{GIOVANNI'S POV}
**āThat was a stupid move, bambina (little girl). A bloody stupid move,ā I say, not knowing what else to say or how to just get her in there and pull away and end this cat and mouse rubbish.Though, I want to be with her.That's why I left Edmondo and came here.I want to finish what weāve just started too.She looks at me with rage and fear all over her face and demeanor. āJust let me go. I owe you nothing and all you want to do is take advantage of me.āShe looks at me, daring me to say the truth. She knows it, and I know it.Weāre walking the faint line between lust and abomination.I knew from the moment I set eyes on her, loosing her cool and yelling for someone to save her sister, that she was going to be different and nice to own.This is lust.Compared to loveā¦ thisā¦ lustā¦ Itās a lot more complicated than I ever wouldāve thought.I pull{INGRID'S POV}**His touch sends fire racing through my skin. Sparks burn through me in a high blaze.Every touch of his fingers, every flick of his tongue, and Iām burning up and I canāt find it in me to care.I never knew that anything could be as intense as the pleasure racing through me now. One moment Iām unthinking, lost in it completely. The next Iām so overwhelmed, I feel the need to run away.How much can I possibly take?No oneās ever touched me the way Mr. Giovanni is now. No one has ever looked at me with the fire presently burning through his brown eyes. I feel ready to collapse under that gaze.This man is more than I ever thought a person capable of being. With every movement, with every touch, heās showing me that I am not alone.Loneliness has always been my phobia, my hate.. but Mr. Giovanni.. no, Uncle is telling me, showing me that I'm not alone now.I scream āUn
{INGRID'S POV}**āPut your hands above your head,ā he tells me.I do, looking into his eyes as I obey.My mind turns to the first time I saw him when I awoke in here. I can practically feel his hands on me as he holds me down, the intense powerlessness I felt at their touch.I breathe deeply, calming the emotions that race through me at the thought.I feel his hands on my wrists, pushing them together. The tie slides around them, the same fabric as before caressing my sensitive skin. I feel as it begins to tighten and look up to watch.He binds my wrists tightly, securing them with practiced hands.I give them a tug, experimenting with the length. The constraint leaves me feeling utterly powerless, and I wonder at the spark that spreads through me at the thought of it.I turn to find his eyes. They pierce me in question.I answer with my own, my chest heaving in anticipation. I
{INGRID'S POV} * * Sharp, threatening voices wake me up the next morning. I stir from my sleep, waking up in a heap on the floor. I must have rolled over from the mat. My bones are aching from the position I slept in still, and I realize I must have fallen asleep sometime during the night. Wait. Hold up. I feel somewhere else too. Ohā¦yeah. Uncle. Uncle and I had sex. What's that pain? I look up to my wrists. The bind. The bind have rubbed my skin raw and my sleeping arrangement made my whole body sore and tense the more. Why didn't he take off the bind? But the most important thing right now are the voices. I hear them out in the hallway, deep and unfamiliar. And I think they're coming towardsā¦ here. I crawl into the corner of the room and pull up Mr. Giovanni's leather coat. He must have left it here after weā¦, probabl
{GIOVANNIāS POV}**So, I left her.It wasnāt like I didnāt have a choice. I couldāve stayed back with her. Hell, a part of me wanted to. But I just... I just walked away.She knew my name, but I didnāt bother learning hers. Why would I? She was just a kid. Well, legal, barely 18, so no problem there, right? Thatās how it goes. First time, one time. No strings, no complications.She wasnāt special. To me, she was just another warm body in a long, forgettable list of bitches. Names? Faces? They didnāt matter when you lived a shitty life as mine. So, in summary, thanks to my shitty life, I took what I wanted. When I wanted. And moved on.But damn. There was something about her.Not love or anything stupid like that; letās not get carried away. But there was this way she looked at me, like she saw past the bullshit. Like she could strip me down to nothing with just her eyes.It pissed me of
{EDMONDOāS POV} * * If there's anything I hate about myself, it's the lack of patience towards bastards. I hate chasing ghosts. The Irish Consigliere; a slippery bastard, is the kind of problem I like to solve immediatelyā¦ with a bullet. Fast, simple, no bullshit. But here I am, trudging through this piss-soaked tunnel, hunting him down because my men couldnāt catch him outright. The underground reeks of rot, mildew, and something worse. Darkness. They all cling to my suit like a second skin. This isnāt where a man like me: The Don belongs, no, I should be sitting in the estate, drinking my scotch and celebrating the little blocks I've set for the empire I'm building. But ghosts donāt respect empires. They sneak in, lurk and poke around, and see how much they can steal before they vanish. And this ghost? Iāll make sure he vanis
