somewhere,” she throws around carelessly.

I have been watching her intentionally keep her distance for the past month.
I have been watching him step a little out of line with being overprotective.
And I have been watching Emanuele try to find a way to let her in on what
he has in store for them. She seems to be the only person in the dark.

“Here comes the groom,” Eva churns and gulps down her champagne as
Emanuele begins to walk down to us as gallantly as ever. Dipped in black.
Surreal. Alluring. “I will go do something with myself,” she extracts herself
from the scene, blows a kiss, and walks away.

My eyes stay on the man who has given my heart a new sport. Skipping.
Emanuele stops in front of me and smiles. Lately, his smiles are beginning
to find a way to get to his eyes, and they sparkle. He is blocking out my
view, but I don’t mind.

“Emanuele Teso,” the voice is familiar.

Emanuele steps aside, and Massimo, in a dark green tux and gold
embellishment, is standing in front of us with Alejandra in a luminous green
flowy dress. He has his arms around her in a protective way, and she has a
smile plastered on her face as she searches the hall. God, they are so
beautiful I want to puke.

“Congratulations, Vittoria,” Alejandra swings in. Her husky voice sounds

like stainless steel grating against gravel in my ears, “I love your dress and
your hair…” she beams, “You have always been so…”

“Hmm,” I snort at the both of them but say nothing more.

Emanuele’s hand is around my neck now, “Massimo, Alejandra, welcome.”

“Welcome,” I add dryly, “Your dress is lovely too.” It is, and I hate it even
more.

“Thank you,” she keeps her beam, “We should hang out before I leave for
New York.”

We should what? My eyes will fall off their sockets. What is wrong with
her? I cannot remember apologizing for what I did to her. To them. Yet, she
is being this… nice. Blargh.

“You can come by the estate for dinner,” I’m making an effort, and it's
mentally draining.
Massimo smirks at me, “You look…” he rolls his tongue in his mouth, then
switches his eyes to Emanuele, “Good job. I wasn't expecting to see her be
polite. Well done.”

I am roping him around his neck and strangling the words out of him in my
head, but on the outside, I have a twitching smile plastered on my face. I
need to get away from them before I act my imagination out.

“I have to speak with a few guests,” I inhale, and damn it, I smile again.

I close the distance as if to walk past Massimo, but instead, I match the
pointy heel of my gold strappy shoes on his leather-covered feet, and he
hisses. I pull back and fake a sorry face.

“I am so sorry,” I grunt, “This dress is getting me in trouble. I can't count

the number of toes I've stepped on today.”

He gives me a pained, tight-lipped smile, and I return it. Then, I walk away,
but since I have no guests to speak with, I take the hallway until I am in
front of my dressing room in the hotel. I am about to lock myself in and
have a minute to breathe, but something stops the door and pushes it gently
open. Emanuele strolls into the room, making the space feel small. He
closes the door behind him.

“I asked you to behave,” his eyes darken, and my inside warms. I am in

trouble, and I love it.

“My cheeks hurt from smiling; that should count for something,” I start to
walk away, but he pulls me by my lower arm, and I crash into him.

“What did I say earlier?”

“Since when do I care what you say?” I'm breathless, pushing myself into
him. If I could, I would rip our clothes off and get rid of the obstruction. I'm
burning for him. I press my legs together, watching him as he moves
gracefully around.

“Take the skirt off,” he steps back.

“Why?” I want to.

“You question me on that, and I will make sure you are deprived of an
orgasm for the next week,” he chips, and for the first time in a long while, I
feel genuinely terrified.

Seven days without an orgasm? With his constant teasing? I would die. I
would pick my skin. I would lose my mind.

I grumble, but go for the skirt's sides and unhook the connecting piece that
transforms it into a ball gown. The skirt falls to the floor, leaving a scarlet
mass around my feet. I step out of it. Emanuele's eyes narrow as they rest
on the nakedness of my lower body.

He growls, “Turn and touch your toes.”

I do that a little too quickly, both propelled by the heat burning through me
and the fear of not getting an orgasm for a week if I disobey. He has me
where he needs me to be—at his mercy.

I glance between my legs as he advances gallantly toward me and then

stands in the uneven circle of the crimson skirt. Then I feel him between my
legs, tracing his fingertips up the backs of my thighs. They meet at my sex.
Then the slap comes. Hard against the side of my ass. And another on the
opposite side. He smacks both sides again.
“You were doing well until you ruined it,” another smack, and I grit my
teeth, “Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn?” Another smack with
both hands, and a moan slips past my lips. “Will you go back out there and
be a good girl for Daddy?

I nod and then use my voice, “Yes.” At this point, it's the warmth building
around my sex and begging for a release that is speaking,

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I will go back out there and be a good girl for Daddy.” I'm a little
desperate. Needy. Shameless. I want to be fucked so badly. It's all I could
do not to come just staring at him all through today.

He growls again and drags a finger from my sex to my butthole, and I

shudder from the wave licking through me. He keeps going back and forth,
smearing my wetness on my ass. My holes keep twitching and contracting.
My legs are already shaking and the blood in my veins is burning its way to
my brain.

He dips a finger into my sex, and I almost come from the intrusion, but he
pulls it out and takes it to my ass. He pushes it in, and my hole fists his
finger.

“Keep doing that, greedy girl,” he twirls his finger inside of me as the
pleasure keeps rising in the pit of my stomach. “Keep showing me how
hungry you are for my cock,” his other hand finds my sex and slides back
and forth on my clit. “Show me how you cannot wait for me to fuck you
every time,” he slips two fingers inside me, and my moan is a screech with
clinking teeth.

He retrieves his two fingers and nudges with what I've been waiting for all
morning. I was so overwhelmed with what he is doing that I missed when
he took his cock out.
“Spread some more,” he grunts, and I set my legs apart. Any more, and I
might slide to the floor.

He drives his thickness into me, then drives it back, in and out. The sliding
of his cock inside of me tingles the walls of my sex, and his finger in my
butthole doubles the feeling. Pleasure pervades my entire being. In my
brain. Inside my chest. Inside my stomach. Within my veins. In my legs.
My spine. My everywhere. I scream.

His free hand comes to clasp my buttocks, pinning me as he increases his

speed. His balls slap into my sex, his cock rams through my walls, and his
fingers scratch a sensitive part inside me. It's all too much and somehow not
enough. I already have him, yet I desire him every second.

He takes his fingers out and lifts me so I am standing now, and my head
falls back on his chest. My sex screws around him, and he keeps driving
into me.

“We are doing this, you and me, Vittoria, we are doing this,” his voice is
sharp and rough, “Do you want to come?”

I nod quickly, “Yes, please, I want to come for Daddy.” I am learning my

manners.

“Say Daddy’s name,” he drives deeper.

“Emanuele,” I moan.

“Good girl,” another deep drive. “Now, come for me,” he drives in deeper
again, and it is my undoing.

