{GIOVANNI'S POV}**She’s magnificent.Angry. Spitting fire. Thrashing against her binds like a wild animal caught in a trap. Every word out of her mouth is a curse, every movement defiant. It’s… intoxicating.Her fury doesn’t scare me. On the contrary, it excites me. It’s been a long time since anyone has dared to speak to me like that; much less a girl tied to a chair, with no power, no control. And yet, she doesn’t stop.Her defiance is almost admirable. Almost.I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching her unravel. She’s throwing everything she has at me: words, threats, accusations. Pathetic how none of it lands. Instead, they bounce off me like raindrops. Insignificant raindrops.And then it happens.The moment her anger stumbles, her words falter.I see it; the instant she notices. Her dress which is supposed to cling to her skin…. it's slipping lower. Her body freezes and a delightful blush creeps up her neck. And suddenly, the girl who was all fire and rage is now
{INGRID’S POV}**My throat is dry.The kind of dry that makes swallowing painful. But I can’t let this old man see my weakness. I need to stay sharp. Keep thinking. Every second he stays in this room, watching me, smirking at me, feels like a lifetime.I hate him.I hate his smugness. The way he leans casually against the wall, acting like he owns me. The way his brown eyes track my every movement, making me feel exposed and vulnerable.But I’m not weak. I’ve survived worse.Have I?I shift slightly, testing the binds around my wrists again. They’re tight. But not impossible. If I can distract him, just for a second, maybe I can figure out a way to free myself.A plan starts to form in my mind. It’s ridiculous. It's too desperate.But it’s all I’ve got.“I’m thirsty,” I say, my voice hoarse but steady.He doesn’t react at first. His gaze remains fixed on me and unreadable.“Water,” I add, sharper this time. “You know, the liquid thing people need to survive?”He chuckles. In a
{GIOVANNI'S POV}**She’s an interesting girl, I’ll admit that much. A La Rosa by blood. But nothing about her attitude and behaviour screams it. La Rosa.The name carries weight, even if it’s been dulled over the years. They were once powerful, feared. In Southern Italy. But now? They’re a family clinging to the remnants of a reputation that’s slipping through their fingers. They're collapsing both as a family and in the underworld.And this girl? This girl is a product of that collapse. She reflects downfall.She talks too much, for one. A proper La Rosa would’ve known how to balance words with silence. How to use both as weapons. But not her. She’s loud, impulsive, brash. A stray cat, scratching at anything that corners her.Yet, she’s not entirely stupid. Her mouth moves, tainting the air we share.. with half-baked defiance. But her eyes betray her.Those eyes keep drifting. Not to me. Not to the situation we’re in. But to the bag near my feet. Specifically, to the knife
{INGRID'S POV}**I’m scared. I’m so terrified. My heart is hammering so loudly in my chest and it feels like it’s going to break free. My hands tremble as I try to steady myself. But every part of me shakes. My legs feel like jelly, it's barely able to hold me up. I want to scream, to fight back. But I can’t even find my voice. I can barely breathe with the suffocating weight of the fear hanging in the air I breath.I didn’t expect it to come to this. I thought maybe he was just a man talking. Just words. But when he told me to take my dress off, it hit me. The truth. He’s not just playing around. He’s not just talking. He means it. He wants me, and I’m nothing but a thing for him to use.What else could it be? He wouldn’t ask me to take my dress off unless he was going to take it further. Rape me till he's content. What other reason could there be? The thought claws at me. It scrapes at the edges of my mind like the claws of a kitty cat. I’m too young. I can’t be this. A
{INGRID'S POV}**I feel so small. So utterly insignificant in front of him. He looms over me like a shadow, dark and oppressive, making me feel like nothing more than an object and something to be used. Something to be disposed of when he’s done with me. He sits me down on the bed… that's if you can even call it that. It’s not a bed. It’s a mat stretched across a wooden frame. Hard, uncomfortable. Nothing like the softness I’ve longed for in all of my life. Yet never had.But at the moment, I don’t care about comfort. I never did. I don’t care about anything anymore.He pushes me onto it with a force that makes my breath catch in my throat. My back hits the unforgiving surface. I’m too scared to move. Too scared to even breathe the wrong way. My hands instinctively grip my knees. My body stiffens as I sit there, trembling like a leaf in the wind. I can’t stop shaking. I just want to escape. To run.
