This plotline is loosely inspired by real-life events such as the Iran-Contra Affair, the Lindley DeVecchio and Gregory Scarpa case, and the FBI’s dealings with James "Whitey" Bulger and Stephen Flemmi. It’s the kind of history that feels almost too outrageous to be real—yet it is. I hope you all enjoy the story! If you do, don’t forget to comment and vote—I’d love to hear your thoughts! XOXO 💋
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ The room was cold and too quiet, the kind of quiet that crawled under your skin and makes you shiver. The only sounds were the soft tapping of keys as the polygraph operator prepped the machine. My pulse thrummed in my ears, loud enough that I wondered if they could hear it too. The chair they had me in was straight-backed and uncomfortable, positioned dead center in the room like a bullseye. Wires and straps were secured to me: one around my chest, another on my arm, sensors on my fingertips. I felt like a lab rat, stripped of any dignity, every breath I took measured and recorded. Across from me, Special Agent Hanson sat, clipboard in hand. Fitz stood in the corner, arms crossed, his face a mask of disappointment and scrutiny. “You know how this works, Kane,” Hanson said, his voice clipped, “Answer with a simple yes or no. Any deviations will be noted. Understood?” “Yes,” I said, my voice was steady despite the storm brewing inside me. “Good.” He glance
Alessandro ☩══♛══☩ The morning felt colder than it should have been for late spring. Or maybe it was just me, a lingering frost settling deep in my chest since I opened my eyes. The suit jacket rested across the back of the chair in my room, its dark fabric catching the faint light from the window. Black-on-black. Not tie. A tie said I was here to play by the rules, and I wasn’t. The trial wasn’t about proving anything, not guilt, not innocence, not morality. It was about breaking us. I adjusted my cuffs in the mirror, letting my reflection stare back. Dead eyes that don’t blink enough to look human. I’d scare myself if I didn’t already know the things I’m capable of. Viviane. The name sits heavy in my mind, like an ache I can’t quite shake. I shouldn’t think about her now, not when everything is riding on today but she’s there, always there at the back of my mind, refusing to leave. She’s not here now. She’s probably somewhere safe, out of sight, out of reach. Smart. If sh
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ Do you know what it feels like to be surrounded by people and still feel like you’re stranded in the middle of the ocean with no lifeline? That’s what it felt like sitting at the defense table today. Fitz, Logan, and Warren were right there, close enough to touch, close enough to remind me of all the bridges I’ve burned but no one spoke to me. They didn’t have to. Their silence said it all: I was disposable, and if I weren’t crucial to this case, I’d already be a footnote in someone else’s report. My stomach churned, but my face stayed neutral. Years of training couldn’t prepare you for this. My eyes betrayed me, flicking to him against my better judgment. Alessandro. He was sitting there with that smug confidence he always had. He leaned toward Goldstein, listening intently, but then, for the briefest second, his gaze shifted. And it landed on me. My heart stopped. His eyes narrowed, not with warmth or familiarity, but with something colder, harsher.
Viviane☩═✦═☩I had a checklist. A short, brutal little plan to tie up every loose end before midnight. The first item? Another piece of proof.Ethel Harrington’s testimony was a disaster. It reeked of theater, every stutter and hesitation felt staged, she was probably paid by the Costellos or maybe threatened to change her testimony. But Jonathan Cross didn’t lose control of a witness like that unless he wanted to. He’s a shark, and sharks don’t flail. He did it on purpose, they were throwing me under the bus purposely...I sat at the desk, staring at the thick transcript in front of me. The Bureau’s official seal glared up at me. I flipped through the pages, my fingers trembling slightly, scanning lines. “…Pursuing prosecution risks destabilizing ongoing operations. The Bureau’s priority is to integrate Costello resources into covert national initiatives…”I flipped to the next page... “…Agent Kane’s current actions jeopardize the Bureau’s objectives. To protect long-term ini
IMPORTANT If you haven’t read Mafia Men VI – Alessandro’s Games, stop right here. Seriously, close this book, go read that one, and then come back. Trust me, you’re going to need the backstory, the drama, and all the twists to fully get what’s about to happen here. This book kicks off right where Alessandro’s Games left us hanging. No time skips, no recaps. You’ll want to know who everyone is, why they act the way they do, and what’s already gone down to set the stage for what’s next. So, if you haven’t been introduced to the chaos, deception, and mind games Alessandro and Viviane wrapped up in the last book, hit pause on this one. Read it, live it, and then come back to this book and get ready for more. •───⋅☾ ☽⋅───•DISCLAIMER This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental and unintentio
