Marco’s presence was overwhelming, his body heat making it hard to breathe. His dark eyes locked onto mine, making my heart race. “Why do you fight me, Sarah?” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. I tried to step back, but the counter trapped me. “I won’t be your plaything, Marco.” He smiled, a dangerous, seductive curve of his lips. “Is that so?” He pulled me close, his hand burning through my dress. His lips brushed my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “I think you like this more than you admit.” I wanted to resist, but when his mouth claimed mine, I melted into the kiss, my body betraying me. Every touch ignited a fire I couldn’t control. When he pulled back, his eyes were full of desire. “You can’t deny what’s between us, Sarah” Sarah’s simple life turns dark when she catches the eye of dangerous mob boss, Marco De Luca. To settle her father’s debt, Marco forces her into an arranged relationship. Sarah fights to resist his control, but their fiery clashes spark undeniable passion.
Lihat lebih banyakMARCOThe city was already buzzing by the time I stepped into the club. Word had spread like it always did when there was fire involved. Loud. Messy. Unavoidable. The warehouse attack I sent Gio on didn’t just go up in smoke, it sent the exact message I wanted it to, just the one we wanted out there.I kept my head down as I moved past the crowd. Familiar faces, familiar noise. A few of my guys were already drinking like nothing happened, laughing like we hadn’t just made the loudest move in weeks. All part of the script. They were playing their roles. I was about to play mine.I slid into the usual booth in the back. Dark corner. Good view of the whole room. I threw my coat beside me and knocked on the table once. Bartender looked over, already moving.“Double,” I said when he got close, tapping the glass down like I needed it more than air. “And don’t stop unless I say.”Tony was leaning against the wall by the booth, arms crossed, eyes scanning the floor. He always looked like he w
MARCOThe room was quiet. Real quiet. The kind where you can hear someone blink. Denis sat across from me, hands on his knees, eyes low. Petrov leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Tony stood by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other tapping the frame like he couldn’t stand still.I didn’t say much. I just stared at Denis. Made him squirm a little. He knew what was expected.“You can start talking,” I finally said.His head jerked up like I pulled him out of a bad dream. He looked at each of us. Then down again.“Alright,” he muttered. “I’ll talk.”He took a breath. Then it all started pouring out.“Marcel’s base isn’t at the club. That’s just his face. The real spot’s a compound in the industrial zone, the one behind the fake textile plant. Everything happens there. The trucks, the drops, the meetings.”I didn’t move. I kept watching him. Trying to see if he was holding anything back.“There’s a basement setup. Clean. Sealed. That’s where he’s keeping her. Sara
MARCELThe city looked soft from up here. All that noise, all that movement, and still, it bowed. I stood at the window in my suite, cup in hand, nothing but silence around me. That was the kind of power I liked. Quiet. Steady. It meant everything was still running how I wanted it.The espresso was hot, bitter, smooth. Just how I liked it. The robe hung loose on my shoulders. I didn’t need armor in my own kingdom. Marco was definitely out there throwing tantrums, yelling into the wind, kicking at doors no one opened. He thought if he made enough noise, something would shake loose. But that’s all it was, noise. His people were scrambling. Mine were planted.I set the cup down as I went to freshen up. I had a meeting to attend. The new head of the Rossi family.. young, loud, trying to act like he had his brother's shoes on, but everyone in the room could see the fit was wrong. He needed to be reminded who still ran the rhythm of this city.I picked a black suit. Simple. Heavy fabric. N
MARCOI stared at the dartboard across the room. Three darts were stuck in it. One near the bullseye, two scattered like they were thrown without care. I hadn’t touched it in a week. Didn’t feel like playing games. Not until we had something real.The room was quiet, just the sound of the coffee pot clicking under the small warmer. I poured myself a cup, black, no sugar. I needed to stay sharp. Petrov said he had gotten Denis, I could feel it. Something about tonight told me this was it. This was the closest I had been to getting Sarah back.I cracked my knuckles and leaned on the edge of the table, still staring at that board. One dart for Denis. One for Marcel. One for Isabella. That last one would get replaced soon, maybe with a blade. I smiled at that thought.A knock came at the door. I didn’t even turn around.“Yeah?”It was one of the guys from the main floor. “Boss. Petrov’s back. He says he’s downstairs. Dungeon.”I took one more sip of coffee and nodded. “Alright. Let’s go s
PETROVThe engine was quiet, but I still kept my foot light on the brake. Sitting in an unmarked black car in the middle of a warehouse lot at night ain’t glamorous. It’s cold, it’s slow, and you’ve gotta know how to sit in silence without letting it eat you up.Gio sat beside me, chewing on a toothpick. He didn’t say much. That’s why I liked him. Good eyes, sharper hands. One of Marco’s quiet soldiers, but sharp enough to make noise when it counted.I flicked the ash of my cigarette out the half-cracked window. The smoke stayed low inside the car, curling slow, the way my thoughts moved when I was on a tail. We weren’t here to guess. We were here to read the pattern.“He’s in there,” I muttered. “Warehouse across the lot. Denis. Carrying a duffel. No escort.”Gio nodded once. Didn’t need to speak. He knew what that meant. For a guy like Denis, showing up solo? Out of place. Logistics men don’t walk around without backup unless they’re doing something they ain’t supposed to.“Somethin