With a flipping stomach, fluttering eyes, shaky legs, and throat burning
from my screaming, I come. My orgasm is like a torrent dousing the shore
that is my pussy. I keep shuddering and mumbling until I feel myself go
weightless. He drives for a while, then comes down from the high with me.
He pistons inside of me and spurts semen until he turns fleshy. He slides out
gently and wraps both arms around me.

Our breathing is in sync with how it makes our chests heave, we are panting
like we have been in a place with zero oxygen and are only just coming up
to a safe surface. I open my mouth to take in more air.

“I love you, Vittoria,” he says with such ease, like it’s not the first time
these words come out of his mouth.

“I love you, Emanuele,” I say back with matching ease, even though it's my
first too.

But maybe we have been saying it all the while. We have been saying it in
ways that are more important than words. Maybe it was what we said the
very first day we met, and we couldn't stop staring at each other.

“I love you,” he chimes again.

“I love you,” I follow like it is a song, and I'm singing the next part.

I love him. It is impossible not to.

OceanofPDF.com
 EXTENDED EPILOGUE

E ager to learn what the future holds for Vittoria and Emanuele?

Then you may enjoy this extended epilogue.

It’s the sweetest surprise, from Vittoria to Emanuele… Need I say

more? ;)

Simply tap here and you can read it for FREE, or use this link:

https://link.fayepierce.com/w1C5AL
Or if you’re reading this on a Kindle device, you can scan this QR code
with your phone…

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 AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading my novel, Falling for the Devil. I really hope you
enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write a review HERE?
It is very important for me to read your thoughts about my book, in
order to get better at writing.
Please use the link below:
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OceanofPDF.com
CHAINS OF DESIRE

Book#1

Her Cruel Captor

Book#2 (this book)

His Cruel Victory

OceanofPDF.com
 DO YOU WANT MORE ROMANCE?

Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of my latest best-selling
novel: Falling for the Devil
The Mafia killed my mother and now they're after me. I take refuge at my
brother’s place, but I won't let fear stop me. Then I meet Luca, but our night
of passion gets complicated when he shows up the next day at my doorstep,
covered in my ex's blood. My brother knows him, he's from the Senno
Family. He is the one who was supposed to kill me. Why am I still alive
then?
OceanofPDF.com
FALLING FOR THE DEVIL
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER ONE

KATYA

“W hat the hell?!”

There are very few things that can ruin a lovely vacation. And that was the
sort of phone call that could ruin not only a vacation, but one’s whole
damned life.

I wanted it to be wrong. I wanted to have misheard it.

Honestly, I wanted to cover my damned ears so that I could pretend that I
had never heard that string of words in that particular order ever again.

“Please tell me that you’re joking.”

My voice trembled, and I couldn’t even bring myself to hate it in the way
that I normally would. I’m not the sort of person that is prone to emotional
displays. But, this? This ripped the world right out from underneath of me
and tilted everything on its axis.

My skin felt cold. I could feel myself paling as the damnable words came
from my family’s assistant straight into my ears once more.

“I’m so sorry Katya… but your mother’s death has been confirmed by our
people. Stay where you are, and await further orders. I repeat, stay where
you are until Alexei gives orders.”

Moments ago, I had been allowing the September afternoon sun soak into
my fair skin.

I had been having my feet rubbed by the hunk now awkwardly pawing at
my back. Not the best travel boyfriend that I’ve ever had in my life, but he’s
stupid handsome and looks incredible in a suit so I can’t complain much.
Standing at a good foot taller than me and covered in glorious, bulging
muscles and tattoos, he certainly looks good being photographed next to me
on the beach for my Instagram. He can’t offer me much in the way of
conversation, but that’s not what I want him for anyway. He’s not marriage
material. Not by half. But, he will do for now.

Certainly good enough in bed to keep me fully satisfied.

What else would one want from a leisurely trip to Valencia, in Spain, if not
to have a lot of good sex and sangria?
“What is it, babe?” Derek muttered as his large hands rubbed up and down
my biceps. He tried to kiss the cap of my shoulder but the last thing that I
want right now is to be touched.

I shrug out of his hold, wading across the pool a couple of inches away
from him.

“What the hell happened?! Where is she? Her… her body, where is it? I can
go and collect her tonight.” Even as I said the words, I knew that I was not
going to be given permission to fly back to Russia tonight and collect her
body from whatever pop-up morgue they had her in. I can’t even remember
the last time that I was given leave to fly back home to attend to anything.
Guilt surges through me at the knowledge that I, being the horrible daughter
that I am, have not seen my mother in years. When was our last
conversation? Was she alone when it happened? Was she scared?

The thought of her lying there cold and prodded at by strangers is almost
more than I can stomach. I might be sick.

Derek tries to grab me again, pulling me by my hips back into the warm,
broad expanse of his muscled chest.

“Stop,” I mutter dismissively. Can’t he see that I’m busy right now? Can’t
he see that something important is going on right now? I turn my focus
back to the phone call. “Does Alexei know? What did he say?”

This time, Derek seems to not want to take no for an answer.

The grip on my hip tightens as he yanks me back toward him. Roughly

enough that my phone slips and falls right out of my hand and into the pool.

Whatever my family’s assistant was about to say to me about my brother

becomes a gurgly mess.
“What the hell?” I half shout as my palms collide with Derek’s chest.

Something shifts on Derek’s face.

He is no longer the mostly stupid boyfriend that’s been entertaining me for

the past couple of months.

No, he just transformed into something darker. Something that I don’t even
have time to process before I’m being yanked under the water.

My lungs burn.

For a brief, delusional moment I think that he’s just being petty or
something because I ignored him. But then his hand knots roughly into the
crown of my long platinum blonde hair and doesn’t budge.

He’s trying to kill me.

Panic explodes through my body as my ‘fight’ mode kicks into overdrive.

I swipe my feet at his, hoping that I can knock him off balance, but he’s so
much larger than I am and his grip on my hair is so tight that it feels like
he’s going to pull my scalp clean from my skull.

This can’t be how I go out. I refuse to allow this to be the way that I die.

Absolutely not.

I’m a Levine for Christ’s sake. Does he not have any idea?

Guess the meathead just doesn’t care. He might not have any sense of self
preservation, but I sure do.
I surge forward under the water and grab a hold of his junk as hard as I can,
twisting and pulling with every bit of strength that I have left in my body.

Dark spots are forming on my vision, but it works.

I can hear him yowling in pain even from under the water. Enough that I
can scrape my manicured nails into his arm like talons to free my hair from
him and kick away.

With a final burst of energy, I kick the heel of my foot into his face as hard
as I can before swimming for my life.

Shaking so hard my hands barely work, I gather up all of our clothes and
belongings and book it to the elevators.

I glance over my shoulder long enough to see that the pool water has bled
red in a ring all around his frame.

Derek’s eyes glint with absolute murder and rage as he slowly attempts to
wade toward me.

The elevator doors ding and I burst inside and awkwardly fumble the room
key against the lock.

