PROLOGUE

The world was never
ready for someone like him—the kind of villain who had the power to crush
everything in his path, yet was still unknowingly on the brink of being saved
by the very one he never expected: her.

He, the man who would
always seize the world and lay it at his feet, knew no mercy. She, however,
understood the brutal truth of their world—a chaotic realm built on bloodshed
and death. Their lives weren’t a fairy tale; there were no guarantees, no promises.
They both knew the cost.

As their fingers
brushed, as their lips met, as their faces became etched into each other’s
memories, they were reminded of something far more fragile than the love they
could share. Everything could vanish in an instant. Everything was at risk in
this unrelenting war, where evil had a way of creeping back, no matter how many
battles were won.

A loss. A night soaked
in destruction. That’s all it took to ignite the fire between them—a night that
plunged them into a game of corruption, where both would play their parts.

The mafia thrived in
the heart of turmoil, in disputes that never ceased, in the constant ebb and
flow of power. And now, with the fall of the 'Ndrangheta leaders to the
Marinos, Salvatore had a mess to clean up, all while trying to prove to her
that the twisted love he could offer was worth something.

A love laden with
darkness—filled with desires that could never be condoned, let alone
celebrated. And yet, she was willing to yield, to embrace the beast she found
herself drawn to, eager to submit to the very chaos that ran through his veins.

Two broken souls,
tangled in a web of pressure, pain, and hunger for something neither of them
could have imagined. Together, they could love. Together, they could hate.
Together, they could desire. And, without hesitation, they could kill for one
another. They would.

No mercy. No regrets.
Only the madness of what they had become, and what they were willing to
sacrifice.

CHAPTER 1

I'M NOT READY

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Salvatore

My brothers and I stand before the two
caskets, everyone dressed in black, soldiers scattered to secure the cemetery
where the Marino family has been laid to rest for ages. I glance at the watch
my father gifted me; it reads five in the afternoon, and this chaos is
unbearable.

Ginevra wipes her face, trying to erase all
traces of tears. She is the most sensitive, the pampered one, and I know she is
hurting from the loss of our parents because they meant everything to us.

Even though our upbringing was harsh, they
always found time to love us as their children, not just as future mafia
leaders. I feel my brother Leone's gentle nudge, a gesture of support; I sense
them all close yet so far away.

I wasn't prepared to take charge of
everything. As the eldest, I have new responsibilities, one of which is to
restore order within the mafia. I can't forget my second objective: to avenge
the bastards who murdered our parents. They were simply on vacation in the
waters of Italy, ready to enjoy time together until they were ambushed, leaving
the yacht drenched in blood.

Despite their flaws, and though I can never
forgive Mom and Dad, I must exact my vengeance on Alessio Rinaldi.

It's just the four of us and the guards; there
are no emissaries, no soldiers, no associates, no consigliere, or any other
clan member to bid farewell to the heads of this empire we've sustained for so
long.

—What are we going to do?

Domenico asks, clearly confused; this has all
happened too quickly for us to process.

No one knew they would attack our parents.

No one knew things were about to change
starting today.

"I don't have the strength to handle
everything today," I reply solemnly, the knot in my throat tightening.
"Go home, stay there, because the Rinaldi will be lurking to take us out.
Follow the -fucking orders."

"Where are you going?"

My little sister grabs my arm when she
realizes I'm about to leave before they bury our parents.

"I don't owe you an explanation," I
shake off her grip. "Follow the orders."

"Hey, Salvatore," Leone interjects.
"You shouldn't talk to her like that; she's hurting too."

"I don't give a -fucking; I’m not in the
mood for nonsense right now."

I walk away from everyone because I need a -fucking
drink to calm my frayed nerves. I head into the Marino mansion, pushing past
people, and when they see me removing my tie, they wisely choose not to
intervene, knowing I could snap necks at this point.

I slam the door of the private bar where
business is conducted. The portrait of our parents remains untouched; I glare
at it and immediately grab the nearest bottle of alcohol, hurling it against
the wall.

I break down in tears, overwhelmed with
frustration. They meant everything to me, despite their mistakes. They taught
me to be ruthless, to be fair, to be visionary, and countless other things that
I polished to become their pride. But not my own pride. I grab a second bottle,
using a knife to pop the top off and pour myself a drink in a large glass, then
approach my parents' portrait.

"Dante Marino and Iliana Marino," I
trace my fingers over their names embossed on the frame. "Why the hell did
you have to leave me? It is all going to hell because of my -fucking
incompetence."

There’s no answer; I only see their wide
smiles, gazing upwards, never downwards, because we never indulge in looking at
those beneath us.

I take a large swig, letting the liquor burn
my throat, where the pain I try to hide resides. Now I must do it all; I must
become the Don responsible for the family, and I ask myself again.

Is this the moment?

I don’t know, because right now, I can’t hug
Ginevra, I can’t talk to my brothers, and I can’t face these -fucking people
waiting for new instructions.

The Rinaldi have always been our worst
enemies. We can’t be with any women because they will use them against us; we
can’t throw a fucking party because they are always lurking, we can’t enjoy our
lives, we can’t put our guards down. And all of this… all this stems from a
conflict years ago when my grandfather killed Rinaldi's sisters.

Now he’s the last one standing; it used to be
four, and now there's only one left, still trying to screw with me, convinced
that he must kill all of ours until no one remains or until I’m the last one
standing to fight.

The door swings open, and Leone steps in. I
quickly turn to wipe my face.

"You’re in charge of all this now; you
might be three years younger, but I won’t let you run the family into the
ground just because you can’t control yourself," he asserts, as if I care
about his bullshit right now. "Ginevra is only seventeen; she needs us now
more than ever. Don’t worry, Domenico and I can handle things; I just ask that
you don’t speak to her like that."

"She needs to toughen up, -damn it!"
I shout as I turn to face him. "We can’t be coddling her all the time,
telling her sweet stories and sipping tea whenever she wants. Our parents are
dead, and now she has to do her part."

"What part, Salvatore?" He stands
firm, confronting me like the bastard he is. "She’s only seventeen; You
want her to just become a prostitute for our clubs or what? She fucking needs
to grow up; she needs time, to find a place, and decide for herself what she
wants to do in the 'Ndrangheta."

I wipe my lips with the back of my hand, take
another large gulp, and push the glass aside. Right now, it’s not just him
suffering; I am too, but I do it silently, which they dismiss because I’m not
gonna be shedding tears all over the place.

They don’t care about me; they care about me
keeping them afloat.

But who does that for me?

"All of you can go to hell for today; let
me live, let me cry, and..."

"Get drunk? Do whatever the fuck you
want, but when you come back, speak to me first before you talk to our siblings."

"I am the leader now!" I bark,
enraged. "My parents are dead; I become Don, and you all have to follow my
fucking orders because... because I just want to protect you!" I smash the
glass against the table and slam my hands down on its edge. "I just want
to be left alone... "

He approaches slowly, keeping his hands in his
pockets until he rests one on my back.

"You can destroy yourself all you want;
you have every right to do so, but it can’t go beyond today. We’ve already lost
so much. You know damn well Alessio will not stop, he will continue with what
we cherish most, and I’m talking about Ginevra."

"Yeah, -damn it, I know!"

Tears stream down my face; I feel the burn
radiating through my body. Right now, I wish with every fiber of my being I
could just drive to Apulia and tell that bastard to screw off, to fucking kill
him with my own fists, for ruining my existence.

I hear Leone leave, leaving me alone. I assume
in a few hours, Domenico will be here, followed by Ginevra trying to cheer me
up. So, I decide to leave, before they even try.

At this moment, I don’t care if Alessio puts a
bullet in my head.

Let him do it, because the pain I feel right
now is unbearable.

Because everything will be lost once I take
the reins anyways.

I get into my car to leave the house. We own
several nightclubs where people enjoy themselves day and night. I don’t analyze
things; I just arrive at the nearest one and park.

I push everyone aside in line, entering
without hesitation and heading straight to the bar. It’s still early for some,
but I can already count at least fifty heads dancing to the music.

"I don’t want to be spoken to in the
private area; I don’t want even a -fucking mosquito buzzing in my ears."

I signal to the bouncer guarding the entrance
to the private section, stepping in to take a seat on the plush couches. The
waiter approaches with a covered tray; when he uncovers it, I see a bag of
cocaine. I take it, waving him away.

I draw three lines on the surface, tracing
them with my credit card, rolling up a bill from my wallet to lean in and snort
the powder.

I inhale every last grain of white dust.

Letting it flood my brain, my system, I feel
the effects within minutes. I close my eyes as the club's music plays, bobbing
my head to the rhythm, recalling every wonderful memory I had while it was just
me and my little responsibilities.

Now they have doubled, tripled, hell, I don’t
want to think anymore.

*I Don't Need Your Name* by Rosenfeld echoes
throughout the place, and I stand to survey the crowd below; more people have
arrived. A couple of friends are having a blast, a pair dances while touching
each other’s bodies, and a petite woman sits at the bar, staring into her
drink.

What a bore.

I continue wandering, lost in the haze of the
evening, but then—almost like a magnet—I find my gaze drawn back to her. The
raven-haired girl. There’s something almost surreal about the way she moves,
those red heels clicking against the floor with an elegance that makes
everything around her seem to slow. Her legs seem to go on forever, each step a
silent promise of something more.

She checks her watch, her fingers brushing
against the sleek surface, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of
impatience in her eyes. She glances at the door, a barely perceptible sigh
escaping her lips, but it’s the way her fingers linger on the rim of her
untouched drink that pulls me in deeper. Restless. Her movements speak louder
than words—her fingers tracing circles, betraying the unease that coils within
her, even though she’s trying to mask it.

I can’t look away. Something is about to
happen.

Maybe she will be my perfect escape tonight.

Without realizing it, I’m descending the
stairs, weaving through the crowd until I take a seat next to her. She doesn’t
even notice my presence, so I order another drink and watch her over her
shoulder.

She stands there, lost in thought, the weight
of something unspoken hanging in the air. It’s like there’s a storm brewing
behind her eyes, something dark and haunting that refuses to let go. But even
beneath the turmoil, I see it—the strength. The hardened expressions, the
slight furrow of her brow, the clenched jaw. She’s not easily broken.

She’s a wildcat, the way she holds herself,
like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Her hands clench around
the rim of her drink, like she’s holding onto something that could slip away.

She’s the kind of woman who might roar in
defiance one moment, only to need someone to pull her back from the edge the
next. A little baby, craving guidance, but never willing to ask for it. I can
feel her vibe, it’s a strange mix—dangerous yet fragile. I can’t help but
wonder if I’m the one she’s been waiting for.

"Are you here alone?"

"Uhm, yes."

She doesn’t turn to look at me; my body
instinctively shifts to face her directly. When my gaze penetrates hers, she
finally looks over. She has tempting lips, an angelic smile, large eyes with
thick lashes, and brown eyes that shine like gold.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"Maybe," she shrugs. "What
about you?"

" Don’t you recognize me?

—Should I?

I scrutinize her composed figure; she doesn’t
flinch or escape, which is alarming because a single word from me should have
put her on high alert, ready to survive.

Part of me wants her to run in fear after
realizing who I am, and another part wants her to stay right here.

"You look upset," she observes
calmly. "As if you’re... sad."

"And you look incredibly bored."

"At the moment, I am. I just broke up
with my boyfriend; he kicked me out of the apartment, and I’m still trying to
find a place to stay without being a burden. No interesting challenges to keep
me busy at the moment, just... trying to keep it together."

I lick my lips.

"And your parents?"

"They're older, and I don't want to
bother them. I'm an adult; I should be responsible for myself right?"

"You mentioned challenges," I muse.
"Do you enjoy them?"

She smiles faintly, revealing a perfect grin,
my eyes drifting to the subtle cleavage accentuated by her medium-sized
breasts. I swallow hard, pairing the bitter taste of my thoughts with the
alcohol.

" Challenges are a kind of divine gift
when you know how to face them and are determined to conquer them. They’re what
keep me alive.”

"What was your last challenge?"

"It's… kind of disgusting, and a bit personal."

"For me, there are no such things; my
world and everything involving me are too dark to be shocked by trivial
matters."