Viviane☩═✦═☩The warehouse was cold, and the air was filled with the smell of salt and iron. I kept my face still, breathing evenly as I took in the scene in front of me. Pallets stacked with bricks of cocaine stretched toward the ceiling, row after row of neatly wrapped product, each one stamped with a symbol I’d come to recognize too well. It was enough to drown the streets in a storm of white powder, and the thought twisted in my gut. Tomorrow, every ounce of this would be out there, touching lives, ripping through neighborhoods like a fire set by men who didn’t give a damn about the damage.Nikolai stood at the center with arrogance he wore like a crown. He moved with such confidence, hands tucked in his pockets, an amused smile playing on his lips. To him, all of this was his empire—New York his kingdom, and its people his subjects, whether they knew it or not.Marco poured a generous amount of whiskey into his glass, raising it with a smirk. “Gentlemen, a toast,” he drawled,
Viviane☩═✦═☩I was slipping, and I knew it. It was like trying to hold onto water, and the more I fought, the faster it slid through my fingers. Alessandro was everywhere—in my thoughts, in my dreams, in the way my pulse spiked every time I heard his voice. He’d wormed his way into my mind, and I hated it. I hated how much I thought about him, how some part of me had started to crave him. How I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing pieces of myself, piece by piece, and he was the one holding them. Standing alone in my bathroom, steam still clinging to the walls, I pressed my hands against the sink, holding myself in the coolness of the marble. I stared at my reflection, wrapped in nothing but a towel, hair damp and sticking to my skin. My eyes looked harder, but underneath that hardness, there was a crack, one that had only started to show since I came back from the island.“Get a grip,” I said through clenched teeth, as if saying it would snap me out of this. Who was I
Alessandro ☩══♛══☩I grabbed my phone and called my driver, “Change of plans,” I said, jaw tight. “Switch out the champagne for… I don’t know. Juice. Something kid-friendly.” “Yes, Boss, anything else?” he asked. “And make sure everything is… appropriate in the back,” I cut the call before he could respond. What the hell was I doing? My pulse kicked up, an ache right behind my temples. I was taking a little girl along on a night I’d planned for her aunt? And the plans I’d had for her aunt weren’t exactly kids-friendly. I’d planned to fuck her in the backseat of the limo, while my driver drove through the city lights. The image played out in my mind: her breathless under me, our world reduced to that dark leather seat, her only focus on me. But with this little change of plans? Guess I’d have to wait.I had made space for Viviane’s niece like it was the most natural thing in the world. Couldn’t even pretend this wasn’t my idea because it was. The kid wasn’t just some extra lugga
Viviane☩═✦═☩I had a checklist. A short, brutal little plan to tie up every loose end before midnight. The first item? Another piece of proof.Ethel Harrington’s testimony was a disaster. It reeked of theater, every stutter and hesitation felt staged, she was probably paid by the Costellos or maybe threatened to change her testimony. But Jonathan Cross didn’t lose control of a witness like that unless he wanted to. He’s a shark, and sharks don’t flail. He did it on purpose, they were throwing me under the bus purposely...I sat at the desk, staring at the thick transcript in front of me. The Bureau’s official seal glared up at me. I flipped through the pages, my fingers trembling slightly, scanning lines. “…Pursuing prosecution risks destabilizing ongoing operations. The Bureau’s priority is to integrate Costello resources into covert national initiatives…”I flipped to the next page... “…Agent Kane’s current actions jeopardize the Bureau’s objectives. To protect long-term ini
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ Do you know what it feels like to be surrounded by people and still feel like you’re stranded in the middle of the ocean with no lifeline? That’s what it felt like sitting at the defense table today. Fitz, Logan, and Warren were right there, close enough to touch, close enough to remind me of all the bridges I’ve burned but no one spoke to me. They didn’t have to. Their silence said it all: I was disposable, and if I weren’t crucial to this case, I’d already be a footnote in someone else’s report. My stomach churned, but my face stayed neutral. Years of training couldn’t prepare you for this. My eyes betrayed me, flicking to him against my better judgment. Alessandro. He was sitting there with that smug confidence he always had. He leaned toward Goldstein, listening intently, but then, for the briefest second, his gaze shifted. And it landed on me. My heart stopped. His eyes narrowed, not with warmth or familiarity, but with something colder, harsher.
