LOGINMarco 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
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