Chapter 1: Valentina

I used to be my father’s most beloved daughter. His pride and joy, his shadow, the one he whispered his secrets to late at night when he thought the world was asleep. He’d ruffle my hair, call me his little warrior, and promise me the world. But promises mean nothing when they’re buried with the dead.

After his death, my mother and I found ourselves trapped in a nightmare we couldn’t escape. My uncle—my father’s supposed right-hand man—took over everything. The house, the gang, the power. And us. He wasn’t content with just my father’s legacy; he wanted to break the pieces left behind. He wanted us to be obedient, silent.

Bruises bloomed on my body like sinister flowers. My arms, my ribs, even my face on the worst days. He always made sure to strike in places I could hide with long sleeves and sunglasses, but I wore those bruises like armor. His public façade was one of benevolence, a grieving brother stepping in to hold things together. But behind closed doors, he was a monster.

One night, after his fists left me gasping for air and his threats echoed in my ears, I decided I’d had enough. I’d take back what was stolen. My father’s gang, his empire—it would all be mine. I swore on the ache in my chest and the sting of my cuts that one day, I’d make my uncle pay for every scar he left on my skin and every ounce of grief he shoved down my throat.

That dream kept me alive, even as my world shifted yet again. My mother remarried six months later. Lorenzo Marino. The most powerful mafia boss on the East Coast. He took us in, sheltering us under his vast empire.

Sheltering. That’s how my mother described it. I called it something else. A tactical move.

Still, I wasn’t blind to the opportunity this new marriage presented. Lorenzo was everything my uncle wasn’t—calculated, disciplined, and untouchable. If I was going to learn how to run a gang, to reclaim what was rightfully mine, there was no better place to start than at the top of the food chain.

Tonight, Lorenzo was hosting a banquet for his closest allies. It was a sea of crystal glasses, dark suits, and hushed whispers in smoke-filled rooms. Power exchanged hands with the raise of an eyebrow or the clink of a glass. Lorenzo had been pacing all day, his demeanor sharper than usual.

“He’s coming back tonight,” he finally said at dinner. His voice was gruff, but there was an edge of something unfamiliar—anticipation? Maybe even vulnerability. Lorenzo didn’t talk much about his family, and I hadn’t pressed him. His son had been nothing more than a passing name, a ghost that haunted conversations without ever fully appearing.

“Who’s ‘he’?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

“My son,” Lorenzo replied, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied me. “Dante. He’s been away for two years, but I’ve asked him to come back. It’s time for him to take his place in the family.”

The name hung in the air like a storm cloud. Dante. The heir. My stepbrother.

“He’s a man now,” Lorenzo continued, almost to himself. “Not the boy who left. His business network on the East Coast rivals anything I’ve built. His return will change everything.”

I glanced at my mother, who was sitting quietly beside him. “Why haven’t we met him before now?” I asked her.

Her eyes softened, but there was hesitation there too. “It’s complicated,” she said gently. “But you’ll like him. He’s charming. Smart. Strong.”

“I’m not interested,” I muttered under my breath. “Men are childish, boring, and crude.”

Lorenzo snorted. “You might rethink that tonight.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but instead, I focused on finishing my dinner. Lorenzo’s words still echoed in my head, though. “Take his place in the family.” Did that mean Dante was the heir to all this? Would Lorenzo really entrust his empire to someone who’d walked away?

My thoughts were interrupted when Lorenzo threw a sleek black card onto the table in front of me.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Go buy something decent for tonight,” he said, his gaze trailing over my outfit—a tight black top and ripped jeans. “You’re not wearing that.”

“It’s fine,” I shot back, crossing my arms.

“It’s not,” he said, his voice firm. “If you’re serious about working in the gang, you need to learn how to dress for different occasions. This is one of them. Compromise, Valentina.”

I hated how his logic made sense. Reluctantly, I grabbed the card. “Fine,” I muttered. “But don’t expect me to turn into one of those plastic trophy girls.”

Lorenzo’s smirk was faint but victorious. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

—

By the time the banquet was in full swing, I felt like a fraud. The dress I’d chosen—a sleek black number with a slit up the side—fit me like a glove, but it felt like wearing someone else’s skin. I preferred the comfort of jeans and leather jackets, but Lorenzo had been right about one thing: appearances mattered in this world.

The mansion’s grand ballroom glittered under the light of an enormous chandelier. The air buzzed with tension and ambition, conversations flowing as deals were struck behind polite smiles. I stood off to the side, a glass of sparkling water in my hand, scanning the room for Lorenzo.

My mother approached, her emerald eyes lighting up when she saw me. “You look beautiful,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I shrugged. “It’s just a dress.”

Her smile faltered, and she lowered her voice. “Dante’s here.”

The name hit me like a shot of adrenaline. I straightened, my heart racing for reasons I didn’t fully understand.

“Where?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent.

She nodded toward the door. “See for yourself.”

I turned, and everything else in the room faded.

He was standing in the doorway, broad-shouldered and imposing. Dante wasn’t just handsome—he was magnetic. His dark hair was carelessly tousled, his gray eyes sharp and piercing as they scanned the room. His tailored black suit hugged his athletic frame, but it was the way he carried himself that stole the breath from my lungs. Confident. Dangerous.

Our eyes met, and something inside me shifted.

I was captivated.

I glanced down and saw his pants outlining his penis. Honestly, even through the fabric, it looked enormous—big enough to easily fill any woman's pussy and make her legs tremble while he fucked her. I could easily imagine it filling another woman's pussy, and how incredible that would feel.

I had heard something about my stepbrother—that many women at the club wanted to sleep with him, begging him to slam back into their pussies and fuck them until they squirted. I used to think it was just a rumor, but now I believe it.

As I watched him walk toward me, I couldn't help but squeeze my legs together, and my pussy immediately started to get wet. Even though I was wearing safety shorts, I could still feel my arousal soaking through.

I hated myself for it.