It’s certainly not going to delay him for very long that he doesn’t have a key
to the room, but I will take every second that I can possibly get.

I throw myself into our hotel room and slam the door shut, barricading the
thin wood with the dresser. Adrenaline must be on high time overdrive
because the heavy wooden furniture is not something that I would have
been able to move on my own before. I don’t think that I’ve ever managed
to pack quite this quickly in my whole life.
I am a hurricane as I tear through the room moving on instinct more than
anything else.

I know that if I stop moving, even for a second, reality is going to catch up
with me. I can’t allow myself the time to process whatever the fuck just
happened to me.

I have to move. I have to get somewhere safe. Then I can call Alexei.

Everything will be okay. That’s what I have to keep telling myself.

I leave behind everything that isn’t absolutely mandatory for my survival.

It feels far too much like my childhood to be comfortable.

Scrambling to hide. Throwing everything into a backpack and mindlessly

running until I know that I’m safe.

Alexei is my safe. He’s always been the one to take care of me - but now
my brother is tucked away in New York City and a hell of a long distance
from Spain.

The violent pounding at the door is even more triggering.

Only, it’s not my father on the other side of the wood this time. It’s an
enraged giant of a man whose nose I likely broke a few moments ago after
his failed murder attempt.

My heart thumps into my throat and my shaking is even more violent as I

throw my backpack on and lace my shoes as best I can before heading to
the balcony.
Not the best option, I’ll admit that. But, if it's death or death, I will be
damned if I don’t choose pavement splatter when the other option is man.

Over the balcony and down the drainpipe. I’m nearly down to the ground
when I hear the door of my hotel room shatter.

The angry crunching of wood splintering and furious shouting is the

background noise to my heart threatening to suffocate me and a desperate
desire for him to not look down.

I dive into the first taxi that slows. I don’t even wait for it to stop before
shouting at the man to drive me to the airport. “Hurry, please. I’ll pay
double if you get me there in the next twenty minutes.”

The man clearly wants to ask me handfuls of super annoying questions but I
don’t have time for it. He must read it on my face because in the next
moment, he’s peeling down the road so fast it would have made my Russian
grandmother incredibly happy to see. I glance anxiously behind me to see if
somehow Derek is running behind the taxi on foot. I wouldn’t put it past
him.

Almost trembling too hard to dial Alexei’s number on my phone.

He doesn’t pick up until the third ring.

“Brat?” I mutter softly. I hope that by speaking like this, I can hide how
terrified I feel right now.

“Da? I am very busy right now, Katya, what is it?”

Even though he sounds annoyed that I’ve interrupted his day, just hearing
his voice is soothing to me.
“Has Ms. Lagunov not called you yet?”

“She’s tried, but like I said - I’m busy right now.”

“Mama is dead, Brat.” I whisper.

Saying it out loud makes it real. It makes her actually dead and all at once,
the pain hits me.

The pounding, angry headache that throbs and the burning in my lungs all
seems to fade away into nothingness as the reality of the situation sinks in.
“Ms. Lagunov just told me. She is with her body now, the mortician is
finishing up the autopsy for formality’s sake… but Brat, she is gone.”

There’s a series of hushed, angry swearing in Russian from the other end of
the phone and I know he’s likely covering the receiver with his hand in
some futile attempt to shield me from his temper.

“You are certain of this?” Alexei demands harshly.

He’s always like this. Business first and emotions second.

“Why would she lie?”

“Those damned Italian bastards.”

Something breaks on Alexei’s end of the phone. I don’t know if he’s

punched something or thrown something, but it doesn’t really matter. “I
warned those mafia pricks what would happen if they stepped out of
fucking line. I warned them! Listen to me, Katya, I will handle this. You are
to stay put until I say otherwise. I mean it. If they are making moves, I will
not risk you getting in harm’s way.”
“Yes.” I mutter lamely as I try to keep myself from blubbering.

“Are you safe where you are?”

I almost don’t want to answer that. I don’t like lying to my brother. “Yes.” I
mutter. I mean, I’m as safe as a person in a taxi can be.

I don’t tell him about my own murder attempt.

They have to be related somehow. The timing of it is just too perfect.

Alexei will go completely off the rails if he knows that somebody tried to
hurt me and that somebody managed to find our poor mother. He would
have every man in his considerable army mobilized in the hour if he
knew… and avenging mother comes first.

Besides, I’m fine. Mostly. I can take care of myself.

“We are at war, Katya, do not make trouble. I will send word soon.”

Just like that, the line goes dead on his end and I’m stuck with the taxi
driver and the chaos of my own thoughts as he pulls the taxi around to the
entrance of the airport.

Alexei can tell me to stay put all he wants, but there is no way in hell that
he can make me actually do it. He’s not going to cut me out of this situation
as easily as he might like.

He really ought to know me better than that by now.

I’ve always been more of an act first and ask forgiveness later type of gal
anyway.
He can yell at me all he likes for it when I show up at his place in New York
City.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWO

LUCA

‘R ussia target eliminated. Standby for confirmation for Spain target.’

“Well, would you look at that?” I chuckle bitterly to myself as I dab the
corners of my mouth with my napkin.

What started out as a nice lunch with my most trusted right-hand man,
Dario, was turning into something truly lovely. Paired with the stunning
weather outside, good wine and now this?

Yes, it was setting me up for a damned good day.

“Luca?” Dario questions as he sips on his expresso.

“Looks like my father got busy again. Making even more plans without
bothering to loop me in on things. How well do you think that is going to
work out for me the next time I have to meet with him?” I ease back into
my chair and let the cloth napkin rest on the table in front of me.

I close my eyes and inhale slowly through my nose to remain as calm as

possible.

It’s not the first time that my father has done something like this.

This damned war he’s gotten our family involved in is a constant struggle.

Logic rarely matters when Enzo has the lead. He gets a hair up his ass about
something or another and runs with it. In truth, he would rather prefer not to
have to tell his son anything if he didn’t have to. I’ve always been the black
stain that he can’t seem to rid himself of. But, as his only heir - he’s stuck
with me. He certainly doesn’t care to run his choices through his son before
acting on them.

Even if those choices are completely against Cosa Nostra’s moral code.

Something else that he tends to forget in his cursed wars.

My phone vibrates with the alert of another text message that I pick up
before I can think better of it.
‘Update received - Spain target en route to NYC. ETA 4:37pm’

The updates are coming to me and not my father for a reason.

It means that he has folded me in and made me responsible for these tasks
and hasn’t bothered to tell me.

Again.

Some days I swear that he wants for me to fail.

I’ve done everything that has ever been required of me, and yet it never
seems to be good enough.

And now, he’s put me in charge of this task when apparently only one of the
two targets that he wanted killed were actually properly taken care of.
Which means that I’m going to have to give my father a bad report.

“Everything all right?” Dario asks, already packing up his belongings from
the table and signaling for the bill. Most people mistake Dario for my older
brother based on our looks. Not dissimilar in features despite the fact that I
stand a couple of inches taller than him. He doesn’t have quite as many
tattoos as I do, but we are matched scar for scar. Guess it comes with the
territory. He’s got seven years of age on me, but you wouldn’t know it to
speak to him. It’s not something that has ever gotten in the way of our
working relationship.

