TW: Sexual AssaultMatteoThe Cerulli estate looms in the darkness ahead, its gates high and menacing, flanked by guards who don’t yet realize tonight is their last shift. My pulse is steady, my breathing controlled. The storm that should be raging inside me is strangely absent. Instead, there’s a calm, cold rage settling in my chest, like ice spreading through my veins.I grip the edge of the car door as Markus and Lukas sit in the backseat, their chatter subdued for once.“Are we really doing this?” Lukas mutters, glancing at Markus, who’s unnervingly quiet.Markus shrugs, loading another magazine into his Glock with meticulous precision. “Of course we are. Matteo’s not the type to let something like this slide.”“That’s not what I mean,” Lukas hisses, leaning forward. “I mean this. Him.” He gestures toward me with a nod of his head. “Look at him.”I glance at Lukas in the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. “You have something to say, cousin?”“You’re too calm,” he says flatly, n
MarkusThe girl is a mess.She’s trembling in the corner of the room, her face streaked with blood and dirt, her wide eyes darting between Lukas and me like a caged animal. I can’t blame her; she looks like she’s been through hell.And she’s about to see worse.“This one?” Lukas mutters, nudging me with his elbow as he levels his gun at her head. “She’s done for. we could put her out of her misery. Mercy kill. Quick and clean.”The woman flinches at his words, curling in on herself like she’s trying to disappear.“Jesus, Lukas,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “You’re fucking heartless.”He shrugs, unbothered. “I’m practical. Look at her, brother. She can barely hold herself together, let alone walk out of here.”I glance at her, my finger resting lightly on the trigger of my own weapon. She doesn’t beg. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at us like she’s already dead inside. But there’s something there. Something small, fragile—like a flicker of a candle that refuses to go out.“Wai
MatteoThe hallway outside Amara’s room feels endless, its sterile white walls closing in on me with every passing second. The air reeks of antiseptic, the faint beeping of monitors inside her room the only sound breaking the oppressive silence.I pace, my boots clicking sharply against the linoleum floor, my chest tight with a fury I can’t release. My fists curl and uncurl at my sides, itching for something to hit, to destroy, to rip apart until this rage inside me is satisfied. But there’s nothing here to fight, nothing I can do except fucking wait.“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” my father says, his deep voice cutting through the silence. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.I glare at him, my pacing slowing for a moment before I pick it up again. “I can’t just stand here,” I mutter, the words grinding out through clenched teeth.“You need to calm down, Matteo,” my mother says gently. Her hands rest in her lap, her fingers twitching s
AmaraThe room feels too quiet after Matteo leaves, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the space like a gavel. I stare at the ceiling, the white tiles blurring as tears prick my eyes. I don’t let them fall, though. Not now. Not again.I lift my hands, staring at the faint tremble in my fingers. They’re bandaged, the bruises on my wrists a reminder of everything that happened. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to chase away the memories that flash behind my lids like a reel on repeat.I don’t want to feel dirty.I don’t want to let them take that from me.But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling.My throat tightens, and I clutch the blanket Matteo tucked around me before he left. His scent lingers faintly on the fabric, a mix of leather and smoke, grounding me in a way I don’t fully understand.I hate how much I need that comfort right now.My fingers clutch the edge of the blanket as I curl into myself, the tension in my chest building until it feels
MatteoA month. Thirty goddamn days since I almost lost her.It’s been the longest and hardest month of my life. Amara’s recovery hasn’t just been physical—it’s been about breaking through the walls she built after what happened. Some days are good, and she teases me with that fire in her eyes that makes me want to kiss her senseless. Other days… other days, she’s quiet, withdrawn, lost in her head.But lately, there’s been more light in her. More life. She’s started venturing outside the house again, taking small steps back into the world. And I’ve been waiting for the right moment to show her what I’ve been working on.Today is that moment.I lean against the doorframe of my room, watching as she brushes her hair by the vanity. She’s wearing a pale blue sundress that flutters around her knees, and the sight of her looking so calm and put together makes something in my chest ache.“Busy?” I ask, my voice cutting through the quiet.She turns to look at me, her expression softening. “
AmaraThe studio is silent except for the soft hum of the breeze through the slightly cracked window. My bare feet glide over the smooth wooden floor, each step measured, each movement deliberate. It’s been hours, or maybe just minutes. Time doesn’t exist when I’m dancing. It’s the only place I feel truly free, the only moment where my mind quiets enough to let me breathe.But today, even the dance isn’t enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head.Matteo.Everything leads back to him.I spin, my arms lifting, my body arching into the movement, and his voice whispers in my mind. His low, commanding tone, the way he says my name like it’s a promise; like it’s his.It wasn’t supposed to be like this.When he first took me, I thought my life was over. I thought I’d become a pawn, just like I’d always been with my father—a piece to be played, to be sacrificed. But Matteo didn’t treat me like that.He’s ruthless, possessive, cruel in ways that make me want to scream. But he’s als