She bites her lips, and the pulse in my groin intensifies,
already feeling aroused. I shift my legs slightly to conceal it.

"I gave my boyfriend a Russian blowjob in
his office; I usually don’t do that kind of stuff, but he never expected me to,
and that’s why I did it. It was a sexual challenge, you know."

Certain words explode in my mind, yet I
hesitate to intrude on matters that don’t concern me and honestly, I don’t care
about.

"Interesting," I point to her chest.
"You have nice breasts."

"And I bet you have a nice cock."

Shit.

I erase the smile from my face, sitting up
straight in the chair and looking ahead so my eyes won't wander onto her body
and hers won't linger on mine. She knows how to seek challenges, how to
initiate them, and how to manipulate the environment to get herself a good
deal.

—Why are you here by yourself?

—Because I came to find someone to please me.
I won’t cry anymore over an idiot who is only addicted to video games and beer.
I won’t do any of that again —she sighs—. I’m looking fun.

—I see, that's something one notices right
away.

—Well, I don’t see anyone here offering me an
amazing night.

—Nights are the busiest.

—I don’t like spending nights with men; they
could be killers.

The naive smile appears again on my lips;
there’s something captivating about it, something enveloping that can be used
and then discarded.

—Let’s go for a challenge, principessa —I
murmur—. Are you too open or too closed?

—Tight, depending on the occasion.

Daughter of a bitch.

I massage my chin to resist the urge to take
her right here at the bar while everyone watches us.

—I want you to do a line of this.

I place the cocaine on the bar, arrange it
with my card, and hand her the rolled-up bill. I can’t let her have feelings; I
need her to forget even my -fuckinged name if she happens to hear it or if I
tell her while I’m with her.

—I don’t do that, just alcohol.

—Then you’re not a woman of challenges; you’re
a coward.

—You’re just a man who wants to drug me and
then use me.

—Isn’t that what you were looking for?

She thinks about it for a moment and looks
away from me, turning on the stool to see the crowd. She gets off and seems
ready to walk away. I won’t allow it; I grab her arm to keep her from escaping.

—You’re too boring.

—You do it first, then. I want you to.

—No problem.

I press the bill against the powder, snort it,
and let it settle until I feel remnants in my throat that I wash down with my
drink.

"Who are you?"

—That shouldn’t matter to you, miss.

—What’s your name?

—You don’t need my name to have the best
afternoon of your life.

She doesn’t care because she turns to mingle
with the crowd. I end up huffing and telling her my -fuckinged name.

—Salvatore.

She halts her movement and returns to her
stool, noticing that there’s not a trace of the drug sold in this very spot.

—Are you a killer?

—More than that. Actually, you have the chance
to escape right now so I won’t hurt you.

She taps her fingers on the bar.

—Would you hurt me?

—If we fuck, yes, especially since I’m high.

—Would you really hurt my body?

—I already told you yes.

A delicious pain that only she is capable of
accepting. Just because she’s a precocious animal doesn’t mean I’m going to
force her; there’s a certain pleasurable pain in sex that many people enjoy.
That’s why masochists exist, right?

I notice the spark in her eyes; something is
bothering her. She stops thinking and takes my hand, leading me to the dance
floor where she starts to dance for me. I feel her body very close to mine,
feeling her warmth mixing with mine.

—What’s bothering you
right now?

—That
they never appreciated what I did; they threw me out as if I were an animal,
packed my things in bags, and there was already a woman on top of his legs
fucking him.

—Your
silly heart is broken, isn’t it?

—I’m
trying to fix it.

My
lips stretch into a grin, and I run my tongue along her neck until I reach her
ear. She has several piercings and earrings adorning her ear; I bite until she
pulls away. She laughs, loosens her hips, and touches me without fear.

—Didn’t
mommy tell you that talking to strangers is dangerous?

—You
talked to me first.

—You
followed me and didn’t run away.

—You’re
my challenge —she pushes against my chest with her hands—. Not me; I want to
have a good fuck, and I’ll be the one to fuck you, not the other way around.

—I
doubt you’re capable.

She
wraps her fingers around my arm and I see she’s about to lead me to the
bathroom. I shake my head because there’s a larger restroom for VIPs, so I
guide her up to the first floor. We enter the bathroom where she immediately
attacks my neck; I tug at her hair, she pushes me back, I push her back, and...

—What’s
bothering you, Salvatore?

"Nothing
important."

—Then
there’s no sex for you.

I
glare at her and push her until her ass hits the sink counter.

—My
parents died today; I buried them today. Today I become a leader, and today...
I don’t want to think.

—I’m
sorry.

—That’s
exactly why I didn’t want to talk.

I
turn her roughly, searching for her legs, lifting her dress and letting it
bunch up around her waist. I see her black lace panties; I pull them down and
she gasps when she feels me grab her ass.

—Weren’t
you going to fuck me, principessa?

—You’re
holding me too tight; I’m just letting you surprise me.

She
laughs, and I’d love to have her mouth on my cock.

—I
told you I’d hurt you, principessa.

I
unbuckle my pants, pull out a condom, and try to stop her when she wants to
turn around. She’s strong and manages to push me down onto the toilet; we start
to fight, I try to fuck her, and she tries to fuck me first.

She
ends up climbing on top of me and takes my member in her hands.

—This
is big, and hard.

—Put
it in already and let me fill that virgin pussy.

—I’m
not a virgin.

"I
don’t believe you."

She
starts to stroke my shaft, expertly jerking me off while I admire her neatly
trimmed triangle. I run my fingers over her pubis, which has hair, caressing
and groaning as she speeds up. She pumps with force; I know what she’s doing,
but the drug isn’t allowing me to act properly.

Up
and down.

She’s
jerking me off.

I rub
her clit until she pulls the condom off, drops it to the floor, and I cum on
her hand. My head spins, I travel through various moments, reminding myself
that I was the one who should have pinned her against the wall to destroy that
tight pussy.

I
gasp; I can’t catch my breath, and I don’t know where my head is. She stands
up, takes her panties, hands them to me, and then approaches the door.

—I
just made you cum with my hand; I told you you were my challenge, Salvatore.

"You’re
a bitch."

—The
bitch who made you cum. —She winks—. Doesn’t the Don of the Mafia have control
over his impulses? I see he doesn’t. See you.

She
closes the door, leaving me with a hard cock full of my own semen overflowing
onto my balls. I clean myself up, toss the condom in the trash, wash my face,
let the cold water bring me back, and laugh at myself when I see my reflection
in the mirror.

I
started thinking it was my own challenge, my game, but now I see it wasn’t.

It
was her challenge from the beginning, and I just came in her hand.

-fucking,
I can still feel her slender fingers closing around me, squeezing me; I think
and think, imagining her body. I analyze the panties she gave me, and bringing
them to my nose feels like pure drug entering my system, exploding my neurons.

The
elastic of the lingerie smells like her fragrance; I inhale until I realize I’m
a fool.

I
can’t do it this way.

I
won’t get anything today except death.

I’m
shattered; I let myself be touched, let myself go, thinking I was in control,
but that’s not true.

—I
want them back; I’m not ready, -damn it!

I
slam my fist against the glass, my knuckles split open, and I drop to the
floor, defeated in every sense. I stash the panties in my pocket and let myself
cry because I’m an idiot.

I’m a
fool.

I’m
an idiot.

I’m
everything wrong in this world, just surrendered to being a -fucking drug
addict.

—I’m
not ready; I’m not.

There’s
no way to prevent my world from collapsing because I have to become someone I
don’t want to be. Alessio took away my freedom; Alessio shattered everything I
had under control, and I didn’t measure the time I had left because I assumed
I’d touch the throne of that empire when I was ready.

But
I’m not ready yet.

I
don’t know how to be a Don.

I
don’t know how to be a good brother.

I
don’t know anything about the life awaiting me.

CHAPTER 2

LAST DAY OF HAPPINESS

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Sienna

4 months later - May 4th

Things were going better than I expected. I
had a small apartment that I kept running, paying the rent the best I could. I
didn’t come from wealth—just enough to get by, no more, no less. We weren’t the
type to flaunt anything we didn’t have. But make no mistake, we had our share
of secrets, hidden deep, waiting to stay buried.

By night, I worked at a quiet library, a place
few knew to visit. By day, I spent my mornings at a kindergarten, surrounded by
innocence. People thought I had a hard edge, but with children, it was
different. Soft. I wasn’t who they thought I was.

I gathered the drawings from my little ones,
their tiny hands leaving their mark on the canvases. Tomorrow, once they’re
dry, we’ll write their names, turn them into something special for their homes.
A small gesture, but one that meant everything to me.

—Goodbye, Mrs Fiore. 

—Goodbye, Rudi. 

—I love you, miss. 

—I love you too, Hector. 

The parents arrive to pick up their kids, and
I stay behind for another twenty minutes to clean up the mess. I toss my
paint-streaked smock into my bag—another item to wash and return spotless
tomorrow. My colleagues have already left, and as I see my best friend by the
door, I grab my things, ready to leave. 

—You done? 

—Yeah, we did the handprints. 

—I saw the multiplication tables. —He shrugs,
hoisting his backpack over one shoulder—. I love these little ones too
much. 

—Wanna grab something to eat? 

—Of course, miss. 

The word catches me off guard for a moment, a
reminder of that day when I set everything aside to embrace challenges. I’ve
always sought them out. They keep me alive. And when Salvatore came into my
life, I knew I had to show him a little vulnerability, just enough to have him
exactly where I wanted him. Vague memories flood my mind: his warmth spilling
over against my hand, the heavy, solid feel of him, the veins under my
palm... 

—Pizza or sushi? 

—Sushi. Last week was pizza. 

—You’re right. 

He knows me better than anyone. He always
does. From the first minute, he knew Fabian wasn’t the one for me. David’s the
type to keep track of everything—news, gossip, everything. When I told him
about Salvatore, he went pale and silent for ten minutes straight. 

David’s family is a whole different world:
doctors, accountants, lawyers. He’s the only one who went into education, so
he’s always been the smart one. His cousin Eva is a lawyer, known as the
Devil’s Lawyer for taking on high-risk cases. One of them was against Domenico
Marino, Salvatore’s brother, just two months ago. Eva got Domenico off without
a scratch. 

Of course, it came with a price—over ten
million euros to keep things quiet and expedite the process. Calabria’s under
constant threat from the Rinaldi and Marino families, always in the news for
some massacre or another. Everyone knows they’re at war. And Salvatore? He’s
playing his cards carefully, ready to make his move. 

David and I chat as we stroll down the street
toward the sushi restaurant. We’ve been to all kinds of places, trying new
dining spots no matter where we are. Being in Italy doesn’t stop us. I’ve
sampled a bit of everything, and while David insists that tacos from Mexico
don’t compare, I’m inclined to disagree. 

We place our order, and I notice the steady
stream of people asking for tables. 

—Did you see the news? 

—No, but I’m guessing there’s been another
massacre. 

—Happened near where you live. —I purse my
lips. He’s right. Three days ago, three corpses were found. Rinaldi hitmen,
apparently, and Salvatore Marino had them killed. 

To be honest, I haven’t been able to forget
his name. It lingers in my mind, especially with David always bringing it up.
He’s a gossip, after all. Knows everything from celebrity diets to mafia
dealings. 

—And what’s that to me? I didn’t kill
them. 

—I’d prefer you stayed with me for a while.
Those areas are getting dangerous, and I suspect the Marinos are watching
you. 

—Why would they do that? 

—Because you met Salvatore, you jerked him
off, and left him like a statue. 

—That has nothing to do with it. I’m not
interested. 

—Sienna... —David’s voice takes on a warning
tone—. I know you haven’t forgotten him. You don’t stop me from talking about
what I find in the news, and I don’t see you chasing after new guys
either. 

—I have a lot to do...

Alessio

Stubborn, feisty and with an attitude that she harbored in her soul.

