Milan, Italy.3:15 pm. She stepped off the train and onto the bustling platform of Milan's Central Station. The soft, indirect light of the Milanese afternoon spilled into the terminal, casting a warm glow over the bustling crowds. Her eyes briefly shut, she inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent of ripe citrus fruits and the subtle hint of freshly baked pastries that wafted through the air from the terminal cafe.‘New city, new identity,’ she muttered to herself with a subtle sly smile. She could feel the thrill of her new mission pulsating through her veins. Her past had been buried, but not forgotten. Her new name was Serena Lopez. A name fitting her personality and agenda.Even her outfit was that of an Italian lady boss. Exuding class and elegance in simplicity. She wore a simple white long-sleeve collared blouse, with a wide-leg style pants that were both flattering and comfortable. Her purse was a black Hermes handbag, and her feet were adorned by Channel scarpin heels.
9 years ago After the prosecution of her father's death, young Callie spent the first three months of her new life in the St. Rita's Orphanage home, Virginia. The First month, the little girl was numb —literally, emotionally. She barely spoke one word a day. But she always gave a cold, deathly stare to the kids who dared to taunt her, bully her and say her name; ‘Callie’. It was a name that now happened to terrify her memories, and send cold shivers all over her skin.Her late mother never called her Callie, she called her her own name instead —Serena. Her late father made sure of that. In his words, “No one calls her Callie but me! She's mine!” His grave voice still thundered in the back of her head, a haunting testament to the misery she endured in his hands. He was possessive of her. He dictated every aspect of her life, including her education, which meant she was strictly homeschooled. He’d locked her indoors for weeks without letting her see the sun. “The world is full of ev
Calista was then punished for two weeks. She was forced to atone for her odious sins by locking her up in the chapel room just like how her father would lock her up in her room. She spiraled and crashed out, yelling and screaming day after day, begging to be freed.But the only comfort that was brought to her was the news of Roger being confirmed blind in his right eye.No remorse. No empathy. “He deserves it.” She thought passionlessly. At the end of the third month, she was suddenly adopted by a wealthy family. The Sinclairs. In six months, she found out their secret; They were adopting kids, feeding them, and nursing them to good health. Then trade them as a pet to wealthier child abusers. Traffic them as slaves to masters and mistresses, and mules to drug dealers.However, Mr. Sinclair decided to keep Calista for himself. “She is priceless. She is mine.” He once said to a high bidder who wanted her as her pet.On Mr. Sinclair’s very first sexual attempt on Calista, she stabbed
Present Day Like a thunderous bolt shattering the stillness, the alarm clock blasted off at 4: 00 am, stirring its owner wide awake. With a frustrated groan, Serena rolled over to the edge of the bed. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and staggered to the bathroom a few feet from her bed, where she searched and groped in the dark for the screaming alarm clock.She found it where she had left it, blaring with a jarring sound, and killed it with a violent slap. The early morning became instantly still as it once was.She stood in the dark for a moment, breathless, terrified, her heart pounding rapidly —but it wasn't from a nightmare. Serena never had nightmares. Rather, she didn't dream or she never remembers them.It was from the cardiac arrest she flirted with each morning at the time when the thing erupted. Staring at the fluorescent numbers that glowed from the alarm clock, she realized how much she hated it —its piercing sound could wake the dead.Yet she took it with her
Gently, Serena placed the gun on the bed, next to the mysterious box. Her fingers barely trembled as she began to untie the red bow, the anticipation building up inside her like a ticking time bomb. The bow came undone, revealing a layer of white parchment paper wrapped around the contents, adorned with the elegant imprints of Zara —the brand. She carefully removed the paper, her eyes widening as the dress came into view. The vibrant cherry-red color seemed to leap out at her, drawing her in like a siren's call. The fabric felt luxurious to the touch, and she couldn't help but run her fingers over the intricate patterns, her senses tingling with pleasure. “This is...wow,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.“But, how?” The question lingered. Regret for choosing to live in plain sight as a casual Milanese to avoid suspicion started to evade her senses. Because that was the only way he could have found her. Probably bribed her tour guide into giving him her room inform
Serena refocused her senses, sharpening them to get back to the crucial matters at hand. There was a much bigger fish to fry, compared to the game of cat and mouse Stefan was initiating. She had to get back to business. She needed to find Stefano De Ricco. The Ghost Italian Mafia kingpin. She needed to find the devil.She first drew her curtain blinds, and turned on the air conditioner. Then put on jazz music to play. Putting on her blutech glasses, she tied her hair in a disheveled bun before settling on the seat.She booted up her laptop and cracked her knuckles, ready to dig in. "Time to go old school," she muttered to herself. She needed to find something, anything, on Stefano De Rico. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she started searching, logging into the dark web — a website off limits to 70% percent of the people in the world. First, she tried his full name, but the results were a dead end. No Data found on ‘Stefano De Rico.’ Next, she attempted "Stefano, the mafia" a