“No. We will have to reschedule our meeting, Dario. Looks like my father
needs to speak with me.” I answer as I tuck my phone down into my pocket
and take the car keys from the table.

I don’t bother to wait for Dario, he will manage on his own.

Every second that passes between my getting those texts and not showing
up in my father’s office will be counted against me, and Dario is my closest
and most trusted man – so he understands.

There is very little that he would ever blame me for.

My black range rover zips through the city that I’ve called home long
enough to know it like the back of my hand.

It takes almost no time whatsoever before I’m pulling into the parking
garage of my father’s skyscraper.

I pass the keys to the valet and adjust the fit of my black suit jacket before
stepping into the elevator coded specifically to work for my father, myself,
and our inner circle.

I see that even those security measures aren’t quite enough for the old man,
as the red light of a newly installed camera sits in the top corner of the
elevator watching my every blink until I reach the penthouse.

I can feel my father's strange mood in the air the moment I enter his
residence. It looks more like a sterile art gallery than a home that somebody
could actually live in. A cartoonishly sharp version of hyper modern. All
stainless steel, sharp edges and matte black everywhere that you look.

My oxfords make no noise whatsoever as I move to father’s office, where

his sweltering fireplace is already lit.

He’s standing with his back to the door and a glass of brandy in his hand,
swirling the contents of the glass around the tumbler as he holds it casually
near his hip.

I have been told that my father and I look a lot alike.

I haven’t decided yet if that flatters or bothers me.

The man tends to favor heavily on paranoia so he had nearly all records of
his history and life destroyed save for a small album of baby photos in my
late grandmother’s house. But the album was buried with her for the same
paranoid reasons.

He stands at a lean six foot, while I am three inches taller and a good deal
bulkier than he is. While his head of thick black hair has turned mostly
silver with age, hints of the true color still remain in his full beard and
mustache. We have the same deep olive skin and russet brown eyes, though
he lacks the dimples that I got from my mother.

“Tell me that you have good news, son.” He addresses me without turning
to look at me.

Son? If that isn’t an indicator that he’s in the mood to play games, then I
don’t know what is.

Honestly, his constant power trips and games have become almost
comforting at this point.

Predictable in their consistency. No point in sugar coating things, get right

to the point.

“Levine’s mother? Are you out of your mind?” I blurt a touch more bluntly
than advisable.

If it was not just the two of us in this room, he would have had beaten the
crap out of me for such a comment.

Instead, he turns slowly, his eyes impossibly darkening with rage over the
disrespect that he would interpret my words as.
“It was supposed to be both of the Levine bitches. A swift strike to
eliminate most of the remaining bloodline.” His words are condemnation
and explanation both as he slowly sips the contents of his glass. “But
apparently, the little bitch managed to give our man the slip somehow.”

The clinking of the ice cubes around the edge of his glass is the only noise
in the room between us for a long moment.

I understand that he’s pissed that Alexei Levine’s younger sister isn’t dead
but he doesn’t seem to understand how serious of a move he has just made.
We’re not supposed to go after wives and mothers. Women and children are
supposed to be off limits and yet my father has chosen to make his move by
going after Levine’s immediate family? That is punching below the belt.
This war has been going on for too long, I know that better than most, but
this is not the way to move forward.

However, even if I voiced my opinion here, my father wouldn’t listen to it.

His way is the only way. His opinion is the only opinion that holds merit.

“You know how this is going to go. This war that you’re obsessed with -
there will be no turning back now. You’ve opened season on all of us.”
Anger starts to bleed into my words as I speak.

He might be the boss, but his long-term thinking has always been severely
lacking.

“You have no one, besides me, so what do you care? Is it not as if they can
kill your wife or daughter as retaliation.” Enzo shrugged.

“And our men? Those with families? Because you needed retribution for a
few clubs and a slight dip in profits… you felt that this was warranted?
Going against all of Cosa Nostra’s values? What does this mean for our
clan?”
“My clan, son. You have a long way to go before you get to claim that you
have any rights to this family. Do not speak higher than you can reach.”

“You are telling me that you find your actions to be fair? Especially when
you know for a fact how volatile Alexei Levine can be?!”

I take a step forward as father places his glass down on the mantle of his
fireplace. “You said no innocents. It was your cornerstone, father, and yet
here you are - murdering a woman who had nothing to do with any of this. I
doubt that she had even the slightest idea of the war that her son was
involved in. You know as well as I that there have been no reports of them
even being in contact for years.”

“Innocent?” Enzo answers, as if that were the only part of my words that he
has picked up on at all. “You stand there and have the balls to tell me that
any of those Levine bitches are innocent?!”

His eyes narrow into slits - something that used to cowtail me into
submission when I was a child - but that was a long, long time ago.

Now I can just feel the muscle in my jaw clenching, knowing how much his
impulsive, reckless actions are going to cost all of us.

“Every one of those bitches is connected to him. That little roach that keeps
getting in my damned way!” Enzo’s voice never changes pitch or volume,
but somehow it becomes barbed and lethal when he speaks.

Something about the way he can glare daggers at the person he speaks to,
that seems to inflict actual physical damage, is something I have never
understood and have also never quite learned how to master yet for myself.

This whole war is wrong, but I know that I can’t say that to him.
He wouldn’t listen anyway.

I think that some part of him knows that I don’t support this war, and that I
haven’t fully supported his choices in a while now.

Maybe this is all just another test that he’s putting me through.

He’s probably just trying to push me to see where I will break and what the
final straw will be that makes me defy him.

That day will come, I am certain, when I will no longer be his obedient son,
and I will become one more name on his ever-growing list of enemies.

I don’t know which one of us will survive that day either.

“Care to explain to me why only one of them is dead, instead of both?”

Enzo broke the silence, expecting an explanation from me that I just don’t
have.

“I have men on the way to the airport to intercept her as soon as her plane
lands.” I answer through my gritted teeth.

Enzo smirks. “Oh, good. For once we are on the same page about
something, son.”

He lifts a hand and condescendingly pats me on the cheek.

“I want you to ensure that there are no more fuck ups on this job. I want
you to personally go to the airport and pick up the young Levine bitch, and
I want you to bring me her head. I will have her stuffed and mounted and
pictures sent to that meddling twat of a brother of hers before the day is
finished.”
Just the idea of doing what he asked of me makes my stomach roil.

It is not because I am not capable of great violence, but this girl didn’t do
anything to deserve the horrible, depraved things that I know that my father
would do to her.

Not to mention, it is a damned insult to send me out on a petty wet work job
when I’m supposed to be getting groomed to take over as the head of the
family.

“Unless you think that you can’t handle it? Son?” Enzo continues, his thin
lips curling up into a devious smirk.

“Consider it done.”