That was the three words I could describe her out the top of my mind as I walked down to the kitchen area, finally deciding to come out of my office after locking myself away to finish up my tasks for a few days. Ava was sitting at the end of the table, in a plain white gown that still looked too big for her tiny frame. Unlike the past few days, she had finally stopped wearing a cardigan around the estate as we raised the heat, given how cold it was getting. Her hair was parted to one side as she listened to what everyone was chattering around, giving a small nod and brief sentences here and there. Almost as if she senses me, she briefly looked at the doorway to where before she went back to poking at her overnight oats with fruits. Anastasia was chattering per usual up to fill the silence with an occasional grunt or mumble from my men until I finally stepped into the kitchen.

"Alessio, good morning," Anastasia said through a spoonful of cereal. "Care to join us finally?"

"Did you sleep in your office yesterday?" Nicolai asked in a gruff, his gun in plain sight as a way to assert his dominance with high alert. I didn't blame him, since it wasn't everyday you have a new addition to the family. Our men slept and lived in other properties miles away from here and only my most trusted gets to live here. It just so happened that rule changed when I brought home a little bird.

"Perhaps," I answered, taking a seat across from Ava on purpose. She stopped picking at her oatmeal with fruits for a moment for me to recognized she barely touched it before she goes onto mixing it. Everyone had been to wrap up with discussing our next plan of action to notice it, or they didn't care enough.

"We got anything to do today. Shipments? Meeting? Killing?" Aleksei asked, drawing out the last part which made everyone perk up in interest while the maid placed my usual breakfast consisting of two eggs, bacons, and a side of buttered toast. Taking a knife and fork, I slowly took a small bite and thought.

"Nothing out the ordinary," I simply shrugged after swallowing. For the most part, I was waiting for my next move, careful not to jump too fast before it was my turn. With just Rose needed to return when she's done, everything was set in place. All we needed now was patience, something they weren't good at. "Most of the things are dealt with already. Though I have to meet with the families next week to introduce my new wife."

"Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that," Silas snapped his finger, slamming his cup of coffee onto the table and making Ava jump from the sudden sound. I watched Aleksei narrow his eyes at Silas for scaring her. No one seemed to have notice as they became caught up with getting ready for the day, but I did. For the most part, everyone's guard was always done for the most part on the estate, except for me.

I learned young what could happen if you ever have your guard down.

Aleksei gave Ava a reassuring smile a few seats away which earned him just the slightest smile in return. I didn't like it but decided to give a moment of thought since he usually took his job seriously, which meant making sure Ava wasn't going to do anything idiotic and stupid.

"Every family is going to be there?" Silas asked, puzzled as he glanced at Ava for a moment. She stops picking at her breakfast, probably trying to process the fact that everyone is going to be staring at her with distasteful and revulsive matter. Some might even find her shocking to see that the Italians princess wasn't just a myth.

"Last I talked to them, yes," I replied simply, taking another bite, and resisting the urge to steal another glance at Ava. I wanted to tie her down and force feed her at this point because it seemed like she barely took three bites total out of her breakfast. The irritation settling into my bones because the last thing I needed was her fainting. I didn't know what her diet was like when she was at Antonio's estate, but everyone here ate three meals.

"Your father is going to flip then," Nicolai said with a snort as he got up to throw his remainder of food into the trash bin. Everyone follow suit with placing their plates and empty cup into the sink while I bask in the fact that I would be enjoying my breakfast in silence soon enough. It was the way it was for years and I enjoyed it.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Aleksei commented with a chuckle as he gets up, waiting for Ava to follow as she peered at him and then her unfinished food like she didn't know what to do. Gripping the knife in my hands to hold in my sneer, I stared at Ava, practically burning a hole on her at this point. And I knew she felt it by the way she bit her lips.

"I've given everyone a short rundown yesterday to expect my new wife, so they won't go ballistic," I drawled out. "Though I can't stop just how it'll go down when they actually see her."

"How did everyone take the news that she's an Italian?" Silas asked, amused as he hands me the tablet that was left onto the counter. Per usual, there was work to be done "You got a few emails you should reply to as well."

"Do you think I care about their opinions?" I question, arching up a brow.

"Does she got anything to wear?" Anastasia said with a glint of excitement in her eyes. "Like a dress? I want to go shopping with her if she doesn't have anything to wear."

"She's not allowed out," I remarked slowly, our eyes clashing as she finally lifted her head from her breakfast to stare at me. With a gleam of deviltry, I smirked at her. "Unless she would like to take up my offer of what we talked about a few days ago?"

"No."

Amusement flashed through everyone's eyes along with a hint of confusion and shock that I wasn't forcing her to do something. It wasn't my thing, yet the thought of her slowly starting to crumple and giving it would make it all worth it. At that, I shrugged. "Then she can order one online with you supervising her."

"That's no fun."

"That's not my problem," I curtly replied, cutting through my eggs. "Not to mention, everything is uncertain right now with how the Italians would reply that Antonio had just gave away her daughter for an alliance. I think it'll be best you stay home until everything settles."

"Fine, then I guess I'll purposely buy the most expensive dress with overnight shipping." Anastasia grumble in annoyance but doesn't say anything as everyone started to trickle out of the dining room to get the day started, leaving just the both of us. It had been like that the last few days, seeing how slow she ate compared to everyone else. Even Aleksei would spar with Silas or Nicolai before coming to fetch her to see what to do for the rest of the day.

Then again, she didn't have much to do since Anastasia and the maids took care of everything.

A few moments of silent passes when I got annoyed that she wasn't eating. I had done nothing but give her a probably better life than the one she had before and every day, she barely ate enough. No one seemed to notice, or maybe I only did because I didn't want her to make an embarrassment out of me. Slamming my knife onto the table, Ava jumped in surprise, almost dropping her spoon in the process.

"Bird, give me a cup of coffee."

Apparently, it became a new hobby I've grown a few days before to irritate her with her newfound nickname as I find minuscule errands for her to run. It started with trying to annoy her, which has now transformed into trying to user her nickname however I can, especially when she was making me angry. I usually distinguished when I gave her a chance to say no versus when I was in no mood with my wording.

Ava wordlessly gets up from her seat, setting her spoon neatly on top of her bowl of barely touched oatmeal. She makes her way to the counter and pops a pod into the expresso machine that I remembered she saw everyone using a few times. She grabs the nearest black mug on the counter and once she was done, she comes back, her lips puckered out like a child.

When she finally sets the cup of coffee in front of me, I realized her hands and arms were no longer bandaged anymore. While her skin was still a bit red, overall, her skin was porcelain like her father had claimed. Though when she extends her hands to place the cup down, her long sleeves rises and I realized her father was lying about something, something he had to have known that not every inch of her was white, untouched, and porcelain.

Ridged hate looking scars that I knew all too well wouldn't heal were on both of her wrist, giving it the look like she had been struggling hard against whatever they had chained her up with to give her those marking. Just like where they had branded her delicate skin, it was a constant reminder to her who she belonged too, no matter how far she runs.

Permanent scarring, like the branding on her rib cage.

A snarl came out of me before I could stop it and Ava froze in her place. I grabbed at her wrist, hard enough to apply some force of pressure, but not enough to actually hurt her. She yelped a bit in surprise yet doesn't pull away from me as I examined her wrists carefully. It wasn't even made from her struggling, but more like she was dragged after tied up, maybe even burnt there. The more I looked at it, the more it made my stomach turned in pure anger about not just the lie told by Antonio, but the amount of torment she probably had gone. I didn't care, yet others would be quick to think I was the one hurting her.

"What are you doing?" she whispered quietly, not daring to pull away from my grip. My eyes snapped to hers. Her blue eyes guarded, and though usually people's eyes were filled with terror and dread being close enough where they could see each one of my scars, Ava wasn't. In fact, she seemed more scared of me asking questions about her past, which doesn't deter from me doing so.

"Where did you get this?" I murmured low and dark.

Shame filled her face as she "I...I can't remember,"

"Can't? Or won't?"

She goes quiet at the two options I gave her and then swallow. "I think Robert inflicted them onto me, but I don't remember much. I was out of it a lot."

"Explain," I demanded, my voice clipped what she meant when she said she was out of it during those times, wanting to know, almost needing to know more than breathing. Her gaze drops from my eyes to her wrist and a low rumble came out of me, not liking her eyes off of me. As if she understands, her eyes finally snapping back onto me. "Good girl, now tell me."

"He was trying a new kind of drug," she murmured uncomfortably, whispering while her whole body stiffened under the memories. "With a friend of his. But I don't know for sure, like I had mentioned, I was out of it during those few days. I struggled, but the memories are blotched."

"These are permanent like the one on your ribcage," I stated out loud. "They would never heal."

She flinches at the harsh truth and I knew I was a bastard for bringing it up, but she needed to hear it now. She needed to verify it out loud and she nodded at my statement softly.

"It appears so," she agrees, allowing me to turn and examine the inner parts of her wrists was when I noticed there was a rather long line darker right where her jugular vein was. Almost as if she read my mind, she pulled away from me and I allowed her to do it without a fight. Backing away two steps, she stares at me still and cleared her throat. "Is that all you need besides your coffee?"

I gestured to her bowl with a nod. "I need you to also finish your breakfast before you leave the table."

"I'm working on it," she replied with a short huff. She made her way back to her chair and then continued to pick at it.

"You barely even touched it," I stated through grit teeth. When she stared at me, almost curious of why I cared, I continued. "Last thing I would want is for you to faint or die on me."

"I'm not that easy to kill, it appears." She gave me a small smile.

"You better finish before I'm done, because unlike the first few times, I won't leave until you're done. Would you like that I'll be behind because of you?" I questioned; my lips pressed thinly. "Would you like for me to sit with you because my wife isn't competent of eating?"

"I'm not hungry though," she explained again, her lips pursed in a pout like gesture.

"You need to eat," I said in a hard, clipped tone, leaving no room for debate. "End of discussion or we'll be here all day."

"I'll like to see that," she mumbled more to herself, but if there was something I was good at, it was hearing my enemies' whispers no matter the distance. I ended up letting her slide with that comment when she eventually takes a sizable bite off her spoon and then dabs her lips with the towel, getting up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I questioned, watching her grab a lid from the counter and walking back to where her seat was.

"I'm saving it for later," she replied simply.

"You didn't even finish," I stated with a scowl.

"You said eat, not finish," she retaliated. Although she was getting on my nerve, for some reason, it didn't anger me the way people usually would. Rather, it was more amusing when she thinks she could do as she wished. She had become more customed to the house, my people, and her lackluster personality I thought she had slowly fade to reveal what she really was. "Last I checked, I had taken a bite, haven't I?"

"You're a fucking brat," I bit out before narrowing my eyes. "Sit down and finish the rest. You barely even scrape the damn surface."

"Are you commanding me to?" she asked, referring to the second rule I had placed, cocking one eyebrow upwards. Though she takes a seat, she doesn't reopen the lid and stared at me, biting her lips.

"No, because you're going to listen without me commanding me," I said, finishing the remainder of my coffee, getting up to place my dish and cup into the dish. "You doing as a say would be last resort, though I don't think I would have to use it."

Her eyes flashed with defiance, forehead puckered together and titled her head to the side. "Why would you think that?"

It was good she had started to talk and ask question, mainly thanks to Anastasia for the most part wearing her down with her nonsensical talking. The thing I hated the most was dull people that bore me. It was another reason why I decided it'll be fun to take her as my wife, to get her to submit willingly. "I'm going to let you know now, bird, I always get what I want."

"What if that doesn't always work out?" she questioned narrowing her eyes.

"Then I'll kill whoever it is stopping me and get it," I stated with a twisted smile, standing at the back of her chair. "Worked like a charm without fail."

"Hm, bet it does, doesn't it," she murmured, pulling up a chair next to her. She eyed me as I propped my head up by my elbows, drumming her

"I have to go to the annex house in the back of the estate," I began slowly, her eyes trained on mine again to see where I was going. It wasn't technically a lie, because I had to go sooner or later to do a thorough count of our ammos and weapons we kept, making sure nothing had been taken. Something I taken in my own hands once a month to check what we needed to order and what needs to be replenished in the emergency room in the property's estate in case of an attack. "And I need another pair of hands."

She stilled for a moment, staring now in befuddlement. "Are...are you saying I could go outside?"

"Are you going to tell me you don't like the nickname bird?" I shot back.

"No."

