Hudson didn't report back to his master as quickly as Carlo had hoped.His call didn’t come until the evening. Though gathering the information took some time, it wasn’t beyond Hudson's capabilities. The real delay came from the sheer weight of the revelation. He had to carefully consider how to deliver the news to his young master.When Hudson finally called, Carlo was in a secluded spot on campus, in a small grove of trees. Empty beer cans littered the ground near a paper bag, and in his hand, he held a belt, repeatedly lashing it against a tree trunk to vent his pent-up rage.He had been doing this for who knows how long. The thick tree trunk was scarred, with a large section almost entirely stripped of bark, exposing pale wood beneath. His unbandaged hand had long since reopened the wound from earlier, the jagged tear in his knuckles dripping dark, congealed blood.Carlo didn’t stop his frenzied assault until the Hermès belt in his hand finally gave way, snapping under the pressur
After parking the car, Carlo practically sprinted to Lyla’s apartment.“Lyli, open the door. I need to talk to you,” he called, knocking on the door. But there was no response. He waited for a few minutes, and still, nothing.“Lyla, open the door. I know you’re home!” His knocking turned into frantic pounding. With both hands pressed against the door, Carlo hung his head, unable to suppress the whirlwind of emotions churning inside him—anger, sorrow, pity, and an unbearable heartache.It was only after learning the truth that Carlo began to understand Lyla’s unusual behavior. Her coldness, her tears, and her emotional outbursts—all stemmed from a wound that cut her to the bone. She had once been so proud, passionate, and brave—all the qualities that had drawn Carlo to her. But now, those same qualities, along with her dreams, had been trampled on.His heart ached with an overwhelming desire to hold her, to wrap her in his arms and kiss her fiercely. Even if she hit or kicked him, he wo
After Carlo removed his shirt, there were no further strange actions—he simply took a few steps forward and sat down beside Lyla on the sofa. This was the first time Lyla had seen his bare upper body. His physique was powerful and well-defined, his bronze skin glowing healthily under the soft light, and his six-pack abs looked chiseled, every inch seemingly brimming with raw strength.Though she knew this wasn’t the time, Lyla couldn’t stop herself from blushing at the sight, a natural reaction from her body. Awkward and flustered, she quickly lowered her head, avoiding any further glances at him. With a hint of irritation and nervousness in her voice, she warned, “I’m telling you, don’t try anything dangerous. I will call the police, and I mean it…”The next second, Carlo grabbed her hand and placed it firmly on his left shoulder. The coolness of her palm met his warm, bare skin, and it felt like touching hot iron. Lyla’s fingers instinctively curled up in tension. She tried to pull
Lyla could feel the intense heat and pressure radiating from his body, making her heartbeat erratic. Carlo suddenly lifted his head, his gaze darkening with a forceful, unyielding intensity. He placed his hand on her denim-clad hips, his touch firm but not painful, as if he was holding back a restless urge. One by one, their clothes fell away, exposing Lyla’s skin to the warm air, and she could feel the temperature in the room rise with it.His fingers trailed over her shoulder, the heat from his touch sending a shiver down her spine. It felt as though Carlo was in command of every inch of her skin. Bit by bit, her rational thoughts crumbled under the weight of his gentle yet relentless actions, her resistance melting away as her body responded to his.That night, in the empty apartment they no longer called home, their bodies intertwined, giving into the raw, unrestrained passion. They moved until they were utterly spent, their skin marked with the evidence of the night’s intensity—C
Leonardo Ferretti now resides in a small coastal town along the eastern shoreline. Ever since waking from his three-year coma just three months ago, he relocated to this quiet place to recover and undergo rehabilitation.Carlo drove for four hours before finally arriving at the mansion perched on the edge of a cliff.The salty sea breeze whipped against the rocky shoreline, and the distant sound of crashing waves felt like a deep, unsettling murmur. The mansion stood tall and imposing at the highest point of the coastline, like a fortress detached from the rest of the world. Yet, for Carlo, this place wasn’t one of safety or comfort. Instead, it was filled with shadows and hostility.As soon as he stepped out of the car, Leonardo's butler approached, bowing slightly. “Sir, Mr. Ferretti is resting. He’s requested that you wait in the sitting room,” he said. Carlo nodded and followed him inside. The mansion’s interior was as grand and opulent as ever, with intricate décor that spoke of
Carlo stepped into his father’s study, and the stifling air hit him immediately. The room was steeped in silence, with only the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs outside, as if the ocean itself was sighing endlessly. Near the large floor-to-ceiling windows, Leonardo Ferretti sat quietly in his wheelchair, his gaze unfocused as it lingered on the vast ocean before him, lost in a state of deep, weary contemplation.At sixty, Leonardo's body was beginning to show signs of aging. Three years ago, an assassination attempt from a family rival nearly claimed his life. Though he miraculously survived the gunshot wound to the head, it left him comatose for three years. He had only recently regained consciousness three months ago, but the ordeal had taken its toll. His once powerful physique had withered, and now he moved with difficulty, his pallor a stark reminder of his vulnerability.This man, who once led the most powerful Mafia family on the East Coast with an iron fist, w
Carlo smiled faintly, his tone devoid of any emotion as he said calmly, "Father, with mother taking care of you, you’ll be fine. As for me, I have a lot of business to handle. After all, in the three years you were in the hospital, other powers have taken quite a bit of the family's territory. It’s a blessing you’ve woken up, but your recovery will take time. Surely, you wouldn’t want everything you built to be handed over to others while you’re still healing, would you?”Though Carlo's voice was steady, the truth behind his words was undeniable.Leonardo’s expression softened slightly, a trace of approval flashing in his eyes. He knew that Carlo had indeed made great efforts in the family business, especially during the past three years when the turmoil within the Ferretti family had become increasingly apparent.Mrs. Ferretti, his legitimate wife, came from another powerful Mafia family, but over the years, her family had declined. Her son, Blake, lacked any real capability—driven by
As Carlo stepped out of his father's study, the butler was waiting, almost as if Leonardo had planned it all. The butler approached swiftly, informing Carlo that Valentina Bianchi was in the vineyard behind the mansion.The Ferretti family’s legitimate business included luxury wines, and the mansion boasted a small vineyard and winery, often used to entertain important guests or host grand events.When Carlo entered the vineyard, he saw Valentina quietly painting under the shade of the grapevines. Valentina was a talented artist, and although she had given up her dream of becoming a painter for Leonardo, her skills had not diminished over the years.Carlo didn’t disturb her. He silently moved behind her, watching her in admiration. She was painting a serene scene of the vineyard—the sunlight filtering through the leaves, grapevines wrapped around wooden trellises, and in the distance, the small winery building stood peacefully, bathed in golden light.Leonardo had handed over a dozen