After a steam bath, she stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped loosely around her chest. “Honeysuckle Rose” by Anita O’Day, an old vintage and mellifluous tune, was playing in the background.It was 5:40 pm now. If Stefan, or rather Stefano, kept to time, then she had exactly 1 hour and 20 minutes to prepare for the ‘dinner.’ She hummed along to the sweet tune as she swayed her hips to the bass, sauntering to the closet.Despite her self-disgust at falling for the devil she'd been sent to slay, Serena was intrigued to see how his intricate game of cat and mouse would unfold. She relished the opportunity to play the role of the unsuspecting pawn, to pretend to be the vulnerable prey. But beneath the surface, she would be a cunning adversary, a sly fox, eager to outmaneuver him. Serena was determined to play his game, but with a twist – she'd emerge as the mastermind, outsmarting him at every turn. She would make him fall for her, then she'd learn his secrets, and in the
Still at the restaurant.The waitress appeared to take their order, greeting them with a cheerful "Buon giorno, signori, signorina.” She nodded curtly at Stefano then Serena. "Cosa desidera la dea per antipasto?" In translation: What would the goddess like for an appetizer? She asked, her eyes sparkling with warmth.Serena's eyes widened slightly as she processed the question and the unexpected term of endearment – goddess. A gentle smile spread across her face as she refocused on the menu, her gaze scanning the black and gold-embossed card. Stefano remained silent, allowing her to make her selection.With over 20 appetizer options to choose from, Serena opted for the "Carpaccio di Manzo" (thinly sliced raw beef), a dish she had seen in a movie and heard rave reviews about. Stefano's smile grew as she made her choice."E il vino?” (And wine ?”) The waitress enquired.Serena scanned the menu again, looking for which wine to choose. There she found the De Rico wine. Perfect! She though
Serena. She had to act like everything was fine—perfect even. Her smile was light, her posture poised, and her voice delicately threaded with warmth. But beneath the charm, Serena’s pulse fluttered like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.Stefano’s eyes were sharp, watching her every expression.“But why do you look so worried?” she asked, her voice laced with gentle curiosity as she crossed the room toward him.“I had some intense business matters, that's all.” He brushed it off with practiced ease, a ghost of tension still shadowing his words. It was a lie—she could see it in the flicker behind his dark gaze. But he was also… afraid. Not of her. Of something else. Something that might have happened to her. The idea lingered between them unspoken.But just when she thought she had escaped his scrutinizing gaze, she heard him ask. “Your lips… what happened?” Fuck! That bastard, Marco, had bit me. She shrugged it off, “I dunno… probably brushed too hard or bit too hard, I don't remembe
Marco.Through the hidden door he had installed during the latest round of upgrades to the house, Marco slipped out of her room like a shadow fleeing daylight. His breath caught in his throat, each exhale shaky, his pulse thudding like a war drum in his ears. The hallway was quiet—too quiet—but he didn’t dare slow down. Guilt clawed at his chest with every step as he moved swiftly toward the east wing of the manor, to his private suite tucked far from hers.When he finally pushed open the glass doors to his veranda, the cool night air slapped against his face, awakening his senses with a jolt. He leaned over the railing, gripping it until his knuckles turned white once again, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp bursts.What the hell are you doing, Marco?His reflection in the glass door behind him stared back at him like a silent accusation. This wasn’t just a lapse in judgment—it was betrayal. Not just in thought, but in action… He had touched her, kissed her with a roughn
Stefano.The morning heat clung to the Milanese countryside like a shroud. It was thick with tension and the smell of gunpowder enveloped the field. Stefano stood over the body, his jaw tight, his pistol still raised. Smoke curled from the barrel, disappearing into the warm breeze.The man’s blood darkened the dirt beneath him.He had been one of Stefano's own. Trusted. Loyal. Or so he thought.“Selling our weapons to our enemies?” Stefano muttered to himself, fury darkening his features. “And skimming off the top for your own pocket?”The betrayal sliced deep.This wasn’t the first. And wouldn’t be the last.“I’ve buried more of my men this year than I can count,” he said bitterly, addressing the two soldiers standing behind him, both pale, both silent. “Every time I look into one of their eyes, I wonder who’s next.”He stared down at the corpse for a long moment before glancing up. “Clear this mess.”“Yes, Don De Ricco,” they said in unison, dragging the body away without question.