"Then you won't be going out, you'll be accompanying me to carry things from there back into the estate so finish your breakfast before I tell someone else to do it. Manual work as my personal maid," I illiterate, tapping my index finger on the closed lid. "So, finish your breakfast and you'll tag along. Do you want to be an inconvenience to everyone who's busy right now?"

Without another word, she finally opening back the lid and then looked at me. "Can you come back in ten minutes, if you would like me to eat."

At her request, I furrowed my eyebrows. "Why?"

"I...I can't eat when I think someone's watching me, I have to eat alone," she murmured, her gaze dropping onto the oatmeal. "I always ate alone, and if Robert had taken me out for formal events to show me off, I would starve till I get back home. I can't eat with people around, watching me."

I sighed at the newfound confession, but it finally hits me why she had been stubborn with eating at all whenever we sat down for breakfast and dinner, always finding an excuse to not eat together. Probably stemming from some sort of trauma given her history. "Would you eat if no one is watching you and they're in the same room?"

"I...I think so," she mumbled lowly. "I don't know, but when my Father had stationed guards near my room, I was able to do it, since they always had their backs facing me."

Grabbing today's newspaper that was left on the table, I opened it to a page where it places a barrier between us. "There, now I can't see you, so eat because we don't have all day."

I didn't see her reaction, but I can feel her teasing nature from the paper. "Would you like to turn the paper right side up first?"

Fucking brat.Alessio

Stubborn, feisty and with an attitude that she harbored in her soul.

That was the three words I could describe her out the top of my mind as I walked down to the kitchen area, finally deciding to come out of my office after locking myself away to finish up my tasks for a few days. Ava was sitting at the end of the table, in a plain white gown that still looked too big for her tiny frame. Unlike the past few days, she had finally stopped wearing a cardigan around the estate as we raised the heat, given how cold it was getting. Her hair was parted to one side as she listened to what everyone was chattering around, giving a small nod and brief sentences here and there. Almost as if she senses me, she briefly looked at the doorway to where before she went back to poking at her overnight oats with fruits. Anastasia was chattering per usual up to fill the silence with an occasional grunt or mumble from my men until I finally stepped into the kitchen.

"Alessio, good morning," Anastasia said through a spoonful of cereal. "Care to join us finally?"

"Did you sleep in your office yesterday?" Nicolai asked in a gruff, his gun in plain sight as a way to assert his dominance with high alert. I didn't blame him, since it wasn't everyday you have a new addition to the family. Our men slept and lived in other properties miles away from here and only my most trusted gets to live here. It just so happened that rule changed when I brought home a little bird.

"Perhaps," I answered, taking a seat across from Ava on purpose. She stopped picking at her oatmeal with fruits for a moment for me to recognized she barely touched it before she goes onto mixing it. Everyone had been to wrap up with discussing our next plan of action to notice it, or they didn't care enough.

"We got anything to do today. Shipments? Meeting? Killing?" Aleksei asked, drawing out the last part which made everyone perk up in interest while the maid placed my usual breakfast consisting of two eggs, bacons, and a side of buttered toast. Taking a knife and fork, I slowly took a small bite and thought.

"Nothing out the ordinary," I simply shrugged after swallowing. For the most part, I was waiting for my next move, careful not to jump too fast before it was my turn. With just Rose needed to return when she's done, everything was set in place. All we needed now was patience, something they weren't good at. "Most of the things are dealt with already. Though I have to meet with the families next week to introduce my new wife."

"Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that," Silas snapped his finger, slamming his cup of coffee onto the table and making Ava jump from the sudden sound. I watched Aleksei narrow his eyes at Silas for scaring her. No one seemed to have notice as they became caught up with getting ready for the day, but I did. For the most part, everyone's guard was always done for the most part on the estate, except for me.

I learned young what could happen if you ever have your guard down.

Aleksei gave Ava a reassuring smile a few seats away which earned him just the slightest smile in return. I didn't like it but decided to give a moment of thought since he usually took his job seriously, which meant making sure Ava wasn't going to do anything idiotic and stupid.

"Every family is going to be there?" Silas asked, puzzled as he glanced at Ava for a moment. She stops picking at her breakfast, probably trying to process the fact that everyone is going to be staring at her with distasteful and revulsive matter. Some might even find her shocking to see that the Italians princess wasn't just a myth.

"Last I talked to them, yes," I replied simply, taking another bite, and resisting the urge to steal another glance at Ava. I wanted to tie her down and force feed her at this point because it seemed like she barely took three bites total out of her breakfast. The irritation settling into my bones because the last thing I needed was her fainting. I didn't know what her diet was like when she was at Antonio's estate, but everyone here ate three meals.

"Your father is going to flip then," Nicolai said with a snort as he got up to throw his remainder of food into the trash bin. Everyone follow suit with placing their plates and empty cup into the sink while I bask in the fact that I would be enjoying my breakfast in silence soon enough. It was the way it was for years and I enjoyed it.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Aleksei commented with a chuckle as he gets up, waiting for Ava to follow as she peered at him and then her unfinished food like she didn't know what to do. Gripping the knife in my hands to hold in my sneer, I stared at Ava, practically burning a hole on her at this point. And I knew she felt it by the way she bit her lips.

"I've given everyone a short rundown yesterday to expect my new wife, so they won't go ballistic," I drawled out. "Though I can't stop just how it'll go down when they actually see her."

"How did everyone take the news that she's an Italian?" Silas asked, amused as he hands me the tablet that was left onto the counter. Per usual, there was work to be done "You got a few emails you should reply to as well."

"Do you think I care about their opinions?" I question, arching up a brow.

"Does she got anything to wear?" Anastasia said with a glint of excitement in her eyes. "Like a dress? I want to go shopping with her if she doesn't have anything to wear."

"She's not allowed out," I remarked slowly, our eyes clashing as she finally lifted her head from her breakfast to stare at me. With a gleam of deviltry, I smirked at her. "Unless she would like to take up my offer of what we talked about a few days ago?"

"No."

Amusement flashed through everyone's eyes along with a hint of confusion and shock that I wasn't forcing her to do something. It wasn't my thing, yet the thought of her slowly starting to crumple and giving it would make it all worth it. At that, I shrugged. "Then she can order one online with you supervising her."

"That's no fun."

"That's not my problem," I curtly replied, cutting through my eggs. "Not to mention, everything is uncertain right now with how the Italians would reply that Antonio had just gave away her daughter for an alliance. I think it'll be best you stay home until everything settles."

"Fine, then I guess I'll purposely buy the most expensive dress with overnight shipping." Anastasia grumble in annoyance but doesn't say anything as everyone started to trickle out of the dining room to get the day started, leaving just the both of us. It had been like that the last few days, seeing how slow she ate compared to everyone else. Even Aleksei would spar with Silas or Nicolai before coming to fetch her to see what to do for the rest of the day.

Then again, she didn't have much to do since Anastasia and the maids took care of everything.

A few moments of silent passes when I got annoyed that she wasn't eating. I had done nothing but give her a probably better life than the one she had before and every day, she barely ate enough. No one seemed to notice, or maybe I only did because I didn't want her to make an embarrassment out of me. Slamming my knife onto the table, Ava jumped in surprise, almost dropping her spoon in the process.

"Bird, give me a cup of coffee."

Apparently, it became a new hobby I've grown a few days before to irritate her with her newfound nickname as I find minuscule errands for her to run. It started with trying to annoy her, which has now transformed into trying to user her nickname however I can, especially when she was making me angry. I usually distinguished when I gave her a chance to say no versus when I was in no mood with my wording.

Ava wordlessly gets up from her seat, setting her spoon neatly on top of her bowl of barely touched oatmeal. She makes her way to the counter and pops a pod into the expresso machine that I remembered she saw everyone using a few times. She grabs the nearest black mug on the counter and once she was done, she comes back, her lips puckered out like a child.

When she finally sets the cup of coffee in front of me, I realized her hands and arms were no longer bandaged anymore. While her skin was still a bit red, overall, her skin was porcelain like her father had claimed. Though when she extends her hands to place the cup down, her long sleeves rises and I realized her father was lying about something, something he had to have known that not every inch of her was white, untouched, and porcelain.

Ridged hate looking scars that I knew all too well wouldn't heal were on both of her wrist, giving it the look like she had been struggling hard against whatever they had chained her up with to give her those marking. Just like where they had branded her delicate skin, it was a constant reminder to her who she belonged too, no matter how far she runs.

Permanent scarring, like the branding on her rib cage.

A snarl came out of me before I could stop it and Ava froze in her place. I grabbed at her wrist, hard enough to apply some force of pressure, but not enough to actually hurt her. She yelped a bit in surprise yet doesn't pull away from me as I examined her wrists carefully. It wasn't even made from her struggling, but more like she was dragged after tied up, maybe even burnt there. The more I looked at it, the more it made my stomach turned in pure anger about not just the lie told by Antonio, but the amount of torment she probably had gone. I didn't care, yet others would be quick to think I was the one hurting her.

"What are you doing?" she whispered quietly, not daring to pull away from my grip. My eyes snapped to hers. Her blue eyes guarded, and though usually people's eyes were filled with terror and dread being close enough where they could see each one of my scars, Ava wasn't. In fact, she seemed more scared of me asking questions about her past, which doesn't deter from me doing so.

"Where did you get this?" I murmured low and dark.

Shame filled her face as she "I...I can't remember,"

"Can't? Or won't?"

She goes quiet at the two options I gave her and then swallow. "I think Robert inflicted them onto me, but I don't remember much. I was out of it a lot."

"Explain," I demanded, my voice clipped what she meant when she said she was out of it during those times, wanting to know, almost needing to know more than breathing. Her gaze drops from my eyes to her wrist and a low rumble came out of me, not liking her eyes off of me. As if she understands, her eyes finally snapping back onto me. "Good girl, now tell me."

"He was trying a new kind of drug," she murmured uncomfortably, whispering while her whole body stiffened under the memories. "With a friend of his. But I don't know for sure, like I had mentioned, I was out of it during those few days. I struggled, but the memories are blotched."

"These are permanent like the one on your ribcage," I stated out loud. "They would never heal."

She flinches at the harsh truth and I knew I was a bastard for bringing it up, but she needed to hear it now. She needed to verify it out loud and she nodded at my statement softly.

"It appears so," she agrees, allowing me to turn and examine the inner parts of her wrists was when I noticed there was a rather long line darker right where her jugular vein was. Almost as if she read my mind, she pulled away from me and I allowed her to do it without a fight. Backing away two steps, she stares at me still and cleared her throat. "Is that all you need besides your coffee?"

I gestured to her bowl with a nod. "I need you to also finish your breakfast before you leave the table."

"I'm working on it," she replied with a short huff. She made her way back to her chair and then continued to pick at it.

"You barely even touched it," I stated through grit teeth. When she stared at me, almost curious of why I cared, I continued. "Last thing I would want is for you to faint or die on me."

"I'm not that easy to kill, it appears." She gave me a small smile.

"You better finish before I'm done, because unlike the first few times, I won't leave until you're done. Would you like that I'll be behind because of you?" I questioned; my lips pressed thinly. "Would you like for me to sit with you because my wife isn't competent of eating?"

"I'm not hungry though," she explained again, her lips pursed in a pout like gesture.

"You need to eat," I said in a hard, clipped tone, leaving no room for debate. "End of discussion or we'll be here all day."

"I'll like to see that," she mumbled more to herself, but if there was something I was good at, it was hearing my enemies' whispers no matter the distance. I ended up letting her slide with that comment when she eventually takes a sizable bite off her spoon and then dabs her lips with the towel, getting up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I questioned, watching her grab a lid from the counter and walking back to where her seat was.

"I'm saving it for later," she replied simply.

"You didn't even finish," I stated with a scowl.

"You said eat, not finish," she retaliated. Although she was getting on my nerve, for some reason, it didn't anger me the way people usually would. Rather, it was more amusing when she thinks she could do as she wished. She had become more customed to the house, my people, and her lackluster personality I thought she had slowly fade to reveal what she really was. "Last I checked, I had taken a bite, haven't I?"

"You're a fucking brat," I bit out before narrowing my eyes. "Sit down and finish the rest. You barely even scrape the damn surface."

"Are you commanding me to?" she asked, referring to the second rule I had placed, cocking one eyebrow upwards. Though she takes a seat, she doesn't reopen the lid and stared at me, biting her lips.

