Marco Regnante knows what it means to have led a hard life. Taken away from his family and sold to a cartel. Then forced to fend for himself and fight in an underground boxing ring before his teens, only to be thrown onto the road and left to die. He survived due to one reason alone: a group of boys saving his life. Nearly fifteen years later, adopted by the Regnante family, he has grown to be one hell of a man and the protege of the world's most ruthless Mafia Boss. Marco is a man for casual flings to sate his carnal desires, whereas his friends constantly attempt to set him up. Something which he finds irking because it's "Always flings. Never commitment."Now, throw into the mix, the 22-year-old Sofia Giordano, the Mafia daughter who was almost sold as a sex slave, and saved by the enemy, then thrust onto Marco as his responsibility; a direct order from The Boss. He is a man that leaves for work at 9 a.m and returns late at 11 p.m, and all he wants is peace and quiet to help him unwind for the day. But with Sofia around, he can wave peace goodbye, that girl dragging chaos with her wherever she walks. Something...which tests patient Marco's limitations--which happen to be wearing thin. After weeks and months of spending time together, they manage a routine and start to warm up to one another, and just when they think that things couldn't get any better, what happens when they find out Marco isn't who he claims to be? That he is not the man he thinks he is? That his reality is far worse than it actually seems? Forcing him to choose between what is right, and what is most dear.
View MoreAleksander cracked his knuckles while his eyes wracked over the three suits laud out before him. His eyes taking in every seam of each one, pairing each with possible shirts and ties. Making nine possible combinations for wear then groaning at the fact that he wouldn’t decide which was best suited.Should he go for a traditional white button down or opt for a different color? Tie? No tie? Two piece? Or maybe three piece? Monochrome or should he mix and match?Grunting at his own indecisiveness he grabbed all three of them and tried on every possible combination, deciding that seeing them would allow him to choose better.When he stepped out dressed in the fourth combination, his wife turned around in the middle of getting dressed and giggled at her husband, shaking her head at his antics.“We’re invited for coffee, babe, I doubt a suit is the decoru
The snow scrunched under foot, the white blanket a glaring contrast to the black of the shoes worn by the person. A person made their way across the path with a fur ushanka covering their head and their body hidden by the thick fur coat that was draped over their shoulder, fluttering behind him.Their destination was an obvious one: the bench a top the hill.Making his way up the path, they halted to find a feeble old man huddled in the corner of the bench, their coat weighing heavy on his weak shoulders as tremors passed through his already thin figure. A walking cane grasped between his legs.“Thought I’d find you here,” Aleksander spoke with his hands in his coats pockets, and settled on the other side of the bench. “Papa,”Nikolai’s skin was ashen with his thick mop of hair reduced
Rebuilding the Russian Mafia from square one allowed Aleksander to occupy himself. Create elaborate plans and take care of negotiations, and unofficially become the Pakhan, given how Nikolai was in no state to be taking care of matters. His mind numbed with medication and painkillers and his body deteriorating. The stroke he had from Salvatore’s carnage had left him completely bedridden, and Aleksander could not bring himself to feel sympathy for the man. Instead, the heir set out on making Nikolai’s Bratva completely his.
Aleksander stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He knew every last-minute crack by heart. He made minute cracks on its clean surface. He even made maps out of the ceiling, gone exploring their terrains and mountains and rivers, having staggered across a wild lion here and a boar there. He even found faces in it, faces, and animals, and mathematical equations. He had exhausted every possibility of keeping his mind occupied without the need to move from his current position.Winter had hit harder in Russia. One of the worst times to be outside – or so he was told – not that he had any plans of venturing into that blizzard. He couldn’t bring himself to move. Couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than that nauseating guilt for having killed his nephew and niece.The thought of them sending a sharp pain shooting through his side where Salvator
The room was stifled by the tension in the air, the men seated on both sides of the table with the head of the table occupied by the Regnante Mafia Boss. The Don sat with his elbows on the mahogany table, his finger stapled before him and his gaze fixated on the wall opposite, completely deaf to the ruckus surrounding him. All of his allies had gathered together and organized this meeting in an effort to understand what to do next. The Romanov’s confirmation for war followed by the retraction of the statement gave them no sense of ease, made them all on edge instead; they had no idea if it were a ploy to get them to lower their guard, or if it was all just some sort of mistake. Then there was the fact that the underworld was now aware of the existence of Salvatore Regnante’s children, both of them hav
The usually opened rich cream curtains were drawn shut, bathing the room in a blinding darkness and a chill with all other sources of light turned off. In the midst of the darkness sat the Regnante Mafia Boss, his suit jacket and waistcoat discarded, his tie hanging loosely from his neck and the first two buttons popped open.A decanter stood on the table before him with a glass housing its contents grasped loosely in his hands, the man reclined in his large office chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.Salvatore opened his eyes to hear the office door creak open, watching a silhouette step inside and fumble against the wall before the lights overhead turned on. The sudden sharpness had him hiss and clamp his eyes shut.“There you are,” His wife exclaimed in exasperation. “I’ve been searching all over for you,”“Nicole…&
Aleksander could not bring himself to notice anything around him. Kneeling on the floor of the Pakhan’s office, sweat beading his forehead, face ashen, and nausea rolling in his stomach to be surrounded by various photos depicting his wife over the course of the past few months.Letting out a shaky breath, his chest ached to see the images in front of him. Sofia sitting at a café, her head thrown back and laughing with Nicole. Her stepping out of the Maserati, dressed in a black pencil skirt dress under a grey blazer. Then another of her sitting at a bench, hugging herself with her hair hanging out of its up do, tears streaming down her face and staring at the ground.It broke his heart to see his wife so torn up, hunched into herself and sobbing. He didn’t know what she was crying. He wanted to know why. What had happened to leave her so vulnerable and distraught? His mind conjured the worst of w
Cars whizzed by on the roads, pedestrians going about their day with high rise infrastructures leering down at their rushing figures. There was one such infrastructure, one of the tallest in the area, whose top floor encased in glass. The sunlight pouring in through the glass illuminated a large and spacious office where two men stood on either side of a mahogany table, peering over a blueprint laid out between them, discussing and making notes about the plans.One of them stood with his back to the window, sunlight streaming in and casting his figure in a shadow with another standing across from him, scribbling onto a notebook in his hand.Both of them had been so engrossed in their discussion that they gave a jump when the office doors suddenly burst open, a third man staggering inside. Both men reached for their guns on instinct but relaxed to recognize Tazio’s figure hunched in the doorway, breathless and
Aleksander swiped his hand at the fogged up mirror, staring back at his reflection as he pushed back his wet tresses and scratched at his jaw, realizing he needed to shave at the prickly feel against his palm. A knock sounding on the door outside had him look over his shoulder before stepping out of the washroom, pulling open the door to find Fio in front of him. The guard turned and pulled out a khaki envelope from the fold of his coat, handing it to the man before him once the door closed behind him. Taking it, Aleksander pulled open the flap, pulling out the pages and skimming through the contents while Fio busied himself in dressing the wound on the heir’s shoulder. Quickly getting dressed, Aleksander stepped o
He was far too young to remember when it all happened or to remember where he came from.All he knew was that he had been a slave of the Mirko Cartel and that he was standing naked in a row of boys – all ranging in age – as a man that smelt of money walked before them. Inspecting them with beady and scrutinizing eyes, turning over his shoulder to talk to their owner, referring to them as ‘the package’. His riding crop dragging against the floor behind him. He stared at the muddied ground, splotches of red scattered on the tiles, and held his breath when a pair of glinting black shoes, the ones like he would never own; stopped before him....
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