It’s the only answer he would accept anyway.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THREE

KATYA
The Next Day

No matter how many times I tell Alexei that his security isn’t half as good
as he thinks it is, he never seems to listen to me.

Granted, I do have talent when it comes to sneaking around in places where

I am not supposed to be, but he doesn’t have to make it so damned easy for
me.
He’s supposed to have a state-of-the-art security system that pairs with a
rotation of loyal as hell guards marching around his complex day in and day
out - and yet, here I am hacking into his system and walking through the
front door like I own the place.

Honestly. I was able to disable his entire mainframe with an app on my

phone.

Criminal. Literally and figuratively.

I warned him that my computer engineering degree would come in handy,

and I absolutely plan to rub that little fact in his face when he starts turning
red with rage for me being here.

He should be thanking me for fixing the holes in his security after I turned
everything back on.

It still feels oddly comfortable just knowing that this is my brother’s house
and that, unless there is a little clone of me and my brain running around
out there, which I’m sure would be Alexei’s personal nightmare, there is
nothing that can touch me in this house short of an atomic bomb.

I slip off my shoes and deposit my things into the first guest room that I
come across.

While it’s terribly tempting to stop and wash the airport smell and lingering
pool chemicals out of my hair, I need to find my brother and his wife first.

It’s embarrassing that I manage to find Nora without a single guard

stopping me.

So much so, that I get the chance to come up behind her and put my hands
over her eyes from behind. I drop my voice into a deeper register and mouth
breathe heavily into her ear. “Guess who, pretty lady.”

Apparently, she has been training with my brother.

One minute I’m behind her, teasing her.

The next, I’m on my back on the floor in front of her with the wind knocked
clear out of my body.

She moved faster than I could think to react because that was the very last
response that I would ever have guessed from her.

“Katya! Oh no! Are you okay? Shit, did I hurt you?”

I shake my head and smile, waving off her sentiment. “No, I’m okay.
Serves me right.”

Even from this angle I can tell that she looks the same. Healthy glow to her
face, same brown hair and kind brown eyes that she’s always had. The sort
of girl next door pretty that can get dolled up into bombshell pretty in ten
seconds flat. She is the sort of girl that I always wanted to have as a sister.
When Alexei brought her home, she and I were a match made in heaven.

Nora reaches out her hand to me and I take it, accepting the help up as I
brush myself off. She immediately starts to look me over. Checking my
eyes and feeling around the crown of my head to ensure that I don’t have
any bruising or a concussion. Which, I personally feel is a bit much
considering she didn’t flip me that hard. But, she’s a nurse and that’s just
what they do. It’s in her nature to fret over people, I guess.

“What the hell are you doing here?! Not that you aren’t welcome here,
because of course you are. You are always welcome here… but, whoa,
Alexei is going to be sooo mad.”
Nora sighs and sinks down onto the leather couch beside me as I move my
way up to sit next to her. “I suppose I should have guessed as much. Alexei
was ranting that your location was turned off… I should have known that
you would be reckless and stubborn enough to fly around the world to be
here.”

I shrug, faking a little bit of innocence, ready to play the whole thing off
with a sarcastic comment when she throws her arms around me - and I’m
disarmed.

My hands hover awkwardly on either side of her as she embraces me

tightly.

“Oh, honey I’m so sorry about your mom. I know Alexei’s in work mode
and moving too fast to process… but I’m really sorry,” Nora mutters
sweetly.

Damn it.

Tears start to well in my eyes before I can stop them. I pat her on the back
and mumble nonsensical sounds before quickly changing the subject.

I pull my feet up onto the couch in front of me and wrap my arms around
my legs. I feel as if, if I don’t physically hold myself together, that I just
might shatter and break. The knot that’s taken hold of my chest won’t
budge. The grief that I feel for my mother is overwhelming. Not knowing
how she spent her last moments will haunt me forever. If I let myself feel
that pain now, I might be lost to it.

“We will handle it. We both know that,” I say lamely, hoping to drop the
subject because I don’t have the luxury of falling totally apart right now.
Alexei is bound to need my help, and I have to be functional in order to
help him properly in the first place. “Tell me about you. Let’s talk about
something, anything else. Tell me about the hospital - or Jodie? Is she still
working there?”

Nora side eyes me for a long moment.

I can tell that she isn’t finished talking about my mother, but is debating on
pushing the issue right this minute or not.

Thankfully, she decides against it. Instead, she shifts gears and offers me a
bright, animated smile.

“She will be there until she’s a permanent resident of that morgue. It always
cracks me up that you know her so well just because I never seem to shut
up about her.”

“Well now that I’m here, maybe I can meet her.”

“She would love that. I talk about you to her just as much, I think. To be
honest, I’ve been neglecting her as of late. I’m overdue for a visit and I
have this sinking suspicion that the pair of us are going to need to give your
brother a wide berth after he finds you here.”

I snort a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

My mouth opens to start to comment something snarky when the man in

question barges into the room, his eyes glued onto the phone in his hand.

His finger jabs at the screen as if he’s waiting for it to come to life and
perform magical tricks for him.

I can feel his temper radiating off of him in waves. Something he’s always
claimed to be able to feel about me as well.
It wasn’t enough for both of us to look so painfully similar to one another
with our platinum blonde hair and fair skin - no we had to have similar
personality faults as well.

Namely, the temper and the stubborn feeling that we are always right in any
given situation. The complete and utter inability to back down no matter
what the situation might be.

“That damned woman better answer my messages before I send out a

retrieval squad to hunt her down. This is not the time for reckless behavior.
Arrived in the damned city an hour ago! Can you believe it! Nora, if you
hear from her--”

Alexei’s voice cuts off mid-rant as he looks up from his phone to see Nora
and I sitting on the couch as if it were just any ole Thursday evening girls’
night.

Though I likely look like I’m worse for the wear. I spent so much of the
plane ride over drinking and crying, it’s a wonder that my present stress
level has kept me sober.

His eyebrows lowered into a flat line of disapproval. “Of course.”

I smile sheepishly at him, with far too many teeth.

“Hey big brother,” I coo, hoping that he will see my nervous smile and
choose to skip lecturing me for not doing what he wanted me to do. He
couldn’t honestly think that I was just going to listen to him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Alexei sighs and pinches the bridge of
his nose while he’s speaking to me as if the whole thing is just too much of
an effort for him to stand.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I’m here to be with my family.”
I answer honestly. I kind of thought that he would have expected me to
disobey him and show up here anyway. “You’re welcome for my stunning
presence, by the way.”

I told you to stay in Spain!” Alexei’s voice starts to raise and my temper
snaps.

I’m off the couch and crossing the room to stand in front of him before I
can think better of it. There aren't many people who can get away with
getting in Alexei Levine’s face, but I’m fortunate to be one of them.

Does he really think that he just gets to stand here and pretend like
nothing’s changed? Like our whole world hasn’t just shrunk on us yet
again? I don’t think so.