"No, because you're going to listen without me commanding me," I said, finishing the remainder of my coffee, getting up to place my dish and cup into the dish. "You doing as a say would be last resort, though I don't think I would have to use it."

Her eyes flashed with defiance, forehead puckered together and titled her head to the side. "Why would you think that?"

It was good she had started to talk and ask question, mainly thanks to Anastasia for the most part wearing her down with her nonsensical talking. The thing I hated the most was dull people that bore me. It was another reason why I decided it'll be fun to take her as my wife, to get her to submit willingly. "I'm going to let you know now, bird, I always get what I want."

"What if that doesn't always work out?" she questioned narrowing her eyes.

"Then I'll kill whoever it is stopping me and get it," I stated with a twisted smile, standing at the back of her chair. "Worked like a charm without fail."

"Hm, bet it does, doesn't it," she murmured, pulling up a chair next to her. She eyed me as I propped my head up by my elbows, drumming her

"I have to go to the annex house in the back of the estate," I began slowly, her eyes trained on mine again to see where I was going. It wasn't technically a lie, because I had to go sooner or later to do a thorough count of our ammos and weapons we kept, making sure nothing had been taken. Something I taken in my own hands once a month to check what we needed to order and what needs to be replenished in the emergency room in the property's estate in case of an attack. "And I need another pair of hands."

She stilled for a moment, staring now in befuddlement. "Are...are you saying I could go outside?"

"Are you going to tell me you don't like the nickname bird?" I shot back.

"No."

"Then you won't be going out, you'll be accompanying me to carry things from there back into the estate so finish your breakfast before I tell someone else to do it. Manual work as my personal maid," I illiterate, tapping my index finger on the closed lid. "So, finish your breakfast and you'll tag along. Do you want to be an inconvenience to everyone who's busy right now?"

Without another word, she finally opening back the lid and then looked at me. "Can you come back in ten minutes, if you would like me to eat."

At her request, I furrowed my eyebrows. "Why?"

"I...I can't eat when I think someone's watching me, I have to eat alone," she murmured, her gaze dropping onto the oatmeal. "I always ate alone, and if Robert had taken me out for formal events to show me off, I would starve till I get back home. I can't eat with people around, watching me."

I sighed at the newfound confession, but it finally hits me why she had been stubborn with eating at all whenever we sat down for breakfast and dinner, always finding an excuse to not eat together. Probably stemming from some sort of trauma given her history. "Would you eat if no one is watching you and they're in the same room?"

"I...I think so," she mumbled lowly. "I don't know, but when my Father had stationed guards near my room, I was able to do it, since they always had their backs facing me."

Grabbing today's newspaper that was left on the table, I opened it to a page where it places a barrier between us. "There, now I can't see you, so eat because we don't have all day."

I didn't see her reaction, but I can feel her teasing nature from the paper. "Would you like to turn the paper right side up first?"

Fucking brat.

CHAPTER 1

Rocco

My finger brushed against the metal picture frame for what felt like the millionth time these past months. My wife. My beautiful wife. Isabella. Every time I remembered her, it felt like I was mourning her all over again.

As if she hadn't been brutally murdered and put to rest eleven months ago. Eleven months. It felt longer as if time extended when one was grieving. I felt like a piece of me was gone, and no matter what anyone tells you, time doesn't heal all wounds.

As time dragged on, the pain grew, the guilt deepened, and the hatred towards the world expanded. It was one of our wedding photos that she insisted that we have framed so that we never forgot this moment.

Our marriage wasn't an arranged one or one of mere convenience. I love her..loved her, from the very first time my sister, Mia, introduced her to the family. She was nineteen and was attending university with my sister.

I was twenty-three at the time, and it felt like I was learning what love truly was with her. Isabelle taught me how kind and beautiful love and life could be.

Hair as black as night and eyes as light as heaven themselves, and a smile that could bring the Devil himself to his knees, Isabella was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on.

The empty area in my chest where my heart was supposed to be felt shallower than usual as if she had taken it with her to the grave. As if she didn't want me ever to love someone as much as I loved her. I wouldn't. I would never love anyone ever again.

Isabella and I had been married for ten years, but we couldn't have children no matter how much we tried or how many doctors we saw. It was what people saw as a flaw, a weakness, something they'd point out to us repeatedly.

I didn't care. If it wasn't with her, I never wanted to have children with anyone else. She begged me to marry another over the strenuous years of IVF, surgeries, and other failed attempts.

My uncle kept pressuring me to marry another so that I would have an heir to take over the D’Alessio bloodline after I passed away.

The thought of touching anyone, kissing anyone, fucking anyone that wasn't my wife made bile burn in the back of my throat. Even after all time that had passed, I still think about her and see her in my dreams.

She's always calling out to me to save her, and no matter how hard I try and how strong I am, I can never reach her. The nightmares keep me awake as punishment for not being able to save her from my bloodthirsty enemies.

The fucking Polish. I didn't deserve to be alive with everything they put her through. I reached for the pack of cigarettes and loathed myself immensely as I lit the stick between my lips.

Isabella hated the smell of smoke, so I'd cut back from smoking our entire marriage. Now that I didn't have to watch out for the scent clinging to my clothes, I smoked like a fucking chimney.

I went through a pack a day, anything to help lessen the stress I had on my shoulders and the demons at bay. I let my head fall back on my chair as I exhaled the smoke.

There was a knock on the door, and before I could even say come in, the wooden doors swung open, and my uncle Luca stepped in. I straightened myself in the chair and stood up once he neared my desk.

"Rocco, come va?" He asked, his large hand coming up, and I shook it politely. (How's it going?)

He sat down in the black leather chair in front of me. Luca held half of Chicago and dealt with transportation matters. His job was to make sure my dealings went smoothly and that the cops we had in our pockets kept their fucking mouths shut.

Luca didn't look like my father at all. He was more burly, hairy, loud, rude. A complete opposite of my father, who, even though he ruled with an iron fist, was a man of honor and loyalty.

A man who lived by his own rules yet commanded Chicago justly. Everyone spoke of Alessandro D’Alessio everywhere you went as if he was God.

Che riposi in pace. (May he Rest In Peace)

His hands rested on his belly, his thick fingers decorated with rings of all sizes and colors. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his curly patches of chest hair, and his smile was too white like he used those whitening strips but left them on for way too long.

His hair was thinning, balding at some points, and I prayed that it wasn't genetic. Luca's dark eyes darted to the cigarette in my hand, and he reached over to my desk brusquely to grab a cigarette from my pack.

"You don't mind, right nipote?" (Nephew)

I bit a curse and offered him a curt nod instead. "No, of course not." I handed him the lighter and leaned back in my chair. "What do you need, Luca?"

The clicking sound of my lighter echoed the room before the man in front of me cleared his throat. "Rocco, you know how much I care for you." He began. "You need to wed again. There is talk of war, and we need to form an alliance soon with the Irish. The Polish will eat us alive, especially if they secure their deals with the Russians."

My jaw clenched with every word that fell out of his lips. The primal urge to rip his tongue out of his mouth for speaking to me like this had my fingers twitching.

It's not that I hated Luca or anything, but being blood didn't mean shit in this world, in this life we lived. Your loved ones could betray you faster than your enemies.

My father had told me repeatedly never to trust a single soul, that trust was for fools and an excuse for people to take advantage of your kindness.

The saying 'fool me once shame on me' didn't exist in my father's book. It was don't live to the day that you're able to get close to me to fool me.

"Find me another way to ally without me fucking getting married. I told you once, and here I am repeating myself. I will never marry again. Never. The faster you get it through your head, the better chance we have of me not killing you." I smushed the cigarette into the ashtray.

"People are starting to talk, Rocco. They're saying that you're a pathetic excuse for a Don of the D’Alessio family."

My nose flared, and my patience evaporated quickly. "Who the fuck is they? Anyone that speaks my name, let alone drags it through the fucking mud, well see just how pathetic I am." I stood up and slammed my hands down on the table. "I don't need to marry to prove who I am. My pristine record speaks for itself."

He tsked as he flicked the ends of his cigarette onto the ashtray. "You don't have to love her. Just produce an heir from her. Her name is Riona, and she's from the Doyle family. The Irish have the best fucking weapons. Just secure this deal, and you'll never have to worry about the fucking Polish. Capire?" (Understand)

"I said no. You're overstepping, Luca." I warned, my tone laced menacingly. "Uncle or not, I will not tolerate any fucking disrespect from you."

Ignoring my threat, he rolled his eyes as he exhaled the smoke. "If the Polish manage to snatch the Irish as well as the Russian, then you'll be royally fucked in the ass. Your pretty record won't be enough to keep them at bay and win the war."

I knew he was right. I hated that he was right. I needed an alliance. I had already lost my wife to the Polish; I couldn't risk losing my mother or sister. I had to do this.

I'd been delaying it for too long as if I could make this whole thing go away if I ignored it. It wasn't going anywhere, especially in this world, that was so tainted with blood and violence.

In this life, one had to make sacrifices greater than themselves to survive and protect their loved ones.

"Tonight, at ten. Tell her to meet me at my club Mistica." The words came out through clenched teeth and fists.

"I'll call and set it up." He stood up, crushed his cigarette's butt into the ashtray, and met my eyes. "This is a good thing, nipote."

Good, my fucking ass.

Mistica was just one of the many clubs I owned in Chicago. I had hotels, apartment buildings, restaurants, and some more low-key places to launder my money and deal with my shipments. I dealt with firearms, explosives, and some drugs here and there.

You wanted something to go BOOM; you come to Rocco D’Alessio. I got most of my shipments from New York City and my drugs from the Mexican Cartel. I was on excellent terms with them since the Capo was not only my best friend but my sister, Mias' fiance.

Mistica was crowded, the line circling the entire building. I had security guarding the club as if it was the fucking white house. Besides the two mammoth twins, Tio and Gio were my bouncers who let people in; I had men inside, on corners, down the block, and even in the buildings next door.

Nothing went down in my clubs without me knowing. You could cough, and I knew who you were and where you lived. Tio and Gio have been with me from when my father was still alive.

They were tough, loyal, and dealt with who went in and out of my club. Once they saw me approach the street, they gave me a respectful nod.

"Capo," Gio said, and they both split like the Red Sea as they let me in. I patted them both on their backs.

"Va tutto bene?" (Everything all right?)

"Sì, capo." (Yes, boss)

I walked inside and over to the front desk and saw the two men working for me tilt their heads at me in respect.

The girls that worked the front desk smiled at me as they came over to see what I wanted. I didn't hire anyone for any of my places; my father's second-hand man, Antonio, was in charge of all of that shit.

"Yes, Mr. D’Alessio." The blonde girl perked up, fluttering her lashes up at me.

I don't kill women. I don't kill women.

"Did my uncle call you?" I said, exasperated.

Her eyes scanned the computer screen in front of her then she nodded her head. "Yes, he did. He booked the VIP room for you."

"Private?"

Her eyes returned to the screen, "Yes, and it says that Ms. Doyle is already here and waiting for you."

"What room?"

"Eight, Mr. D’Alessio."

I weaved through the club, with the lights flashing all colors and the loud music blaring in my ears. It was pretty crowded here, and I could see everyone dancing, singing along, drinking, and enjoying their time.

Mistica was not only one of my famous clubs but one of my top stripper joints. Most of my clubs were also pretty known, but this one was fucking top tier.

Antonio says that the dancers that worked here were the hottest ones in Chicago, and that's why this one was always packed, which made it impossible to get in. I chose the theme red for the entire club.

Dark maroon carpets, red walls, red leather couches. That was the only thing I told the interior designer. I want it bloodthirsty; I want it violent, and I want it to bleed. I want everyone to lose their inhibitions once they step foot inside. I want them to know that here in Mistica; wedon't fuck around.

Finally, I made it to the VIP room, passing the crowd that surrounded the stage of half-naked girls twirling on a pole. I walked down the red hallway with the blinking lights.

Two more men guarded the VIP room, and once they saw me, they unclicked the red velvet stanchion. I tried to calm my breathing, so I didn't kill the woman waiting for me inside for simply showing up.

