Hope you guys enjoy! Sorry for not updating yesterday, it was my sister's birthday. :) XOXO 💋
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ The moment Bianca walked into the interrogation room, it felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of my lungs. She had a striking resemblance to her brother in some ways, like right now her eyes looked at me in the same way Alessandro had looked at me when I told him who I really was. Hatred. Her dark, wavy hair was tied back tightly, making her cheekbones and jawline all the more pronounced. "Special Agent Viviane Kane," Bianca said my name with a slight clench of her teeth. “Bianca Costello,” I began, flipping the file open. “It’s been a while.” She smirked, tilting her head. “Not long enough.” Behind her, her lawyer walked in, Veronica Steele, the infamous “Viper” of the criminal defense world. God, Costellos and their lawyers. “Thanks for taking the time to speak with me,” I said. She laughed, “Speak with you? Is that what we’re calling it? I don’t remember this being voluntary...more like you are trying to ruin our entire family.” I kept my face neu
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ The stale, metallic taste of burnt coffee clung to the air. The conference room was bitterly cold, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. I sat at the long table, my hands clenched tightly around a pen, every muscle in my body tensed up. Fitzgerald stood at the head of the table, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the faint scars on his forearms. He was a man of precision, order, and results, and this—this disaster—was the antithesis of everything he represented. "Let me make this clear," he began, "We are royally screwed. Years of work, gone. Every shred of evidence, incinerated. And now we’re sitting here with nothing but our goddamn hands out, praying someone from the Cosa Nostra will crack. The only reason the suspects are still in custody is the clockwork miracle of Miranda loopholes. Perez, give me the status update on the interrogations." Agent Perez was seated to Fitzgerald’s left. He adjusted his glasses and opened his binder, "We’ve interrog
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ I glanced at Fitz and than back at Lorenzo. From behind the two-way mirror, I watched the enforcer of the Cosa Nostra, sit at the cold metal table. His hands rested lightly on the table, his posture straight, his expression... Cold. Unbothered. A statue carved from stone. Logan leaned against the wall opposite him, arms crossed, staring Lorenzo down like he could burn through him with sheer force of will. Agent Perez sat at the table, hands clasped in front of him. Lorenzo didn’t so much as blink. He’d been sitting there for over an hour, enduring silence, questions, and verbal assaults without so much as a twitch. “He won't say anything,” I told him. Agent Perez threw the pictures of unsolved murders, that we know that Lorenzo had committed, “You’ve got a body count that could fill a five fucking graveyards, a reputation that sends grown men running, and not a single shred of remorse to show for it. You’ve made a career out of killing for the Costellos
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ The questions in my hands felt heavier than they should have. The words on the page seemed to glare back at me, each one approved by Eleanor Whitaker, the Director of the FBI. Her signature at the bottom wasn’t just ink—it was a direct order, a stamp of authority I couldn’t argue with. Whitaker didn’t sign off on anything without a reason. Every line had been reviewed, debated, and locked in to make sure we didn’t screw this up. My fingers trembled slightly, and I clenched them into fists to keep from showing weakness. “Viviane?” Logan’s voice pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts. I glanced up, and he took a small step closer, lowering his voice, “You ready for this?” I nodded, but the motion felt stiff, robotic. “Yeah,” I whispered, and then I cleared my throat and forced more strength into my voice, “Yeah. Let’s do this.” He studied me for a moment longer, “You don't have to do this if you don't want to.” “I do,” I said, though my voice broke at the end.