{EDMONDO'S POV} * * The bastardās trying to rile me up. And itās working. My hand itches to reach for my knife. But I hold back. Not yet. Not here. He surely didn't come here to hug but to attack. āYouāve got balls, Iāll give you that,ā I say, my voice is low and cutting. āBut balls wonāt save you when youāre six feet under.ā āAh, but Iāve no intention of being buried tonight,ā he replies, his smile fading as his eyes harden. āI came here to talk.ā Talk? āTalk?ā I spit the word out like it tastes bad. āThe Irish donāt talk. You threaten, you scheme, and you stab people in the back. So, cut the bullshit and tell me why youāre really here.ā Donnelly shrugs. His movements are quite slow. Slow like a poison but delib
{LUIGIāS POV}**You donāt crawl back to Edmondo Dā Avi. Not after youāve fucked up like I did. And definitely not unless youāve got a death wish.I lurk in the shadows now, watching him from a distance like some pathetic ghost. I donāt deserve to stand in his light anymore, not after the shitstorm I brought down on him with Massimo. But I still love him. Iād still kill for him. Maybe one day Iāll even die for him. Thatās all Iāve got left to offer; a loyalty he doesnāt even fucking know is still here.The tunnelās cold and damp. This is the kind of place where rats thrive and bodies disappear. I blend into the dark like a goddamn phantom, watching Edmondo square off with the Irish Consigliere.Donnelly.Iāve heard his name whispered in back rooms and barrooms. The Irish Consigliere is a legend. A man with a silver tongue and an iron fist. Heās sharp as a switchblade and
{GIOVANNI'S POV}**The courtyard is alive, alive with noise. There's steel ringing on steel, boots pounding against dirt, grunts and curses cutting through the cold morning air. Thisā¦ this is Edmondoās pet project. āThe Girls Guard.āHe swears by it, calls it the future. Says women are more dangerous than men when theyāve got something to prove. Heās not wrong. Iāve seen what they can do. And here they are, Edmondoās handpicked female assassins in training, twisting chaos into precision. Itās almost impressive. Almost.I lean against the stone pillar, arms crossed, watching as they work through their drills. Most of them move like theyāve been doing this all their whole lives. They are calculated. Efficient. Deadly. But one of them catches my eye.Sheās a disaster.Clumsy footwork. Weak grip. She fumbles with her blade like itās a goddamn kitchen utensil.
{BONUS Ć FINAL CHAPTER} * * The first time I hear the fridge open, I ignore it. The second time, I hear the unmistakable clatter of a spoon against a plate. I ignore it.. again. I roll over, reaching for Carina and as I suspected, her side of the bed is empty. It's warm but empty. The third time I hear noise, I sit up, groggy and blinking against the dim glow of the kitchen light spilling into our bedroom. āCarina?ā With that follows an funny, guilty silence. Then, a crunch sound. I throw the covers off and shuffle to the kitchen, where I find my very pregnant wife sitting on the floor in one of my old shirts, surrounded by an assortment of food. A half empty tub of ice cream. A jar of pickles. A box of cereal. A slice of pizza on a napkin. And, God help me, a jar of peanut butter with a spoon sticking out of it. She looks up at me with those big brown ey
{EDMONDO'S POV}**Tomorrow comes fast. And it's morning again.The morning spills through the massive windows, drenching the room in soft gold. Outside, Vegas hums with life; cars weaving through the Strip, neon signs still flickering even in daylight, the distant sound of laughter and slot machines. But in here, in this bed, it's quiet. It's just us.Carina Morelli is curled beside me, wrapped in the sheets. Her bare shoulder is exposed and her hair is a dark tangle on the pillow. I reach out, brushing a strand away from her face. She stirs. Her lips part slightly and I pause, watching her. Before, love was brutal. It was a battle. But thisā¦ this is something else entirely.Her eyes flutter open, it's hazy with sleep."You're staring again," she murmurs, voice thick with drowsiness.I smirk, running a thumb over her cheek. "You're in my bed. What else am I supposed to do?"She shifts. She stretches her arms above her head, the sheet slipping lower. My gaze follows and she knows it
{EDMONDO'S POV}**I am wide awakeā¦ā¦and the world is too bright.Or maybe itās just this city: Las Vegas, with its neon lights and chaotic energy, its crowds of dreamers and gamblers. The world is too loud, too open, too free. I used to think freedom came with power, with control, with a gun in my hand and a city at my feet. But here, in a five bedroom condo that is too small compared to my estate back at Trento but too big for just the two of us, freedom tastes different.It tastes like her.Cara moves around the kitchen barefoot, wearing nothing but my shirt. The sleeves are too long, the hem brushing her thighs, and she looks like she belongs in a life I never imagined for myself. Her hair has all grown out, the soft waves are now framing her face. I remember when I forced her into dying it black, then she cut it short. She looked as untouchable as she tried to be. Now, she looksā¦ happy.Happier than I have ever seen her. The woman who once lived in black, whose eyes carried