CHAPTER 2

Dahlia

"What room did the sleazy fucker rent out?"

"Eight. Your guy is probably beating his dick as we speak waiting for you."

I grimaced. "You're disgusting."

"Come on, remember that one guy who was waiting for you, and by the time you stepped in, he came all over his pants and the couch." Alexis was cackling at this point.

I had to remind myself that I should never retort to violence because A it's messy, and B she was my best friend. Alexis worked at the front desk of the club I danced at regularly. She had perfect ruler-straight blonde hair and big blue eyes that somehow matched her heart-shaped face amicably.

"I remember throwing up that day. He didn't even touch me, and I felt violated." I shuddered at the memory. I looked in the mirror and puffed up my hair before adding another layer of lipgloss. "This guy is so slimy. I hate him," I muttered as I got up.

"What time do you get off tonight?"

"Three, you?"

"I have this dance then one more set. I'll see you at home."

We did air-kisses so I wouldn't ruin my makeup before she left the locker room to head out, and I made my way to the other side of the club to get to the VIP section. It was a long walk, especially in heels that needed replacing.

Just add that to my list of shit I needed to buy. I kept to myself and clung to the silky black robe I had on until I finally made it. The two men that recognized me smiled at me as they saw me near them.

"Hi, boys." I gave them a little wave as they pulled the rope out of my way and let me in.

The room wasn't blinking and flashing lights like they usually were, and the sleazy asshole that picked the room wasn't even in here. There was an actual couple just sitting in here, drinking and talking.

I couldn't see the man since his back was to me, but the woman on the other side of the couch looked appalled. She was dressed too elegantly, and even though this was a nice club, it wasn't that nice that she had to be wearing a Versace dress.

"You brought a dancer to this meeting?" I heard her say all riled up. "Are you serious, Rocco?"

"Dancer? What?" The deep, commanding voice belonging to the name Rocco spoke.

He spun around to face me, and I was taken back by the pure rugged handsomeness that was this man. I didn't even know God made men that looked like this anymore. He looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine cover.

I'd never seen him before, and I knew my customers. This man was new. The stiff arrogance and shrill intimidation seeped out of him with every step he took towards me, and the deadly combo had me eager to know whether he'd fuck me or kill me. I guess you could say I'm a little messed up in the head when it comes to my sexual appetite.

So fucking sue me.

It didn't help that he was wrapped in a three-piece black suit like Lucifer himself, tempting me to hell's deep, dark depths. A mass of ominous black ink started from the tips of his fingers and wrapped around him, peeking out at the top of his broad chest and long neck.

Every inch of him was shadowed with tattoos, marking him like the sinful man he was. The unknown man's hair was just as black as ink he had etched onto his skin and wild, disheveled as his eyes. Smoky gray eyes were so sharp, so intense, that he might as well have burned a hole right through me as I stared at him openly.

His nose was crooked, almost as if it's been broken too many times to have healed properly. Hair as black as night sat on the top of his head, parted and combed back lazily, yet it fit his personality somehow.

Something about this man not trying too hard, as if perfection was overrated to him. A thick beard and mustache took place over the rest of his face, yet theonly soft thing I noticed was his lips. Dark like berries and pouty enough to be seen as an invitation.

He smelt like smoke, gun powder, and immortality. The door behind me opened once again, and the man in front of me halted his steps, and I saw his hands reach for the back of his blazer.

Said sleazy man that I was looking for, walked inside...more like stumbled inside with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He looked like every other man I've ever danced for. He was also wearing a suit, but it didn't fit him like it fit that man.

I mean all men wear suits, so what was different about this man in one? It was as if the suit wore him, accentuating every muscle, every hard plane, every piece of him.

Combine it with those iniquitous tattoos and those steel-grey eyes, he was utterly the most handsome man I've ever seen in my life. There was something between us, crackling, pulling us closer together, and the sound of the drunk man hiccuping snapped us out of our trance.

"You ready to dance for me, pretty girl?" He slurred, and I think I threw up in my mouth a little. This man was old enough to be my father, with his receding hairline and ashy hair on top of his head. I could smell the alcohol on him, and his breath could burn a fucking forest.

"I think the question is, are you ready for me, big guy?" I spun around on my stilettos, offered him the biggest smile I could, then reached for his hands as I led him to the couch.

"Get out." I whipped my head to see the man from earlier, Rocco, glaring at me.

I cocked my hip out and crossed my arms over my chest, "Excuse me? This is my private session. You get out. The fuck?"

"I booked this room privately."

"Uh-huh, did you now? Then why am I standing here? You're welcome to watch, but it'll probably cost you extra." I placed my hand on the front of his suit and looked up at him through my lashes, "But you can probably afford it, can't you, baby?" I winked at him before going over to the stereo and turning on some music.

I gave the sleazy man my back, and once the music began playing in the room, I closed my eyes and let it wash over me. The thrumming beat of the song hit the walls and echoed the room. I cleared my mind and reminded myself that I needed the money. I needed the money.

Breathe in, then out. You can do this.

I let the music move me as I slowly shrugged off my robe and let it fall to the floor, revealing the gold rhinestone diamond-encrusted lingerie set I bought online. I slowly inched my way downwards to the beat of the music so that my ass was in perfect view before bending back and tilting my head to give him a seductive smile.

The older man was having the time of his life, drinking, and tossing the bills in the air as if it was his only job. That's not what caught my eye, however. He was watching me as well, very intently I might add.

He was now sitting where the woman was before, his arms crossed over his chest, staring me down. His face was emotionless, challenging me almost, and I mentally shook him off so I could continue my dance.

I swiveled my hips as I spun around and slowly walked closer to the man sitting who parted his legs for me to sit on his lap. I sat so that my back was facing his chest, and I wiggled my hips and mentally recoiled when I felt how hard this man was.

Ew. Fucking ew.

I ignored it as I let my hands fall over my body, then that's when it happened. I felt his hand grope my breast, and at first, I gently smacked it away before his other hand came up to grope me again. I pried it off of me, and then the asshole dared to grab my ass.

I stood up annoyed and exasperated. "No touching." I put on my robe and tightened it around my waist.

"For what I'm fucking paying for this dance, I'm touching."

I scoffed. "I don't care how much you're paying. You don't get to touch me."

"My friends warned me about the red-headed bitch that works here. I thought it was a lie. Turns out, you are a bitch."

"You want to see just how much of a bitch I am?" I inched for the little knife I kept in my robe pocket, "Go ahead, old man, say it again." I threatened.

"You're a fucking prude bitch." He spat. My knife came out quicker than he could have finished his sentence. I pressed the blade against his neck, and I enjoyed seeing the confidence drain from his pathetic eyes.

"What's wrong?" I pouted at him, "Didn't your friends tell you what I did to them last time they were here?" I pressed the tip deeper into his skin.

"You ever in your goddamn life, grope me or call me a bitch ever again. I'll fucking cut your eyes right out. You got it?" I pulled away and placed my knife back in my pocket. "Tip me for being the nicest bitch that's ever danced for you." I said, extending my hand for him.

"Come on," I shouted and saw him rush to pull out his wallet. He took too long, so I snatched it from him and grabbed the wad of bills he had. I tossed him his wallet back. "What do you say to the nice woman who just danced for you?"

"T-thank you."

I patted the top of his head. "Good boy." I shoved the money into the wire of my bra and panties, and before I could step outside, Rocco came in front of me and blocked my way.

"What?"

"Is this how you treat your customers?"

I snorted. "Yeah, and guess what, he'll be coming back tomorrow. Won't you, big boy?" I heard him mumble out a yes from behind me. "Some men." I began as I leaned in closer to his body.

I heard his sharp inhale as I gripped the sides of his blazer, "Don't have any pride; that's why they come to places like these." Even in heels, I couldn't reach this man. I had to lift my chin to gaze into his eyes.

"Their pride is so non-existent that I could threaten him repeatedly, and he'd still come back here. Have you seen the other dancers here? Have you seen our bodies?

Granted, you haven't seen me naked, but if you wait a while, you'll get to see me on stage. I have a set in a few minutes. You'll know it's me when you hear the men screaming my name."

He didn't look impressed. He looked exactly the same, and I wondered if he only had one emotion: nothing. "What's your name?"

"Sirena, it's Italian for mermaid," I explained.

"Your real name, not your fucking stage name."

"You want my real name?" I reached for his tie and wrapped my hand around it twice before yanking him down. I smiled at his shocked expression.

"I know you're rich, but you're not that rich to know my real name." I left a kiss on his cheek, lingering, so my lipstick smeared his cheek before pulling away. I tossed my hair over my shoulders, spun around on my stilettos, and walked out.

Dove is for sale.

And the recently crowned king of the Mexican Cartel is the highest bidder.

Sold to the crown of a blood-soaked empire, she becomes a pawn in a game played by the cruelest of men.

Andres was born into the Cartel. It's the only life he's ever known. After his father's death, Andres asserts the throne. But he is not his father. The weight of his newfound power presses upon his shoulders. And his throne feels more like a prison than a privilege.

Dove never imagined she'd get kidnapped while visiting her aunt in Mexico. When she gets purchased by a ruthless bidder, her only shot at freedom is to make a deal with the devil himself.

CHAPTER 1

His stomach was roiling but his face remained stoic, a slight smirk to give the appearance that he was excited for this night. The reality couldn't be further from the truth. The thought of going to watch women be auctioned off for sex slavery in the same way his mother had been sold to his father made him want to kill every man in the room. Slowly. But he couldn't do that, at least not yet. He had to play their game in order to get out. For good.

"Andres, lovely to see you this evening," the host gestured toward a plush red leather booth with a reserved placard on the table. Andres felt the reassuring pressure of his pistol tucked inside the waistband of his fitted black slacks and the even more tempting cool metal of his favorite knife blade against his calf. His hands itched to drag it across the host's insolent throat.

There were several circular elevated stages, normally occupied by strippers and dancers. But tonight, El Barrio Gentleman's Club was closed to the public and open only to a very select VIP list. The who's who of illegal business. The tycoons of vice. And among those, Andres was their newest king.

"Señor Vargas, my deepest condolences to you and your family. Your father was a great man." Andres clenched his fists beneath the table thinking to himself that his father was the furthest thing from a great man.

"Thank you."

"He was one of our most loyal customers. His privileges will of course be passed on to you." Andres nodded once, wanting no part in whatever said privileges were.

"Is there anything in particular you are looking for this evening, Señor?"

Andres swirled his amber drink, taking a long sip before responding. He knew what he was looking for but it wasn't something that could easily be described. It wasn't a type for him. These women weren't sex objects to him. He was looking for a partner. An accomplice to his plan. And he'd know that he found what he needed when he saw it.

"I'll know it when I see it."

"Understood, Señor Vargas. A man who knows what he wants."

"Something like that." Andres downed the rest of his drink and raised the empty glass at the host. Just because he wasn't his father didn't mean he was above using his power to be an asshole, especially to this disgusting organizer of sex slavery. Andres made a mental note to give this host his proper due at the right time. But the right time wasn't now. Far from it.

Andres's number two slid into the booth next to him, shrugging off his leather jacket. Martín had been around since the early days of his father's rise to power, but he had always shown an extra level of loyalty toward Andres. In a world where you could trust no one, sometimes not even yourself, Martín was the closest thing that Andres had to a true friend.

"Jefe, we have an issue. Shipment delay. Third one this week."

Fuck. Andres gritted his teeth. The last thing he needed right now were problems with the business. Everyone was looking for him to fail; for opportunities to exploit his weaknesses. Every transition of power was an opportunity for overthrow and that was not how Andres planned to leave this world. He was leaving for sure, but on his own terms and not with his tail between his legs. He wouldn't live his life being hunted down like a dog.

"In Miami or San Diego?"

"Miami." Andres nodded, not needing any further details. Clearly this was a power play by the Lotega family who had always felt handicapped and underpaid during the reign of Andres's father. This was their opportunity to renegotiate terms and they weren't planning on doing it around a conference table.

"Arrange for a visit. At the safe house. If they want to talk, it needs to be face to face. Not in this cowardly way of avoiding agreements and stalling our shipments. I won't have it."

"Good idea, Jefe. I'll make some calls." Martín slid out of the booth, his phone in hand. The lights in the club started to dim and the host returned with a fresh amber drink.