“Mom is dead!” The words come out a lot harsher than I intended for them
to. “She’s gone!” I snap my fingers to emphasize my point. “Just like that!
And you really thought I was going to stay half a world away? Like you’re
the only one who gets to make moves here? Absolutely not!”

Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, I can be of help to him. He might like to
be the overbearing, always-in-control older brother, but I’m not some
helpless wilting flower.

The muscle in Alexei’s chiseled jaw feathers in irritation and for a moment,
I think that the lecture is about to start, but instead he says something far
worse. “You’re a liability here.”

I scoff incredulously. “A liability? That’s what you’re worried about?”

Bitterly, I cross to the couch and grab my leather jacket from where I had
left it and start stuffing my arms into it. “Well then, don’t you worry about
me brother, I can more than take care of myself. Sorry for thinking that
family should stick together at a time like this. What was I thinking, right?
Crazy.”

Leaving is the very last thing that I want to do. Can’t he see that?

I don’t even know where I would go. If he actually lets me walk out of this
room, I might hurt him a little bit. Alexei should know better than to call me
on my bluff most of the time, but this is one where I’m willing to allow him
to pull his head out of his ass and make an exception.

I need my family, or what’s left of it.

Going to some hotel by myself and wallowing in spa treatments is good for
getting over a breakup. Not for this.

“Stop it, you’re not going anywhere.” Nora chimes in from behind me. I
can feel the look that she’s giving my brother without even having to turn
around. “We both know that it will be better for her to stay here where you
can keep an eye on her anyway.”

I turn in time to see Alexei’s defeat written clearly across his face. “I don’t
want her anywhere near us. If they went after my mother, then the next one
they will come after is me. They wouldn't have made a move like this
without something else up their sleeves.”

“We live on a private, unlisted street, Alexei.” Nora continues. “We can
have a place set up for Katya on the same street with as many guards as you
like. That has to be better than having her across an ocean.”

“I could help your security as well.” I add in, hopefully trying to help
pledge my case. “Since it was so easy for me to sneak in here. I could, uh,
‘me’ proof it. With my fancy computer degree and all.” I smile brightly.
“What do you say, brat, let me earn my keep and stay here?”
He debates for a moment, not wanting to have me involved as he always
does. The downside of having such an overprotective older brother is that
he’s, well, protective to a fault.

Silence fills the room as Nora and I give Alexei our best puppy eyes until he
huffs his concession.

“Fine! Eight-hour shifts in the rotation every two days. Private security
twenty-four seven with a tracker on your phone. That’s the best I can do.”

Nora and I let out girlish squeals of happiness before hugging Alexei at the
same time.

I’m honestly a little surprised that he agreed.

I need it. I wish he would let me stay here until I feel a little more collected.
He probably would if I actually asked him, but my own place isn’t a bad
thing either. I’m grateful to have something to do, I certainly need the
distraction at a time like this. I want to be useful. Anything to keep me from
thinking about my mother… or the other nightmare I experienced today.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FOUR

LUCA

S pain target. A.k.a. Katerina Levine, sister to Alexei Levine, white

blonde hair, green eyes, 5’8 with legs that won’t quit and an ass for
days. Bisexual, with a wild streak that can border on unpredictable.

I’ve certainly been tasked to watch less appealing targets in my life.

In another life, she would be exactly my type.

My clan has kept a dossier on the Levine family over the last however
many years it has now been that they have been at war with my father. I’m
sure that the list they have on me is twice as long and just as detailed. Hell,
my rap sheet alone is as long as my arm. And that’s only the things that are
known.

My men have been collecting recent pictures of her since she’s returned to
the States again, trying to triangulate her location and working on
monitoring her moves. The fact that she came in on a commercial flight
tells me that it was not her brother who summoned her back home. The man
who tried and failed to eliminate her must have spooked her enough to be
willing to risk skipping the private plane entirely.

In my line of work, I’ve done more than my fair share of terrible things.
Murder is not going to be a new addition to my list of crimes - but her? This
isn’t one that I’m going to enjoy. I can’t exactly be open about my feelings
either. Going against my father’s wishes is just as likely to get me killed as
anything. Blood will mean nothing to Enzo if he feels that he’s being
disrespected.

Everything that we have learned about her whereabouts seems to point to

this location being the only place she’s been allowed to go since arriving
back stateside. Which is exactly how I’ve found myself sitting behind the
tinted safety windows of my black Rolls Royce outside of Katya’s brother’s
club. I know she’s crashing with her brother, but she’s going to come check
in on her old stomping grounds as soon as the cabin fever hits. Reckless? Or
just plain stupid? I would have assumed that her brother was keeping a
much, much tighter lease on her given that she just survived an
assassination request. But our records show that she has never been able to
stay put for any length of time, so I just have to be more patient than she is.
Shouldn’t be too hard Certainly less, if she’s willing to do half of my job for
me by putting herself into harm’s way.

The woman that she’s been spending most of her time with is allegedly
named Marci. She’s older than Katya by a few years and works at one of
Alexei’s clubs as a veteran dancer. Been there for years. If I wouldn’t be
attacked on sight I would be waiting inside of the club. But it's a rival
territory. Technically, I shouldn’t even be sitting here right now. One of the
biggest moves made yet in this war is when either party cross the territory
lines. Even Enzo hasn’t done it more than a few times.

Dario is working on getting a reliable schedule on Katya established, so that

I can get this over and done with.

He’s been texting me a steady stream of updates about her all day long.
She’s been shockingly easy to find information on. Her social media has a
lot more on it than it should, but it has yet to be useful to me. Though, I did
rather enjoy the pictures of her in bikini from her various vacations.

I just need to get her alone.

I don’t love the idea of being the man who nabs the girl on her way out of
the club like a common trafficker, but if that is how I’m going to get this
done as quickly as possible, then I’m going to do that.

I run over the latest texts from Dario, tracking the arrival of Katya’s car as
she is escorted to the club. I snap a picture for myself as evidence and flip
to the picture of Marci, her friend. Stunning, of course, so it makes sense
that she has been living this life for as long as she has. Likely pulls a good
profit with her midnight skin. Tall, long braids in the picture that fall like a
curtain to her waist with small gold embellishments clamped over them
sporadically.

Makes me wonder if perhaps she might be Katya’s new flavor of the week.

It’s impossible not to follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion -
two very stunning women working an entirely different sort of pole. I can’t
stop the image from twisting, full thick lips working in tandem with another
until my skin is stained with the red shade of lipstick that Katya likes to
wear in every picture that I've seen of her yet.

In less than a moment, the ebony skinned woman fades out of existence and
a pair of striking forest green eyes are looking up at me through thick black
lashes. Of course, there’s an appeal to thinking about Katya in tandem with
whatever girlfriend that she might have at the moment - but the real appeal
is Katya herself with that wicked grin and her sinful hips.

Oh, the things that I would do to her if given the chance.

My phone vibrates again and I get the alert from Dario that my father is
summoning me home.

Can’t even bother to summon me himself? No, of course not. He would

much rather have me summoned like a common dog.