{INGRID'S POV}**The air in Italy is different when we arrive. Itās thick, suffocating, and all pressing down on me from all sides. From the moment we land and got into the car, I feel it in my bones.. like something is wrong.I step out of the car. The gravel crunches beneath my feet. My breath catches at the sight before me.Something is indeed wrong. Not because of the silence, not because of the way the sky hangs low and gray over Trento, Northern Italy, but because of them. Everywhere; black.I see a sea of black. Men and women standing in eerie silence with their heads bowed and their faces unreadable. The only sounds are the occasional rustle of fabric, a sniffle, the sharp bite of the wind against my skin. And then I see another; six men standing apart from the rest, wearing black suits but with blood-red hood capes.Blood-red. Is that a deliberate choice? Or is it a symbol?I swallow hard, glancing sideways at Mr. Giovanni, but his expression is unreadable. His gaze sweeps
{GIOVANNI'S POV}**The jet hums with a steady vibration, a soft, luxurious purr beneath us as we soar above the clouds. The private cabin is dimly lit, a golden glow casting soft shadows along the leather seats. Outside, the world is a stretch of endless dark, pinpricked with distant city lights below.I sit comfortably, my legs stretched out as a glass of whiskey rests in my palm. Across from me, Ingrid is curled up in her seat, het legs tucked beneath her. She's scrolling through something on the new phone I got her. She looks up, catching me watching her and arches an eyebrow. āYouāre staring,ā she murmurs.I take a slow sip of my drink. āAdmiring, bambina. That's the word.āShe huffs but doesnāt look away. āThatās new, uncle.āāIs it?ā I smirk, tilting my head. āI seem to recall a certain young little lady throwing herself into my arms just hours ago. Was that not you?āShe rolls her eyes but shifts slightly, uncoiling her legs. āYou act like you didnāt force me onto this plane
{INGRID'S POV}**The swollen head of Mr. Giovanni's cock pushes just inside me, making me gasp and grab his shoulders. I can't tear my eyes away from the sight of his thick, veiny manhood held tight in his strong hand as it plays over my cute pink flesh.All the ways I imagined Iād give myself to man maybe in marriage or love relationships, it was never like this. Never like meeting Mr. Giovanni, losing my virginity while doing this with him, and doing it again.Actually, there was only ever one way I imagined loving a man for life. In a normal, average style, falling in love with a guy my age when I'm at least twenty one, kissing him, dating him, loving him and then we get into a relationship. The only way I believed my mother would want me to be happy.But with Mr. Giovanni, on his study desk, in Ireland not even Italy, in the light day evening of the day? This is better actually.This is sexier. Officially, Iāll lose myself to him even if not in the proper way. Even if he's actua
{GIOVANNI'S POV} * * Love her? Now, that's a funny one. Men like me don't fall in love so easily. But it is strange that I so much have this overflow of urge to control this little one. āBelieve whatever you want.ā I press my mouth over hers in a searing kiss, and this time, she doesnāt have time to pull away. She melts against me, and as I thrust my tongue into her mouth, her lips part for me. I feel her sharp inhale that pushes her little swollen breasts against my chest. I break the kiss and glare down at her. āJust in case you were thinking something foolish, Iāll make this clear now. I don't fall in love. Maybe obsessed with you but I'm not sure. What I'm sure of is that there are too many out there. I donāt want to see you around other men, not even someone you knew before me. Or I wonāt be responsible for what I do to you and him.ā She arches her eyebrow, her expression challenging me. As always. But I'm growing to hate her feistiness. āOh, really?ā But I will
{GIOVANNI'S POV}**I watch her from the doorway, unseen.Ingrid stands in front of the mirror, holding the dress against her frame, tilting her head as if trying to decide whether it suits her. The fabric spills over her arms like liquid, deep green, rich, the kind that makes her look older than she is. The gift had been deliberate. A test, maybe. Or just another way to remind her of who decides what she wears, where she goes, what she becomes.She turns slightly, checking the side of the dress, her expression unreadable. And yet, I know exactly whatās going through her mind. She wants to refuse it. Reject it on instinct because itās too childish. But she doesnāt. Because, in some ways, she already understands that acceptance is easier. And Safer.I lean against the doorframe, waiting. She runs a hand down the silk one last time before exhaling sharply, setting the dress aside, and walking toward the door. I step away just before she opens it, making it seem like I just happened
{GIOVANNI'S POV}**I make sure the room is dimly lit so my little girl can be comfortable. The heavy curtains are drawn against the early evening sun. I sit across from my bambi, a bowl of fruit in my hand. My fingers peel a piece of orange with slow precision. She watches me with her expression unreadable, and I see the tension in her shoulders; the way her fingers tighten around the fabric of her big shirt."Eat," I say, holding out a slice. "I want you to be healthy for me. Soon, I will begin hand-working those tiny tits, I want them bigger."She rolls her eyes but takes the fruit from my fingers. Her lips brush against the tips in a way that is entirely too deliberate. I ignore it. For now I always ignore her petty advances.Silence stretches between us. I pick up another piece, twirl it between my fingers before offering it to her. She leans forward, her gaze locked onto mine. The game she plays is subtle, but Iāve always been good at seeing through people. Always."You want