"They will be out shortly, Andres, enjoy." The host scuttled away quickly and Andres took another deep pull from the glass. The burn of the liquid felt good as it slid down his throat.

CHAPTER 2

The green dress matched the green specks in her hazel eyes and clung to her body like a second skin. Her breasts were barely contained, spilling forcefully over the top, accentuating her hourglass figure. She felt another chill from the drugs that had been shoved into her forearm, and she bit down hard to keep her teeth from chattering. Even though Dove was terrified and scared out of her mind, the singular emotion surging above all others was anger. Pure and raw, unlike anything she'd ever felt in her relatively simple, safe life. She wanted to hurt. Someone, anyone. But the shaking of her body kept her stuck in place, two feet behind a tall shivering blonde woman and two feet in front of a dark-skinned woman with beautiful almond shaped eyes. She hated the despair and lack of fight she saw in those eyes and hoped hers wouldn't lose their luster.

"Okay chica, move." Dove felt the cold metal of a gun at her side as each woman was escorted from the small waiting room out onto the stages. She put up a small fight, taking short staccato steps and doing her best to squirm in place despite her captor's tight hold on her right bicep.

"Always the best ones that gib me the most trouble. Stop moving, fucking punta, and this will go a lot easier. Keep being difficult and I'll keep you for myself." His breath smelled rotten and his hand on her bicep was clammy. She had no way of knowing what terror was in store for her, but the thought of this man touching her anymore than he already was, had her striding quickly toward the stage like she actually wanted to be there.

"Good, punta." She finally felt his gun move away from her side as he roughly shoved her up the small steps to the circular stage where she was to stand and be bid on like an object. So many thoughts flashed before her as she was blinded from the bidders with bright stage lights. She thought of her aunt, pacing her small, cozy living room, wondering where Dove was and why she still wasn't home. She saw a few happy memories with her mother from when she was young and times were better. She had to wonder if the police were even looking for her. Did anyone know that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong?

Suddenly the room got dim except for the light over the girl furthest to her right. Earlier in line, one girl told her they do a preview first and then allow the men to bid, usually limiting each man's purchase to one girl only. She told Dove that she'd been sold two or three times which decreased her value causing Dove to choke back the vomit that gathered in her throat at hearing these words like it was normal conversation.

When the spotlight hit her, Dove blinked hard a few times to adjust her vision and felt herself staring out into a hazy blackness. She did her best to stand still and keep her back straight, feeling her legs shake beneath her in fear and from the drugs. She prayed that the men would see the obvious anger and rebelliousness within her, that they'd choose a more docile girl instead. That no one would want to buy her. But even that thought was nauseating; the fact that Dove was in such a horrific place that her only shred of hope was that another girl would be sold instead of her.

"Turn around, chica! You're supposed to do a turn." She heard her captor hiss at her from behind the stage and she begrudgingly did a slow turn, dying inside for this to be over. When the spotlight finally moved off of her and onto the next girl she felt herself sag a bit into the high heels she'd been forced into, the wearing off of the drugs making her want to crawl into a ball on the floor. But she had to resist and save her strength. Somehow she would get out of this. There was no other way to think. The moment she did, she'd be as good as dead.

CHAPTER 3

Well fuck me, Andres thought to himself. His hand had been shaking slightly and he'd barely touched his third drink. All he could see was his beautiful, lovely mother and the way his father would beat her and treat her like an object until he finally shot her in the head like one of his traitors. The mother of his child. He had purchased her at an auction like this, at 10 years his junior, sold into sex slavery by her own family for money. The thought had Andres almost crushing the whiskey glass in his fist into little glass shards but he reminded himself that he had to remain calm. Andres took a deep breath through his nose and forced down all thoughts of his family. He turned his attention back to the stages.

When the spotlight hit the third woman he sat forward in the leather booth. He resented the fact that she was the sexiest woman he had ever seen, and that even under these circumstances he couldn't not be attracted to her. A long and curvy figure, her full breasts and ass barely contained in a skintight green dress. Long tresses of caramel brown hair hung down her back against lightly tanned skin and light eyes. She looked half Mexican, half Gringa. He noticed the shaking of her legs which made him curse under his breath. But he also noticed that she didn't look as broken and hopeless as the other women. Her jaw was firmly set, her eyes on fire. She glared right at him without realizing, without knowing what or who she was looking at. She was the one.

"I want her," Andres slid to the end of the booth and grabbed one of the host's shoulders.

"Yes sir, she is a good one for sure. Maybe the best one. You can place your bid," the host slipped Andres a sheet of paper but Andres didn't even look at it.

"There's not going to be a bidding war, entiendes? She's mine. Whatever price."

"Señor, I still need to check with the others —"

"Get me your boss."

Andres gave him a menacing look and the host nodded hurriedly before scurrying away. Andres didn't want this to go to a bidding war. She was the most beautiful one up there and he had no doubt there'd be competition. But he didn't want her only for her beauty. She wasn't going to be his in that way. He wanted her for what she could help him accomplish. He couldn't risk not getting her. The stakes were too high. He needed to harness the fire he saw in her and leverage that power toward his plan.

"Señor Andres, I see you've found a woman you like," an older gentleman with slick gray hair slid into the booth next to Andres without getting too close. "Since you are a first time buyer and your father was a close friend, I will gib you her, first dibs. But not cheap, she's my best tonight." He winked and licked his thin lips. Andres imagined grabbing his neck and snapping it in two. Like a thin, cowardly chicken.

"How much?"

"Two million. And that's US dollars, she's American."

"Done. Where do I collect?" The older man had a look of surprise on his face at Andres's swift purchase and eagerness, but he quickly regained himself.

"Please this way, I will bring her to you." Andres slid from the booth and followed close behind, Martín bringing up the rear.

"Jefe, the Lotega's should arrive at the hacienda in three days. For your face to face."

"Good. Make sure we get plenty of backup. I want this to be a business meeting, not a fucking ambush."

"Understood." Martín retreated again to the rear, always watching Andres's back.

They finally stopped at a back room with a garage roller door on one wall. Every detail had been thought through. Total control over these women with no hope for escape. Andres was far from a saint and he owned more of the Mexican drug trade than any other living person. But he never dealt in sex slavery. Well, not until this evening. The business disgusted him.

"She should be out shortly, Señor. Her name is Dove, but of course you can rename her whatever you'd like."

Dove. The name was beautiful, feminine, strong. Dove. Someone's daughter, someone's sister. He'd get her back to them one day. She wasn't his to keep and he wouldn't call her by anything other than her given name. Maintaining identity was critical in traumatic situations. Andres wanted to say this but instead he simply nodded, crossing his arms over his chest like he was settling on any other business deal.

"I have the car pulled around, Jefe," Martín glared with distrust at the gray haired man who ran this operation. Martín's own daughter had been taken years ago. Despite his deep connections within the Cartel, no one had been able to track her down and no one had heard from her since. Andres could see that thought racing behind Martín's eyes, but he never talked about her anymore. He never talked about anything personal. Neither of them did. It was safer that way.

CHAPTER 4

Dove didn't know how long she'd been standing up on the darkened stage, but it couldn't have been more than ten minutes before her captor grabbed her and yanked her down so forcefully that one of her high heels came off.

"Let's go punta, you stubborn but you make me a lot of money tonight."

She felt like she'd just swallowed sand, her throat was so dry that it was painful to breathe. She had already been sold? How could those words be real? Her body started to rack with dry heaves.

"Fuck chica, I can't deliver you like this," her captor pulled a needle from his coat pocket and jabbed it into her forearm before she could pull alway. She felt fresh, hot tears spring at the corners of her eyes, the pain of the needle and the grim reality of her current situation giving way to the heady feeling of the heroin in her veins.

"Follow me, chica. Down this hallway. Don't be difficult." He placed his hand on the small of her back and she flinched away automatically before being shoved forward. At the end of the hallway, there were several men in dark suits with even darker masked expressions on their faces. They all blurred together, making it hard for Dove to know exactly how many men there really were. Could've been three or six or nine. Her vision was starting to get hazy from the drugs and she blinked rapidly as if she could simply will the effects of the drug away.

"Andres, meet the lovely Dove." A tall, broad shouldered man stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at Dove like he was inspecting a luxury car he'd just purchased. Dove noticed that his jaw stiffened with anger and she felt her body tighten and curl into itself at the fear of what was coming next.

"You give her heroin?" His question came out more as an accusatory statement than a genuine inquiry, his voice deathly low. Dove felt his eyes like sharpened daggers, zeroing in on her nasty captor who was still holding her bicep in a vice grip.

"Señor, I had to. She's a difficult one but I'm sure you can train her real nice."

"Let go of her." The little man holding Dove's arm instantly released her bicep and she took several, staggered steps away from him toward the wall.

Andres let Dove stumble a bit and gather her footing. He did not reach for her and she had yet to look him in the eye. He noticed that she had only one high heel shoe on.

Andres whistled for two of his men. "Martín, get her in the car and take her to the house. Have Lolita clean her up." He kept his distance, knowing he had to keep this relationship strictly business in order for his plan to work out. He'd have to earn her trust quickly. Eventually he'd make sure this woman was back home and safe, wherever home was for her, but right now she would have a job to complete in order to earn that freedom. Everything comes at a price in this world. Especially freedom.

"No! Don't touch me!" Dove's voice was shrill as Andres's men grabbed her from both sides, her legs kicking out furiously causing her to lose her balance. Andres watched in both frustration and admiration at her fighting spirit but wouldn't allow himself to move towards her. Once the heroin wore off and she was cleaned up, then he'd talk to her. For now, he had to keep his distance.

—-

THE DRIVE SEEMED TO go on forever. Dove's head felt like it was swimming from the heroin and she had to hold back vomit every time the dark suburban lurched or drove over a bumpy road. When the car finally stopped she felt her heart rate spike again at the unknown, the fighting sense within her rising up and making her feel feral and crazy. When she was dragged out of the backseat of the SUV, a strong sweaty palm covered her mouth and another strong arm secured her arms behind her back, leaving only her legs free. She kicked aimlessly, causing nothing more than a small dust storm and a string of Spanish curse words from her new captors. Despite hating them already, they didn't smell nearly as badly or as rotten as her previous captor and they hadn't stuck a needle in her arm. Yet.

"Lolita, here's Andres's new girl. She's real expensive so clean her up good. And watch out, she's a fiery one." Dove heard a dark chuckle from behind her, and more faintly she heard the sound of shot glasses as if some sort of party was going on. But her eyelids were too heavy from the drugs and her whole body began to sag as the edges of her vision faded to black.

When Dove woke up, she felt cool, soft sheets around her body and noticed that her hair was damp. It smelled like vanilla. She sat up unsteadily on her elbows, the unfamiliarity of the bedroom causing her heart to race again. The room was barren but elegant, with one door leading into a small bathroom and a long, high window along one wall that only let in light but provided no view. She could be anywhere. Literally anywhere in Mexico with no way to let her poor aunt and family know that she was still alive. No way to let someone, anyone, know where she was so that they could rescue her. Dove started to let her mind wander back to the last afternoon in her aunt's living room, before she'd been taken, when the door knob to the bedroom started to turn. Dove clutched the sheet to her chest, glancing frantically around for anything that she could use as a weapon.

"Señorita, no te preocupes," an older woman entered the room slowly, a very calm look on her face like she dealt with kidnapped women every day. "Tienes hambre?" The woman set down a tray of food on the small desk in the room, and even though Dove didn't make any movement to leave the false safety of the bed, she felt her mouth start to water. But she couldn't speak. Her throat was too constricted and her lungs felt like they were bound by a steel cage. Dove needed help, answers, and a rescue mission. But she also needed food and water. And right now, being here in this bed with a tray of warm, delicious-smelling food in front of her? Even, kidnapped and sold to god knows who, it was heaven compared to the past few days she'd been through.