I groan and rake my hand down my face before putting my car back into
drive.

This entire mission is a waste of perfect lips.

As if my thoughts summoned her right out of thin air, the full, round hips
sway right past my car and jog across the street in high heels that perfectly
accentuate her ass, and a dress so tight that it could be a second skin. Right
on time. In any other circumstance, I would love to go in there and join her
under a fake name. See what kind of trouble the pair of us could get into in
the privacy of a darkened club before I have to do what I must.

But, for now, I have to hope that my massively uncomfortable erection is

gone before I reach my father’s house to report.
I already know what Enzo’s going to say before I reach the office.

The fact that days have passed since the last time we spoke and there have
been no productive updates infuriates him. Anything that’s not him getting
his way instantly infuriates him. Double when it involves me. He’s always
been more of a ‘when I say jump, you say how high’ sort of father.

Something has always unsettled me watching my father cook. It’s the only
time that he looks even remotely domestic. He wears a plain black apron to
cover the expensive shirt he’s wearing. The sleeves of his white button
down are rolled up to his elbows perfectly as he works. It doesn’t matter
that we have a full-time chef on the premises, Enzo has always liked to
cook when he’s feeling particularly angry. From what’s left of the lamb on
the table, he butchered it himself as well. Another bad sign.

Enzo stops his soft humming the moment he hears my footsteps on the
polished tile under his shoes. He flips whatever smells so damned good in
his sauté pan and for half a moment I am almost expecting him to spin and
hit me with the hot pan. He’s certainly done worse. And it wouldn’t be the
first time.

“What is taking so long?” Enzo demands flatly with ice in his voice.

No small talk. No point in beating around the bush. Better just to answer
honestly and quickly so that I can go back to what I was doing.

“Just waiting for her to be alone. I have her schedule and men tailing her
and the woman whom I suspect to be her latest girlfriend. I was on
surveillance when you summoned me.”

Quick and to the point without anything extra.

Enzo scoffs and shakes his head. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

I don’t answer. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but I’m
certainly not going to incriminate myself any further by asking. For a long
moment, the only sounds in the kitchen are the sizzle of whatever he’s
making in the pan and the annoying clenching of my own jaw.

“Through your whole miserable existence, you have only disappointed me.
Though, with such a weak woman for a mother, I suppose that I shouldn’t
expect anything different from you.” Enzo sighs as if this is some great
shortcoming on my part.

It takes everything in me to keep from balling my fists at my sides like I

want to.

My mother was anything but weak.

It’s such a hot button issue for me, I know that the only reason he’s bringing
it up now is to hurt me. To twist the knife in my side a little bit more.

“Fortunately for you, I have the foresight to have hired more than just your
useless ass for this mission.” Enzo says with a sly glance over his shoulder
as he speaks. He wants to see my reaction, so I give him nothing but a
blank, stony expression.

Of course, he would hire another hitman.

The sheer humiliation of his utter lack of faith in me is like a slap to the
face.

Who did he hire? The list of people that can even come close to my level of
skill is short. None of them are anywhere near as good as I am and we both
know it. No, he’s only hired them to insult me. He probably wants me to go
ahead and eliminate my competition while I’m at it. That’s what he would
have done.
Enzo turns and starts to transfer the contents of his pan onto a plate and
takes great dramatic flair in setting the dish exactly how he wants it,
garnishing it just so.

He’s not finished with me.

I know better than to leave before he’s dismissed me. He gets off on having
me standing here, waiting for whatever is going to come next. My father’s
ego knows no bounds.

“Perhaps this mission is a double blessing in disguise.” Enzo says finally.

He turns a sly eye to me. His smirk makes my skin crawl. “Two birds with
one stone, as you will.”

Enzo lifts his glass of red wine to his lips and lets the silence between us
grow. His smile grows as the tension in my jaw tightens further.

“When you fail, I’ll finally have every reason that I’ve ever needed to
disown you.”

Something cold and sinister settles in my gut. He’s been looking for a
reason to justify killing me for years now. Ever since he realized that, even
though I’m his only heir, I’m still a threat to his empire. Now, he’s put my
position in the clan and therefore my very life at risk. I have to succeed in
this mission no matter what.

Even still, the word is like acid on my tongue as I speak. “It will be done.
The girl is as good as dead.”

Enzo looks me over appraisingly, and it’s abundantly obvious that whatever
he sees when he looks at me isn’t nearly enough. I’m weighed and found
wanting in his eyes.
“I should hope so. This is your very last chance.”

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 CHAPTER FIVE

KATYA

I had almost forgotten how much I liked the nightlife scene.

It has been a while since I have really allowed myself to enjoy it. Granted,
the furthest that my brother has allowed me to go is his heavily guarded
club, but I’m going to take what I can get. The club itself looks the same as
the last time that I was here. Some of the dancers have changed and it looks
like he’s upgraded the backsplash on the full-service bar, it’s still got the
same overall vibe.

The main stage is home to the woman that I am here to see. A group of
patrons all sit around the end of the semicircle. She’s really in good form
tonight. The stage is covered in dollars as my girl Marci does her thing. Far
more traction than any other stage around her is getting, that’s for absolute
certain.

I don’t want to hear anyone say that a woman in her thirties shouldn’t still
be stripping because it would be more of a crime to have Marci cover up
that amazing frame of hers. Curves in all of the right places, flawless skin
and the way that she flaunts herself is artwork. Pure art.

I should really get out more.

I’ve spent too much time finishing up my degree. My trip to Spain was hard
won and I didn’t even get the chance to enjoy it before everything got
horribly ruined. And now? Well, I need a good drink or five to keep my
mind occupied. I want every distraction that I can get my hands on.

Marci’s working, and I need some recreation. My drinks are always on the
house here, given who I am. I load up and head straight to the dance floor to
hopefully keep my mind busy until the set finishes.

The men who frequent this club aren’t nearly as seedy as they are at some
other strip clubs, and I know that I’m perfectly safe with Alexei’s many
men watching my every flirtation. I know that I could entertain any number
of these men but I’m still a bit shaken. The last thing that I want is to worry
about a man putting his hands on me until I’m good and ready.

But, mostly, I’m just waiting for Marci to finish. Her shift has got to be
almost over by now. She’s probably exhausted from working the main
stage. I honestly don’t know how she does it. I’ve been dancing my ass off
all night and my feet are killing me. Her heels are twice as high as mine and
she doesn’t even look like she’s started to break a sweat.

When her final song ends and she collects her tips from the stage, I follow
my dear friend backstage where I can chug a bit of water and she and I can
catch up with a little bit more privacy. My ears are ringing already and
screaming over the loud, thumping club music isn’t high on my list of
things to do.

The body guards give me a double take but don’t even try to stop me as I
saunter my way back to the dressing rooms. The sound of my heels echoes
off of the black painted walls before I lean against the doorframe to the
room where Marci is currently fanning herself with the wad of cash that she
just got from her performance.