Alessandro ☩══♛══☩ The handcuffs were off, but I still felt the weight of them, pressing into my wrists like a phantom ache. It was as if she’d seared them into my skin, The paperwork had been signed. My lawyer—Goldstein, stood by the exit, flipping through the final documents, nodding along to some bullshit the desk agent mumbled. I barely heard any of it. My eyes were fixed on the sterile walls, the fluorescent lights above, and the goddamn FBI crest mounted on the far wall like it was something holy. Sanctimonious bastards. There was this roiling fury in my chest, burning like a furnace I couldn’t extinguish. All I could think about was her. Viviane Kane. Oh fuck, my bad... Special Agent Viviane Kane. I need to make sure I don’t forget that little title any time soon. A darkness washed over me, sinking into my thoughts, my heart, my very being. I could still see her face, those wide, desperate eyes staring back at me... pathetic. She wouldn’t get to haunt me, not
Alessandro ☩══♛══☩ What most people didn’t understand about Alessandro was that when he loved a woman, it wasn’t halfway. It wasn’t casual, and it damn sure wasn’t temporary. When he gave his heart, it wasn’t just a piece of him, it was all of him. His loyalty, his passion, his strength, his darkest desires, his softest moments, everything he had. He didn’t hold back. With Francesca, it was the same. She was his first real taste of love—or so he thought. He’d built his life around her, trusted her in a way he didn’t trust anyone else. For a guy like Alessandro, trust wasn’t just rare, it was sacred. And she destroyed it with one stupid, selfish act. The image of her in his bed with one of his closest friends, still burned in his mind like a scar that refused to heal. He remembered the sound of her voice when she tried to explain, the excuses that fell apart the second they left her lips. It had gutted him in a way no bullet ever could. It took years to get over her. Years of
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ It wasn’t paranoia, I knew their way of looking at me had changed. Their eyes lingered longer than they used to. They were subtle but enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Every corridor I walked down, every room I entered, I felt it. A shift. A tension. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Quiet smirks exchanged when they thought I wasn’t looking. They knew. The interrogation. Alessandro’s words. That move to humiliate me. It had worked, and now it was all anyone around here could talk about. Even Fitz had that look—like I’d just confirmed every worst-case scenario he’d ever imagined about me. They didn’t say it to my face, of course. The FBI didn’t work like that. No, the Bureau thrived on whispers, on knowing glances, on passive-aggressive judgment that could cut deeper than any outright insult. I sat at my desk, pen in hand, clicking it over and over—open, shut, open, shut. The men gave me these looks...half-pity, half-something els
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ The chill of the New York night bit through my tactical gear as we huddled in the staging area just off a dirt road deep in the woods. The outskirts of the city felt worlds away from Manhattan. It was silent except for the rustle of leaves and the occasional low murmur of voices. Only the moonlight filtered through the trees, fell on the convoy of SUVs and black tactical vans. The warehouse sat less than a mile away. Recon photos showed it was heavily guarded, complete with cameras, floodlights, and armed guards stationed at all entrances. Fitz stood at the center of our team, as he went over the final details. A large map of the warehouse lay on the hood of one of the vehicles, illuminated by a red tactical light. “The perimeter team will secure the exits,” Fitz voiced, his gaze sweeping over the group, “We don’t want anyone slipping out into the woods. Entry team moves in through the west side. It’s the weakest point. Surveillance suggests minimal guards there
And just like that, we’ve reached the end. I can’t begin to express what this journey has meant to me. Nearly three years ago, I started writing this series, pouring my heart into every page, every twist, every broken character working their way toward redemption. What started as a single story turned into a world of love, betrayal, sacrifice. A world that, for so long, felt just as real to me as the one outside my screen. This series has been my constant companion, my late-night obsession, my endless battle between frustration and joy. I’ve spent years with these characters, watching them evolve, break, heal, and fight for the love and survival they never thought they deserved. Letting them go feels like saying goodbye to a piece of myself. To those of you who have been here since the beginning—to those who joined somewhere along the way—thank you. Your comments, your excitement, your passion for these characters kept me going when the words refused to come. Every time
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ I had never been a big emotional crier. Not when I got shot. Not when I faced down criminals twice my size. Not even when I was in labor with both of my children. But watching Felicity walk across that stage in her cap and gown? Yeah. I was losing it. Sixteen years old. Valedictorian. Just like me. I squeezed Alessandro’s hand, trying to keep my emotions in check as she reached the podium. She looked so grown up, standing there, her red hair shining under the stadium lights, her eyes scanning the massive crowd like she still couldn’t believe this was happening. I still couldn’t believe it was happening. I remembered the tiny girl who used to curl up next to me in a hospital bed, hooked up to dialysis, her body too small for the battles she had to fight. I remembered the way she clung to me after Stella died, the way she had once been so fragile and now? Now, she stood before thousands, confident, brilliant, with the whole world waiting for her.