ISABELLAI needed to see Sarah. Needed to look into her eyes and knock that calm out of her face. I was sick of hearing the guards say she wasn’t making trouble. That she wasn’t even flinching. That she just sat there like she was above all of this.Like this place wasn’t real to her.I walked down to the basement. Two guards at her door stood straight when I showed up. One of them moved to unlock it.“Open it,” I said. My voice didn’t shake.The door creaked and I stepped inside.She was sitting by the window. Again. Her back to the door. Same white T-shirt. Same silent attitude. Like she didn’t even hear me come in.That alone made my jaw clench.I shut the door myself and crossed the room, slow. Waiting for her to move. Say something. Look at me.She didn’t.“You’re quiet,” I said.No answer.“Still dreaming, huh? You think he’s coming for you?”Nothing. She didn’t even turn her head.I walked right behind her chair.“He doesn’t even still know where you are,” I said. “And if he di
MARCOPetrov walked in without knocking. He didn’t have to. The door was open, and when things are heavy like this, you don’t waste time with manners. He stepped into the office and came to a stop near the board behind me. Eyes sharp. Face serious.I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Just stared at the photos, the pins, the lines that connected nothing but dead ends.Then I turned to him. “Denis.”Petrov looked at the picture I was pointing to. “Marcel’s logistics guy?”I nodded. “Yeah. One of our guys spotted him earlier today. Said he was moving different. Not his usual routes. First stop was a fuel depot. He lingered, made a few calls, then drove across town to a shut-down warehouse. Didn’t go in, just parked across from it, like he was checking something. Then he drove to the pier. Got a coffee. Sat there for almost forty minutes. Staring at the water.”Petrov didn’t speak right away. He just stared at Denis’s face like he was reading a puzzle out of it.“That sound like erra
MARCOI stood in front of the board again. Maps. Pins. Strings. Scribbled notes. All of it looking back at me like it had answers. But it didn’t. Not yet.The Bronx setup still replayed in my head. That moment when I saw her. The fake her. How sure I was. The way her hair smelled. Her trembling hands. For a second, I let myself believe it was Sarah. I let my guard down. I walked right into Marcel’s damn show. And he played me like a fool.I stepped closer to the board, staring at a red pin that marked another location upstate. The lead had was still weak, a whisper from a runner who barely made it out alive. But I kept it. I kept every maybe. Because right now, a maybe was all I had.I dragged my fingers through my hair, jaw tight. Every goddamn angle I took just looped me back here. To this board. This silence. And her still missing.“Where the fuck are you, Sarah?” I muttered.The room was dim. Just the lamp by the desk on. Everyone in the house knew to stay away when that light was
MARCEL She sat just like always. On the edge of the bed. Back straight. Hands stiff in her lap. Eyes locked on the window like it had something new to show her. It didn’t. Just the same damn walls, same sky, same guards outside. I sat across from her, cigarette between my fingers, legs crossed. Quiet at first. I wanted her to feel it. The silence. The weight of me just watching. “You look thinner,” I said. She didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. “How long has it been now? Weeks? Maybe more.” I smiled a little. “Still haven’t settled in, huh?” She didn’t answer. “Don’t gotta be like this. You know that.” She turned her head halfway, eyes meeting mine. Cold, tired eyes. “What do you want?” I shrugged. “Conversation. It’s been too damn quiet around here. Figured we could talk.” “You can talk. I’m not interested.” That made me chuckle. “You always had bite, I’ll give you that. Strong. Loyal too. I can respect that. But you’re wasting it, Sarah.” She looked away again. Back t
SARAH The bakery smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon, a comforting aroma that greeted me every morning. I enjoyed the simplicity of our life. Our bakery, though it was small and modest, it was our pride and joy. Papa, had poured his heart and soul into this place, and it was a decent addiction to our community. “Good morning, Mrs. Alvarez! The usual?” I asked, already reaching for a loaf of brown bread. “Good morning, Sarah. Yes, please,” she replied with a warm smile. Handing her the loaf, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. Despite the financial struggles and the countless hours of hard work, I loved every moment spent here. My father and I shared a close bond, working side by side to keep our beloved bakery running. After Mrs. Alvarez left, I returned to kneading dough, humming softly to the tune playing on the radio. My father was in the back, preparing a new batch of new dough. The old Spanish tunes on the radio filled the space with nostalgia, reminding me of my mo...
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