I wolf whistle low and steady to let her know I’m here and that I’m
watching her.

The last thing I need is her getting spooked thinking that I’m some prick
from the floor sneaking in where I’m not supposed to be.

Marci would shank me. I’ve seen her do it. She’s been in this business more
than long enough to know how these things work and how to get herself out
of a sticky situation.

Her eyes roll to me in the reflection of herself in the mirror in front of her.
A slow, happy smile spreads across her beautiful face. I push off of the door
frame and saunter up behind her, wrapping my arms around her neck from
behind and kissing her cheek as a way of greeting. “You looked so damned
good on that stage babe, it’s a wonder that you don’t have racks on racks in
your hands right now.”

Marci rolls her eyes and huffs. “Nah, I was really phoning it in out there
tonight.”
“Garbage!” I plop down onto the padded stool beside her with a smile.
“Seriously, I don’t know how you got that sort of stamina. I’m jealous,
really.”

Her smile widens. “I have missed you so much.”

I flip my hair over my shoulder theatrically. “Well of course you have.”

Marci pinches the skin of my bare thigh. “Seriously, it’s been months and
all I’ve gotten is your insta feed! Where the hell have you been? We both
know that I need to live vicariously through you.”

I giggle. “Since when? You get into just as much trouble as I do!”

Marci shakes her head and starts to wipe some of her heavy stage makeup
and glitter off. Something darkens in her eyes, hinting that there might be
something more going on with my friend that she hasn’t told me.

I reach forward and place my hand on her knee. “What’s wrong? Did
something happen? You could have called me. I would have come right
back!”

She smiles meekly and rolls one shoulder. “Nothing big, you know, just
making stupid life choices.”

“You? I doubt it.” Despite being able to party with the best of them, she’s
always had her shit together. Marci’s one of my more level-headed friends.

“No, I did. Karma really got me this time.” Marci’s hand drops to her
stomach and rests there for a moment.

It takes me far too long to fully catch up to what she’s saying to me right
now. My eyes widen and I reach forward to touch the same spot as if
somehow by touching her, I can confirm what she’s hinting at.

“It’s been making things a lot harder. I get sick more, it’s so hard to stay
awake. While it’s great that you think I have stamina, I am so, so tired all of
the time now.”

“For real?! How far along are you? You bitch, why didn’t you call me!” I
slap her knee softly in reprimand. “Who is the father?! Xavier?!”

Xavier was supposed to have been out of the picture months ago. He was
the sort of drive-by boyfriend who was great for a night or a weekend
getaway but really not much more than that. Wholly incapable of
conversation, didn’t treat her like the queen that she is - certainly not my
favorite. But hey, everybody gets dick blindness from time to time.

Marci bites her bottom lip and shrugs. “The asshole stopped coming by
work and everything.”

“What?! So he knows?!”

Marci nods. “He doesn’t believe that it’s his. No matter what I said, he
didn’t believe me.” She looks at me with perfect seriousness. “I haven’t
been with anybody else, Katya, I swear it.”

“I know you haven’t.”

“He said that a woman in a position like mine would say anything to trap a
man.”

The rage I can see flicker in her eyes mirrors my own. It’s like an instant
trigger. Fire to gasoline because that’s bullshit. Marci isn’t and never has
been that kind of girl.
“Said that whores like me should know better.”

“He what?!”

She nods, unable to meet my eye as she speaks. “He honestly thinks that I
wanted to trap him? Like I haven’t been standing on my own two feet my
whole damn life? Like I need anything from him? I tried to tell him. But it
was like he changed who he was entirely the moment that I told him.
Suddenly all strippers are nothing but whores and gold diggers.” Marci
sighs and swallows down her bitterness. “I thought that I was doing the
right thing by being honest with him… fat lot of good that it did me. For all
of his big talking and sweet nothings that he liked to whisper to me. All of
those months coming in regularly and begging for my time - just to ghost
me.” She laughs humorlessly. “Funny, ain’t it? Got what he wanted and
dipped.”

I’m stunned. For a long moment I just sit there, totally at a loss for what to
say. An apology feels wrong. It won’t make anything better. My natural
instincts tell me to go and hunt him down so that I can slash three of his
tires for a start, maybe end with a little arson - but then we will both be
charged.

“So, no matter how tired I am, or how much this baby is affecting me
already, it’s not like I’m going to be able to work much longer. They won’t
let a girl dance once she’s showing. Not to mention my center of gravity
will be off. I’ve become the stereotype that I’ve always dreaded. Old,
pregnant stripper.” Marci starts talking angrily, but as she goes on, her tone
gives way to the sadness underneath of it. I can see tears welling in her eyes
and I feel terrible.

I should have been here for her. I should have been a better friend to her.

I hug her tightly, letting her cry it out on my shoulder because I don’t know
what else to do.
Visions of telling my brother and having him take care of things also feels
like a great option - but that won’t help Marci in the long term either.

When she’s calmed down again, there’s only one other question that I know
I have to ask.

“Are you going to keep it?” I ask softly. There’s not an answer that she
could give me that I would judge her for. Not in a million years.

“Yes.” Marci answers too quickly. “No.”

I don’t want to make her cry again. I take her hand in mine. “There’s no
right or wrong answer here. You certainly don’t have to choose right now.”

It’s my job to just be here for her, to be supportive of her in whatever way
she needs me to be.

“I just… I wanted to talk to him first. You know? I wanted to have a

conversation. I thought that we could handle this situation like adults or
something but apparently, I was wrong.” Marci squeezes my hand tighter.
“I’m scared.”

I smile. “Well. Then we have to get you that conversation.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, you two were ‘dating’ long enough to know where he’s gotta be
right now.” I say simply. I get up and start packing up her bag on her behalf.
“Wherever he is, we pull up, and party crash. Real simple.”

“No...” Marci protests with a smile.

“I’m not just going to let that asshole get away with this!”

Besides, I have so much pent-up rage and frustration boiling around inside
of me right now that could use an outlet that deserves it.

“He’s hosting an event at another club downtown, a real ritzy place. They
never let anybody in that’s not on the guest list.”

I shrug. That’s never stopped me before. I have a hidden talent for getting
into places where I’m not supposed to be anyway. I have absolutely no
shame in throwing around my surname to get me into places that would
otherwise be impossible to get into. Not at all.

“I’ll have my brother’s men drive us there. Come on.” I hurl her bag over
my shoulder. “Let’s go hunting.”

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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

As a teenager, Faye used to read at night with a flashlight underneath her bed covers. She fantasized
of bad boys who stopped at nothing to capture the hearts and bodies of their women, and of equally
strong heroines. Make no mistake, there are no damsels in distress in her world.

Her addiction is the "enemies to lovers" trope, and maybe that's why when she first met her husband,
their chemistry was just as sizzling as their disapproval of each other. But as in her novels, passion
won, and now they live through their happily ever after.

By day, she is taking care of her household. By night, her shadow self emerges to satisfy her
undisclosed desires. Literary and not.

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