MatteoThe dining room feels warmer tonight, though it has nothing to do with the flickering candles or the cozy atmosphere. It’s her.Amara sits across from me, her head slightly tilted as she studies her plate. She’s wearing a simple dress, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders, and I can’t stop staring. It’s been impossible to keep my eyes off her since this realization hit me like a freight train.I love her.The thought alone should terrify me, considering who I am, what I’ve done, and the life I lead. But when I look at her, I can’t bring myself to feel anything but certainty.She glances up, catching me mid-stare. “What?” she asks, a faint blush creeping up her neck.“Nothing,” I say, smirking as I spear a piece of steak with my fork. “Just admiring the view.”She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s trying to hide a smile.“Do you always have to be so insufferable?” she mutters, taking a sip of her wine.“Only with you,” I reply, leaning back i
AmaraThe soft light of dawn filters through the heavy curtains, casting a faint glow across the room. I stir, the warmth of Matteo’s body pressed against mine anchoring me in a way that feels new but not unwelcome. His arm is heavy across my waist, holding me close, his breath warm against the back of my neck.I lay there, perfectly still, trying to piece together the whirlwind of emotions from last night.Last night...I can’t stop the small smile that tugs at my lips as the memories wash over me. Matteo wasn’t just his usual intense, possessive self. He was tender, his hands moving over me with a kind of reverence I didn’t think him capable of. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word had been filled with something deeper, something raw.He made love to me.The thought makes my cheeks heat, and I press my face into the pillow, trying to hide the smile that refuses to leave. Matteo Dragonetti, the man who once terrified me, the man I thought was incapable of softness, had shown
AmaraI wake up to the smell of Matteo.It’s warm linen and expensive cologne, but underneath all that, it’s just him. That familiar scent I’ve come to recognize even before I open my eyes—one that’s clung to me, comforted me, irritated me, consumed me for the past two years. It seeps into my skin the way his love does: all-encompassing, impossible to ignore, and addictive in a way that should probably be illegal.His arm is thrown over my waist, heavy and possessive, like I might slip away in the middle of the night if he doesn’t physically hold me down. Not much has changed there. Matteo Dragonetti is still Matteo—still insufferably bossy, still infuriatingly smug, still the most dangerous man in every room.But somehow, with me… he’s also this.Soft.I turn slightly, pressing my face into the crook of his neck. His bare chest rises and falls under my cheek, and the steady beat of his heart is enough to lull me back to sleep if I’m not careful.Instead, I close my eyes and smile. It’
NadyaThe sharp rip of fabric fills the room as Markus makes good on his promise. My dress gives way under his grip, the delicate material tearing apart like it’s nothing. A gasp escapes me as the cool air hits my bare skin, goosebumps rising in its wake.“You—” I start, my breath hitching as he yanks the remains of my dress off and tosses it to the floor.“I told you,” he murmurs, voice low and full of heat. “Gonna spread you out and claim every inch of you. Gonna make sure you never forget who you belong to.”I shudder, his words winding through me like a drug, settling deep in my gut where need burns hot. My nerves haven’t disappeared entirely—this is still new, still unfamiliar in ways that make my pulse skitter—but Markus doesn’t rush. He’s careful, even in his dominance, in the way his hands trace my skin like he’s mapping it out, memorizing every inch.He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me from the mirror to the bed like I weigh nothing. The mattress is cool against my heated s
NadyaThe car pulls up to the private jet, sleek and waiting under the soft glow of the tarmac lights. A few of Markus’s men are already there, loading the last of our luggage, making sure everything is in place. None of them look at me. They wouldn’t dare. They know who I belong to now.Markus steps out first, then turns to offer me his hand. I take it, letting him help me out of the SUV, and he doesn’t let go. He leads me toward the jet, and my pulse quickens when I step inside and he takes me to the private cabin, I see exactly what he’s done.The mirror is massive, taking up nearly the entire wall of the private cabin. It’s impossible to ignore. My reflection stares back at me, wide-eyed and breathless, my wedding dress still pristine, still perfect. For now.I don’t even get a chance to speak before Markus is behind me, his hands slipping around my waist, his lips pressing against the side of my neck.“Remember what I told you, baby?” he murmurs against my skin, his voice thick w