Alessandro ☩══♛══☩ The morning felt colder than it should have been for late spring. Or maybe it was just me, a lingering frost settling deep in my chest since I opened my eyes. The suit jacket rested across the back of the chair in my room, its dark fabric catching the faint light from the window. Black-on-black. Not tie. A tie said I was here to play by the rules, and I wasn’t. The trial wasn’t about proving anything, not guilt, not innocence, not morality. It was about breaking us. I adjusted my cuffs in the mirror, letting my reflection stare back. Dead eyes that don’t blink enough to look human. I’d scare myself if I didn’t already know the things I’m capable of. Viviane. The name sits heavy in my mind, like an ache I can’t quite shake. I shouldn’t think about her now, not when everything is riding on today but she’s there, always there at the back of my mind, refusing to leave. She’s not here now. She’s probably somewhere safe, out of sight, out of reach. Smart. If sh
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ The room was cold and too quiet, the kind of quiet that crawled under your skin and makes you shiver. The only sounds were the soft tapping of keys as the polygraph operator prepped the machine. My pulse thrummed in my ears, loud enough that I wondered if they could hear it too. The chair they had me in was straight-backed and uncomfortable, positioned dead center in the room like a bullseye. Wires and straps were secured to me: one around my chest, another on my arm, sensors on my fingertips. I felt like a lab rat, stripped of any dignity, every breath I took measured and recorded. Across from me, Special Agent Hanson sat, clipboard in hand. Fitz stood in the corner, arms crossed, his face a mask of disappointment and scrutiny. “You know how this works, Kane,” Hanson said, his voice clipped, “Answer with a simple yes or no. Any deviations will be noted. Understood?” “Yes,” I said, my voice was steady despite the storm brewing inside me. “Good.” He glance
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ Lesson number 1: Gloves. Lesson number 2: No one is innocent, Not in this world. Lesson number 3: Never, ever trust anyone. And most important of all: I’ve got your back, and you’ve got mine. That was the deal, wasn’t it? He said he’d protect what was his and he meant it. And against every ounce of reason, against instincts screaming at me to walk away, I loved him for it. Because if Alessandro taught me anything, it’s that protecting what’s yours isn’t just a promise. It’s a purpose. And when I have a purpose, I don’t hesitate, I get to work. The security cameras were easy. I wrote a custom loop override script last week. It froze the feed leading to the records room, cycling the same static image to make everything look normal. The timestamps matched perfectly. Carl in the security room? He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Probably had his feet up, sipping his third vending machine coffee of the night. He’d see the footage, glance at the clock
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ Do you ever walk into a room and feel like every single pair of eyes is on you, sizing you up, waiting for you to make a mistake? Like the walls themselves are whispering behind your back? That’s how it felt today at the office. Every whisper, every sideways glance, it all felt like it was about me. When someone leaned in close to speak to someone else, my stomach knotted. Were they talking about me? Talking about Stella? Questioning how I still had a job after everything that went down? Every time someone adjusted their holster or touched their weapon, I swore they were about to pull it, like they had made up their mind about whose fault this mess was. I kept looking around, searching for a friendly face, anyone who might give me a shred of reassurance but there was nothing. Not a single one of them felt like a friend, like someone I could trust. And I realized then, I was alone in all of this. The one person who might’ve understood, who might’ve cared enough to
Alessandro ☩══♛══☩ I leaned back in the leather armchair, staring blankly at the whiskey glass in my hand, her words still echoing in my head. "Freckles, you think people like this actually exist? Two people, so wrapped up in each other that they just... give it all, no questions asked? I don’t know. Feels like these books are just setting people up for disappointment." I could still hear the scoff in her voice, see that half-smirk pulling at her lips, like she was too smart to fall for fairytales. "Honestly? I don’t buy it. Unconditional love—people throw that phrase around like it’s just something you fall into. But in real life, love fades. It’s not all hearts and flowers; it’s fights and regrets. Most people can’t tell the difference between lust and love. They just get off on the idea of a forever that doesn’t exist." I should’ve heard it then. Really heard it. She wasn’t just talking about love, she was telling me exactly who she was. Exactly what we were. Temporary. Dis
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
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