Next Day. The morning sun cast golden warmth across the marble floor of Serena’s room, chasing shadows from the corners and kissing the silk sheets that no longer smelled like him. Her fingers reached over instinctively, searching for warmth that wasn’t there. But he wasn't right next to her.A quiet ache vibrated in her chest, one she tried to ignore. But when she saw a written note resting neatly on the nightstand, she eagerly reached for it. It read: ~ Morning, tésoro mio. Had to leave for urgent business. But I’ve made plans for us today. Wear something you’ll want to remember. —S ~Her lips curved into a faint smile despite herself. He always knew how to tug at her. She held the note against her chest for a second before tossing back the covers and padding to the bathroom.The steam of the hot shower fogged the mirror, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth. But inside her head, it wasn’t peaceful. Marco's voice echoed faintly in her thoughts—his promise to see her soon. That cr
The night had enveloped the entire city.And the room was dimly lit, punctuated by the shimmering light of the chandelier and the fluorescent bedside lamp.Stefano’s eyes burned into her like fire meeting silk. She lay there, bare, her legs spread wide, her gaze seductive and commanding—and still, he was the one completely undone.His breathing deepened as he pulled off his shirt, every slow motion revealing more of his defined torso. Shadows danced over the hard ridges of his chest and abdomen, and Serena’s breath hitched, her body already aching for him.He climbed onto the bed like a predator, slow and deliberate, every inch of his movement a silent promise.He didn’t touch her immediately. He just knelt between her legs and stared.Serena’s body shivered under his gaze. No man had ever looked at her like that. Like she was something sacred. Something dangerous. Something his.Then Stefano leaned down.His tongue slid out, warm and wet, and traced a slow line up the inside of her t
Into the manor they went.Serena’s eyes roamed the expansive interior, tracing the grandeur of it all—the high vaulted ceilings, the gold-framed paintings, the polished marble floor that gleamed under warm lighting. It was opulent but not ostentatious, and it carried a masculine elegance—dark woods, stone, and steel softened by curated pieces that whispered wealth and power.Even Stefano looked around, mildly surprised. Marco had taken initiative, and it showed. The broken ornaments had been restored, the antique frames replaced or repaired. Every corner gleamed with intention. Stefano didn’t know how Marco had pulled it off so quickly, but he silently appreciated it.“My…” Serena’s voice trailed as she gazed around in awe. “It’s... huge.”“It is,” Stefano replied with a faint smile, watching her reaction closely.He led her down a long corridor until they reached a wing adjacent to his. He opened the door to a spacious suite, stepping aside so she could enter first.“I had it furnish
Later that day. Serena moved through her condo with quiet purpose, the soft zip of luggage and the shuffle of items breaking the stillness. She was packing light—only a single bag—despite Stefano’s insistence that she wouldn’t need anything. He had promised to buy her an entirely new wardrobe once they arrived. “Something that suits your elegance,” he had said with that unreadable glint in his eyes.But this wasn’t just about clothing. She slipped her mission files—well-disguised among blank notebooks. These were incriminating things that could ruin the entire mission once he found them, yet she was taking the risk of taking them. She stared for a long moment at the concealed compartment under her nightstand. Inside it sat her metal detector-proof handgun, slim and matte black, resting like a secret. Her fingers hovered over it, but before she could make a decision, a knock sounded at the bedroom door.“Need any help?” came Stefano’s voice.Her heart jumped against her ribs.She cl
The early afternoon sun bled through the linen curtains, casting a warm hue over the living room as Stefano slipped his arms into his jacket. He looked effortlessly sharp, even though he hadn’t changed his outfit in days. A quick smirk played on his lips when he caught Serena eyeing him from the couch.“Stay in. Rest,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “I’ll be back in an hour. Groceries, supplies… and maybe a change of clothes. God knows I need one.”Serena chuckled delightfully. The thought of him restocking for her marveled her. But she liked it a lot, leaning into his touch before he pulled away and headed for the door. The condo felt oddly silent once it closed behind him. For a few moments, she simply sat there, staring at the space he had just left.She hadn’t realized how much safer she felt with him around.Ten minutes hadn’t passed before the silence was broken—by the unmistakable hum of a car engine outside. She peered out the window, assuming it was Stefano
The soft clink of cutlery had long faded into the silence that followed her question—How many have you killed?—and the weight of his answer still lingered in the air between them.I don’t keep count.It should have terrified her. Instead, it made him real.They remained in bed, the sheets tangled around their legs, their bodies close but not touching now. The golden morning light had warmed the room, but a chill had returned, the kind that comes from speaking the kinds of truths most people die with.“So,” she said after a long silence, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “You kill a lot of people.”He gave a quiet laugh—humorless. “They all deserved it, I can assure you.”“I’m not judging,” she said calmly, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.Stefano turned his head toward her, skeptical. “Why?”She met his eyes. “Because I’ve killed too.”His gaze held hers, unreadable at first, then something flickered behind his eyes—curiosity, maybe. Respect. Maybe something da