NadyaThe reception is in full swing, filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of crystal glasses, but my body still hums with leftover adrenaline. The shootout lingers in the back of my mind like an unshakable shadow, and no matter how many times I remind myself that we made it out unscathed, my heart refuses to slow completely. It’s not that I haven’t seen violence before—hell, I was raised in it—but something about today rattled me more than I expected. Maybe it’s because I finally had something to lose.I glance down at my wedding band, the cool weight of it resting against my skin like a silent promise. Markus is my husband now. That still feels surreal to even think. I expected this day to feel like a deal, an arrangement—something I had no real say in. But it doesn’t. Not anymore.I push the memories of the gunfire down as best I can and straighten my shoulders. This is my wedding day. I refuse to let bloodshed be what defines it.Markus hasn’t left my side, his hand rest
MarkusI stand at the altar, my hands clasped in front of me, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But the second the doors open and I see her—really see her—it’s fucking over for me.My heart slams against my ribs, my pulse roaring in my ears as Nadya steps into the aisle, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. She looks like a dream, a vision wrapped in ivory silk and lace, her golden hair falling in soft waves around her face. I don’t take my eyes off her as she walks toward me, each step measured, her shoulders squared despite the nerves I can see in the slight tremble of her fingers. But her eyes—they don’t waver. Those blue depths lock onto mine, holding me there, grounding me in place. How did I ever believe this girl wouldn’t become everything? That she wouldn’t climb under my skin and settle there, wrapping herself around every thought until she’s all I fucking think about? From the moment I found her huddled in that room, scared and broken, to the woman standing
NadyaThe night air is cool against my skin as I step onto the small balcony of my bedroom, breathing in the crisp scent of the garden below. The estate is quiet, the sky a deep indigo scattered with stars, and for the first time in weeks, I feel a strange sense of peace settling inside me.Tomorrow, I will be Nadya Dragonetti.I never imagined feeling… calm about that. But here I am, standing on the edge of one life and stepping into another, and I don’t feel like I’m suffocating anymore. Things with Markus have improved, slowly but surely. He still gets frustrated too easily, still lets his temper flare before thinking things through. And I still hold back more than I should, scared of exposing too much of myself. But we’re trying. And that’s more than I thought we’d ever get to.A smile tugs at my lips as I wrap my arms around myself, the silk of my nightgown cool against my skin. A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed any of this.The soft creak of my bedroom door snapping shut mak
MarkusI stand there in front of her, my heart thundering like a beast trapped inside my chest. She looks fucking stunning in that dress—the kind of breathtaking that steals the air from my lungs. There’s no denying that seeing her like this, standing there bathed in the soft, flattering glow of the dressing room lights, has me questioning my own sanity for ever thinking I could deny myself this woman. She looks like a goddamn angel, and completely out of place standing next to a beast like me. And yet, this perfect creature is supposed to be mine. The thought sends a surge of all-consuming possessiveness tearing through me.Nadya meets my gaze cautiously, her blue eyes uncertain, the softness in them hitting me harder than any blow I’ve ever felt. I swallow tightly, my throat dry, knowing I need to make this right. She’s going to be mine—my wife—and I can’t let us go forward on shaky ground.“You look fucking breathtaking,” I say quietly, my voice rough with raw honesty. She blushes
NadyaI never thought dress fittings could be fun, yet here I am, standing in front of a floor-length mirror with the Dragonetti women fussing over me like I truly belong. There’s laughter, warmth, and teasing that I don’t always understand but appreciate anyway.For once, I’m not surrounded by cold stares, calculating eyes, or the hushed whispers of men who see me as nothing more than a bargaining chip. Instead, I hear soft murmurs about fabric choices, feel gentle hands smoothing the silk over my frame, and catch playful nudges about honeymoon plans.Serena and Amara take every opportunity to tease me, their easy smiles coaxing small, reluctant laughs from my lips.“I think lace,” Serena says, lifting a delicate ivory fabric and holding it up to my skin. “It brings out your eyes. And the way the silk moves when you walk? Markus will lose his mind.” She smirks, her voice filled with mischief.My face heats at the mention of his name, and I look away quickly, my throat suddenly dry.A
NadyaThe mirror in front of me shows a version of myself I barely recognize. Pale skin, dark circles under wide, nervous eyes, and lips bitten raw with anxiety. Today is the dress fitting. Just the thought of it makes my chest feel heavy, tightening painfully with each breath I take. A bride, yet I have no mother here to fuss over my hair or smile proudly when I finally slip into white silk. I have no sisters to giggle with as we admire lace and chiffon. There are no friends here to hold my hand and tell me everything will be fine, or to reassure me that Markus might not hate me quite as much as I fear. No—I’m alone, surrounded only by men who speak in clipped, gruff voices, men who can’t possibly understand the hollow ache in my chest or the nerves twisting deep in my stomach. I close my eyes tightly for a moment, forcing myself to breathe slowly, to calm the anxiety building inside me like a storm. I don’t even know how this is supposed to feel, how other women feel when they’r