{GIOVANNI'S POV}**Uncle. Uncle?Fuck. Hearing that word from her gives me the shivers. Like.. “Uncle.” How nice it sounds. Perhaps, if she had been pleading that word while he was fucking her, it would've made sense. No, no, no, no, no, Giovanni. Wake up. Out of that thought now; she's just a minor. I can't fuck a minor. But then, if I was to have sex with some woman, and let's drop all the daddy, papi shit.. If the woman was to call me Uncle, would I like it? Perhaps. But then when this little girl called me Uncle, when she pleaded the word Uncle, at first I was surprised. Then I became amused. I was excited; my blood and nerves were bubbling for no reason. Yeah well, for a reason. For this reason. And I felt energy going down. Down, onto my most manly area. My dick. Focus. Let's focus.But then, focusing back
{INGRID'S POV}**He stares at me for a long moment, then grabs my throat like I’m some enemy to him. “Good. Now lick it,” he says, low but in a commanding tone.I've never seen a man so calm yet fearful. My spit runs down his cheek. It's going down onto his lip. No. I have to hurry before it does. He seems to hate that act of spitting on him. I lick it. Just so close to his thin lips.I look away, unable to look at him. Disgusting cazzo.He smiles then lets go of my neck only to grip my cheeks this time. It makes me eyeball him. “Your sister, Agata, is dead,” he tells me. Wait, Agata? Who's that? “Your father, Mr. La Rosa was going to give her out for slaughter, all in the name of business. So, she killed herself first, Miss ‘I’ La Rosa.” He purposefully emphasizes the ‘I’ not knowing my name. Probably to show me that he knew who I was. Who I was by birth; a La Rosa. Bastard. “B
{CARA'S POV}**It’s been two weeks. Two weeks without seeing Edmondo. That’s good, right? It has to be. I keep telling myself it’s for the better, though sometimes the thought creeps in: Why hasn’t he come for me?I try not to dwell on it. Instead, I focus on my days with his mother.The day I first met her was nothing like I’d expected. After only a few minutes together, she cried with a stoic demeanor. “I never liked her,” she said bluntly, brushing away false tears with exaggerated trembling fingers. “Agata, your sister was… razz, I suppose. Bold, brash. But good as a Donna, not as a wife. Never as my son's wife.”That day, she sat across from me in her expansive sitting room with a distant gaze. As if the memories were taunting her. I hesitated before speaking. “But didn’t the Don love her?”Her head snapped toward me and her expression turned sharp. “Love?” She scoffed. “What does an iron man like Mondo know about love? He stuck to her for pleasure. And her intriguing pers
{BONUS × 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. “Carina?” 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 this… 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 awake……and the world is too bright.Or maybe it’s 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 looks… 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. It’s 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. “You’re staring,” she murmurs.I take a slow sip of my drink. “Admiring, bambina. That's the word.”She huffs but doesn’t look away. “That’s new, uncle.”“Is it?” I smirk, tilting my head. “I seem to recall a certain young little lady throwing herself into my arms just hours ago. Was that not you?”She rolls her eyes but shifts slightly, uncoiling her legs. “You act like you didn’t 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 I’d 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, I’ll 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. “Believe whatever you want.” I press my mouth over hers in a searing kiss, and this time, she doesn’t 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. “Just in case you were thinking something foolish, I’ll 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 don’t want to see you around other men, not even someone you knew before me. Or I won’t be responsible for what I do to you and him.” She arches her eyebrow, her expression challenging me. As always. But I'm growing to hate her feistiness. “Oh, really?” 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 what’s going through her mind. She wants to refuse it. Reject it on instinct because it’s too childish. But she doesn’t. 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 I’ve always been good at seeing through people. Always."You want