"I will just leave this here, okay Señiorita? You take your time. If you want more, just leave the tray outside the door." Dove nodded, or at least she was pretty sure she did, but she barely had any control over her own trembling body. When the older woman left the room, Dove counted to ten, as if that would be the best method to ensure this wasn't some sort of trap, and then sprang out of bed toward the tray of food. Warm, flavorful rice and black beans along with fresh bread and a glass of water. Dove scarfed the food down and pressed her ear to the door before cautiously placing the empty tray outside as the woman had instructed. She walked into the small ensuite bathroom and rinsed her face and hands, bracing her wet palms on the marble counter surface and looking at her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired, her carmel colored eyes rimmed in red with purple circles underneath. She still wasn't sure how she'd gotten clean, but she assumed the older woman had at least washed her hair while she'd been high on heroin. Dove started to scratch at her forearms, the terrible crawling bug feeling starting to take over as the drugs wore off.

Dove crawled back into the bed, her stomach still hungry but the softness of the sheets lulling her exhausted body to sleep, her fear succumbing to fatiguue..

CHAPTER 3

SELENA

"What's your name?" I asked the man who strikes me with less fear than the other. His eyes held a gleam to them, similar to that of a penny. There was a bit of rust around his brown pools, but with the right care, I just knew that the rust would be replaced with a shine.

"Massimo," he answered.

I thought back to the man who was in the room previously. Power and authority radiated off of him, shamelessly. Disobedience was not presented as an option in my case. Even then, it was difficult not to abide by his every command. Threats reeked from his words with little to no assistance. It was almost as if I could feel his hatred gutting me over and over again.

However, there was something enticing about him. It wasn't only the look in his eye, or his godly features. It wasn't even his muscular body that seemed as though he could please a woman and still have enough energy to do it again. It was his touch that was impolitely gentle. It was his belligerency that hurt me so good. Like a fire, he was in and of itself, my danger.

"And that man who was just in here . . . he is Santore Venturi, right?" I questioned. Even though I knew the answer, a small part of me wished he wouldn't say yes. If he answered yes, nothing good would come out of this for me. I saw their faces, I know their names—they were planning to kill me.

Massimo released me from my restraints, but I couldn't look away from him. Based on the number of information I retained about Saint, I knew exactly what Santore Venturi was capable of. He would go to the depths of torture to get information out of someone. He would go even further to those who crossed him. The countless of files proved that he held no mercy. From ripping apart limbs to leaving a person just begging to die, he was someone to be scared of.

No outsider had ever seen his face and lived to tell the tale. So, as I sat there in absolute terror, I knew what my destiny was. It was only a matter of time before fate snatches me from the world by the hands of Saint.

"Saint. He doesn't like being called anything else," Massimo grumbled.

I messed up big time through my messy attempts of lurking. The mafia was a dangerous business that I stupidly placed myself into. I was nothing but a twenty-year-old with no family and no protection from anyone other than myself. My determination held hands with negligence as I foolishly opened the doors and stepped into the beast's den—Saint's den.

Even as I sat back and read about the most dangerous man to ever come across, I never suspected that I would end up in the place where he's killed plenty of people. I thought I was safe and secure, but I was wrong. Too fixated on finding my mother, I didn't realize the mistakes I was making. I thought I was closer than ever, but now I'm farther than I could ever be.

No words fell from my lips. Maybe my exhaustion from fighting those men had suffocated my every word. Maybe it was my logic that had finally given up. Even my thoughts were full of emptiness.

I could feel my eyesight stick onto the small particles of dust floating in the air, and for some reason, it was almost as if it hurt to break my gaze.

"We are leaving, but I expect you not to run or scream. I'm afraid that if you do, I will be forced to put the gag back into your mouth and tie you up again. Am I understood?" He asked me as if he were a father scolding his child.

"If you plan on killing me..." I cleared my throat to break away from its shakiness, "just do it."

"No one is going to kill you," the man stated softly. My brows pulled together as I watched him pull open the door. Venturi wasn't known for leniency, could it be possible that he was sparing my life?

"Why?"

"You are more of value to us alive than dead," he answered. I tried to piece together what he meant. It could be a huge number of things they wanted from me—none were good. The thought already made me wish I were dead. It left my head to drop down and my shoulders to fall with it.

"What is it that you want from me?" I asked.

Massimo didn't bother answering as he gripped my arm and began to walk me down the hall. I kept my head down with my gaze falling on my shoes. The place smelled like blood and secrets. My face held a deep cringe as recognition fell onto my mind. I've seen pictures of this place—pictures of Saint's victims.

Every step I took wasn't even a choice of my own. Massimo was dragging me towards the outdoors, but I wanted to see more. I wanted to unlock all the secrets lurking in the halls. I wanted to know if there were more victims just like those in the photos and just like me now.

Massimo pushed open the exit leaving the sun to breach my eyes as I squinted them from the impact. I didn't even get time to adjust to the sunlight because I was pushed into the backseat of a car.

When Massimo joined me, I could see the blindfold he held in his grasp. It should've been anticipated that he would blindfold me before leaving. He didn't want me to know where I was, nor did he want me to know where we were going.

I glanced back at the home we left only to be accompanied with a frown. It was a typical house. The kind of house where a middle-class family lived in. It was the kind of house that would have two kids—a boy and a girl. They would even have a Golden Retriever. Instead, it was a safe house where a murderer lurked. He was sadistic.

I didn't bother to say a word as Massimo reached for my glasses. He easily slid them off my face. In no time, he tied the fabric over my eyes to shut me out from the world. Even when he pulled too tight, my lips sealed without allowing me to say a word.

"Go," Massimo stated, speaking in the same language that the men who grabbed me had spoken in.

My body was quivering, and the more I tried to stop it, the more I seemed to shake. Sweat was claiming my body and my heart wouldn't stop its sprinting. Despite my body's reaction, I was alert and ready to defend myself from whatever attack.

I could feel my nerves peak as the car began to move. We were traveling down a road that I wished to see. Not only to know where I was going so I could escape and find my way back home, but just to enjoy the landscape of the outdoors. It was the one thing that would be able to calm me.

Massimo may have promised no one was going to kill me, but that didn't mean they weren't going to hurt me.

"You look like a little scared puppy," Massimo chuckled. I turned to the source of the sound, still uncomfortable with saying anything.

"I told you that we don't plan on killing you, Selena," he said.

"Will you hurt me?" I asked quietly. He was chuckling again. His show of amusement made the hairs on my neck stand up a bit straighter. I wondered what his hilarity meant. Maybe it meant that my suspicions were accurate, and they were planning on torturing me.

"No. At least, I won't. Saint, on the other hand, I can't make a promise for that man. He's unpredictable with a temper. However, as long as you listen to him, you should be okay," Massimo informed me with pure honesty dripping from his words. I was hoping he would make me feel better about this entire situation, but he didn't.

"What do you want from me?"

"We will be offering you a job. You will work for us in hopes of using your skills," he said.

"As in, my computer skills," I muttered.

"Yes."

"What if I don't want the job?" I questioned. Based on my position, I don't believe I have much of a choice. They were going to force me to take the job, whether I wanted it or not.

"Well, it's either you take the job or you..."

"I die?" I asked.

Suddenly, it was as if my quivering had come to stop. I've anticipated that reality, death. I began to wonder if this was how my mother felt when she was stolen from her life... her normal life... her life when she was with me. Was her situation as frightening as mine? Did she stay strong like she had always warned me to do?

Massimo didn't answer my question. I didn't need him to. I already knew my chances of making it out alive were slim. I just needed some form of reassurance. I tried to claw at a potential better option that didn't include the death or torture of myself.

When the vehicle came to a sudden stop, I realized we were finally at the destination. I heard car doors begin to open and close leaving the wind to rush into the car and surpass me. It didn't take long for the door by my side to finally pull open.

I was grabbed by the arm and moved towards a figure. Pine was quick to filter my nostrils. I couldn't see them, but I could just tell that trees were surrounding my very existence. I wanted to overlook the richness of green leaves, but the blindfold blocked my desire.

"Come on," Massimo mumbled. My feet were moving without want as I was dragged by the man.

.....

SELENA

I watched the men, all of them speaking to one another like the best of friends. However, I could feel the tension in their every word. They impersonated being allies, but I knew that they were only keeping their adversaries close. I've heard their conversations about one another. All of them were threatened by the power of the other. All of them were waiting for the moment to attack so they could claim the throne. All of them cared about no one other than themselves.

It was hard not to stare at the men for too long. I knew everything they did. I knew everything they were capable of. All of their secrets were stored in my brain, and my brain made sure to remind me of them. It was whispering the thing these men wanted no soul to hear.

All of their victims were playing out in my mind over and over again like a song I just couldn't get out of my head. The men at the table killed people, kidnapped people, did harsh things like pouring acid on the innocent, and forcing their victims to drink poison that will kill them slowly and painfully. And I was there... right in front of them.

I was arms length away from the hands that murdered without remorse. Even though I tried to keep a smile on my face, the screams of people whose lives were mercilessly taken echoed over the men's laughs. Every time I saw them take a drink, the poison that lingered in their victims throats almost burned through mine. Every drag of the cigar, filled my lungs with the intoxicating smoke from the fire they lit that killed each of their prey.

I was surrounded by inhuman savages, and the worst part was pretending like I had no clue.

Saint gripped my wrist. A wrist that I hadn't realized was shaking until he touched me. I turned to look at him, but he was staring out in front of him like he hadn't just grabbed me.

I sighed as I looked away, trying not to look at all of the mobsters in front of me.

"So, Saint..." Dante began. Saint's harsh hold on me grew tighter. I was sure that if he didn't loosen up his grip, he'd break my wrist.

"I thought you would be marrying Cecilia," he said.

I glanced at Saint, wondering what was going through his mind. He didn't seem to like the girl much. Then again, he didn't really like anyone. It just never would occur to me that someone like Cecilia is the girl he would marry.

"I have time to decide," Saint responded dismissively. Dante leaned forward on the table, his elbows resting on the table cloth, and his hands folded underneath his chin. His eyes of hazel were dominantly staring into Saint's. It was like he was asserting his power, and I could feel it.

"And what about the girl you have now?" Dante asked as if I wasn't sitting right there.

"You're in my business. Why?" Saint question, a sarcastic smile rising onto his face. I could tell Saint was trying his best to contain his anger, and the only reason I knew that was because of how tightly he was holding onto me.

Dante chuckled. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"Take your curious ass somewhere else and away from what I'm doing," Saint demanded.

Dante smiled, but before he could say something in response, his father tapped his arm.

I gulped when Dante's eyes flew to me. Awkwardly, I looked down at my lap.

To make myself feel better, I would pick at my nails, but when I tried to pull my wrist out of Saint's hold, he wouldn't allow it. Instead, I had to settle with playing with the fabric of my dress with just one hand.

Saint leaned down until his lips were hovering over my ear. "I don't share, Angel," he whispered, his tone proving just how angry he truly was. It didn't take a genius to know he was referring to Dante. He probably noticed Dante's stare way before I had the chance to.

I didn't know why, but I glanced up, taking in my eyelashes that were covering the top of my vision as I glimpsed at Dante. He was still looking at me.

"He's a friend," I found myself mumbling. I intended to reassure Saint, even though he didn't deserve the reassurance. But I was sure I failed at reassuring him and only fueled his wrath.

Saint dropped my wrist from his hold as I had just scorched him. I glared at my arm, recognizing the purple that began to tarnish my skin.

Saint slid his hand in-between the slit of my dress. His warm, veiny hand palmed my thigh. I immediately tensed up as his hand inched up higher and higher. He was burning me with his touch. So much to the point that my goosebumps began to singe.

I peered at Dante again, growing frustrated that he was still looking at me. He wasn't aware of Saint's manipulations, but I was. And the longer Dante stared, the more careless Saint's actions became.

I gasped as Saint harshly gripped my pulsing core from outside my panties. I reached for his wrist, but it didn't stop a single thing.

Everyone looked over at me questionably, and I just knew I was blushing due to how much my cheeks were simmering, proving just how much my core was dripping.

"I will fuck you on this table if he doesn't stop looking at what belongs to me," Saint suggested. I bit down on my lip as Saint's grip grew harsher.

"Nothing here belongs to you," I gritted out.

Saint chuckled, sarcasm dripping from his chest.

I thought he was going to respond, or let go of me and laugh about how much it was a joke. However, one thing I never expected was for Saint to pick me up and throw me on the table...