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ FOUR YEARS LATER •───⋅────⋅───• The pregnancy test lay on the counter. I stared at it. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting… Until— Two bright pink lines. My pulse slammed into my throat. My fingers trembled as I snatched the second test, my breath stalling in my chest. Bold, capital letters burned into my vision. Pregnant. I swallowed, my mouth dry as I reached for the third one, hoping, praying, begging for a different result. Pregnant. A hollow, gasping breath left me as I staggered backward. My legs barely held me up before I sank to the cold tile floor, pressing my knees to my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. My body was a time bomb, the life inside me a ticking fuse. I had read the statistics, spoken to the doctors, heard the warnings whispered like a death sentence. Fifty-fifty. A chance to survive. A chance to die. And the baby, God, the baby. My mi
Alessandro ☩══♛══☩ The mirror reflected back a man I barely recognized. I was dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, the white of my shirt against the deep charcoal vest, I looked every bit the groom. My cufflinks were made of gold, engraved with my family’s crest. The tie was perfectly knotted, not a single wrinkle in sight. So why the fuck did my pulse feel like a war drum in my chest? “She’s not running, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Nikolai drawled from the couch, glass of whiskey in hand. He looked as put together as ever, but there was amusement in his eyes. “The only person who might run is you.” I shot him a dry look, fastening the last button of my jacket. “I’d rather be shot between the eyes.” Nikolai smirked, “That could be arranged.” I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my jaw. “You ready?” I asked him. He lifted his glass in a silent toast. “To your last few minutes as a free man.” I rolled my eyes heavenwards, adjusting my cuff. “Let’s g
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ The second we stepped inside, Alessandro had me against the wall, his body pressing into mine like he couldn’t stand the space between us. I moaned into his mouth, clawing at his jacket, shoving it off his shoulders. My fingers worked fast, unbuttoning his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of muscle beneath as I slid my hands down his chest, nails raking lightly over his skin before pausing over the bandages where he’d been shot. The wound was nearly healed, but I still handled it with care. My fingers trembled there, hesitation flickering through me for the briefest moment. His hands tore my shirt over my head, his fingers finding the clasp of my bra, snapping it open with a single flick. It slid off, leaving me bare. His mouth never left mine, but his hands moved lower, unbuttoning my jeans, pushing them down my hips. I arched into him, needy, aching, tugging at his belt, pulling it free, hands sliding under the waistband of his pants. He grabbed my wrists, slammi
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ The waiting room felt like a prison. The sharp scent of antiseptic burned my nose, and the cold, sterile lighting overhead made everything feel like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. My fingers were clenched so tightly around the arms of the chair that my nails dug into my palms. My entire body was trembling, my lungs struggling to pull in air past the lump in my throat. Brandon sat beside me, his hand on my shoulder. On my other side, Felicity clung to my arm, her small fingers digging in. Across from us, Alessandro’s family filled the space. Nikolai stood with his arms crossed, his jaw locked so tight I swore I could hear his teeth grinding. Scott was pacing, his usual cheerfulness was gone, replaced by a dark look. Lorenzo sat with his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together, staring at the floor. Marco leaned against the wall, his head tipped back, eyes closed, but I could see the muscle ticking in his jaw. Bianca was holding onto Stefano, her entir
Alessandro ☩══♛══☩ Francesca. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She shouldn’t be here. No one had seen or heard from her in months. The last thing I knew, Nikolai had taken everything from her. Every cent, every luxury, every privilege that came with the Costello name. He had stripped her down to nothing and cast her out. No security, no connections, no power. She was gone. Or at least, she was supposed to be. Her gaze locked onto mine, and with a slow, movement of her fingers beckoned me forward. Her eyes darted around, scanning the room, before she turned sharply on her heels, heading toward the back doors that led into the gardens. She wanted me to follow. For a split second, I considered ignoring her entirely, letting the past rot where it belonged. But then Viviane. Because if I didn’t handle this? She would. And despite every instinct screaming at me to leave her to it. I moved. The moment I stepped through the doors, it wasn’t the night I felt, it
Alessandro ☩══♛══☩ The whiskey in my glass barely moved as I leaned against the bar, listening to the low murmur of conversation around me. The party was in full swing, music humming through the space as we talked. Tonight, however, the topic of discussion was different. “We let them have their fun,” Nikolai said simply. Scott raised an eyebrow. “Fun? Fun?” He let out a laugh, “Niko, they’re not starting a book club. They’re going after human traffickers. You know, murdery people. Like us. Except worse, because they don’t have the rules we do.” Stefano sighed, “They’re going to do it whether we like it or not.” “Exactly,” I murmured, rolling my glass between my fingers. “Which is why we control it.” Marco frowned, “They won’t let us.” I smirked, “They won’t know.” That got their attention. Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. “Explain.” I took a slow sip of my whiskey before setting the glass down. “Their company is already operational. Websites, bank accounts, safe houses
Lilianna »»»◈««« I had precisely one shot at this. If I told Marco under normal circumstances, he’d shut it down immediately. If I waited, he’d find out anyway—because he’s Marco. He’d outmaneuver me, corner me, and by the time I realized what he was doing, it would already be over. So I had to be strategic. Which is exactly why I waited until he was inside me. It wasn’t playing fair but I wasn’t playing. Marco had me on my hands and knees, my spine arched. His grip on my hips held me in place. One of his hands left my hip, sliding up the curve of my back, pressing between my shoulder blades, pushing me deeper into the mattress. I pressed my cheek against the mattress and whispered, "I started my own company." His movements slowed, uncertain like he wasn't sure he heard me right. I pressed my face harder into the mattress, "A rescue organization. Human trafficking, organ trafficking—" I rambled on and on. Marco’s fingers tightened bruisingly on my hips. And then he