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8 - RUN
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2024-11-25 18:03:17Related chapters
The Mafia King's Trophy 1 - Bloody Blushing Bride
AmaraThe blood drying on my wedding dress feels like it’s sealing me into this nightmare. I sit stiffly in the back of the SUV, the world rushing past the tinted windows as Matteo Dragonetti chats casually with the men in the front seat. His cousins, I think. I’ve tuned most of it out—his smug voice grates on me—but every now and then, his tone sharpens, reminding me that this isn’t over.I take in his side profile, even though I hate myself for doing it. My captor is all sharp edges and dark allure, the kind of man who looks like he’s stepped out of some brooding mafia fantasy. His jawline is sharp enough to cut glass, his beard perfectly trimmed, framing full lips that curve into that maddening, arrogant smirk far too often. His dark hair is artfully messy, like he just rolled out of bed but still manages to look better than anyone has a right to.The tattoos creeping up his neck draw my eyes in ways I hate. Dark, intricate lines snake over his skin, disappearing under the crisp
The Mafia King's Trophy 2 - Put Out Her Fire
MatteoI slam the door behind me; the sound echoing down the hall as I turn the key in the lock. My jaw clenches so tightly it’s a wonder I don’t crack a tooth. The spitfire inside that room is nothing like what I expected. A Cerulli bride, dressed like an angel and dripping with her groom’s blood, should’ve been crying in the corner by now. But no. Amara Cerulli has a tongue sharp enough to draw blood—and I’m not sure if I want to break her spirit or fuck the defiance out of her.I expected a docile captive—a meek, scared little Princess who’d cower the moment she stepped into my world. Instead, I got… her. A spitfire in a bloody wedding dress who had the nerve to talk back to my father. My fucking father.She’s not what I planned for, and I hate that.Walking back to my father’s study, I roll my neck, trying to shake off the irritation prickling under my skin. I grit my teeth and shove the thought away. Let her be angry. It won’t change anything.Pushing open the heavy door to the
The Mafia King's Trophy 3 - Under His Skin
AmaraThe towel feels too heavy against my skin as I step out of the en suite bathroom, the steam curling around me like a suffocating blanket. I keep the towel wrapped tight, refusing to let this situation overwhelm me. I’ve scrubbed my skin raw trying to get rid of the blood, but I can still feel it. I can still smell it.My reflection in the mirror had been a reminder of everything that’s happened—blood still stuck to the roots of my hair, bruises forming where Matteo’s hands had yanked and dragged me.When I open the wardrobe door, I freeze. Inside, rows of clothes hang neatly on golden rods. Dresses, jeans, blouses, shoes lined up like soldiers on parade. It’s all pristine, untouched, like something out of a high-end boutique. My fingers brush against one of the tags, and when I look at the size, my blood runs cold.It’s my size. Every single piece right down to the underwear.I yank a pair of pants off the hanger and hold them up, then toss them aside and grab a blouse. Same th
The Mafia King's Trophy 4 - I Own You
Amara“Comfortable, Princess?” he drawls, his voice low and mocking.“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, trying to pull my wrists free, but his grip only tightens.“Checking up on my little captive,” he says, leaning down so his face is inches from mine. His minty breath fans against my cheek, and I’m acutely aware of the solid weight of him pressing me into the mattress.“Get off me,” I manage to choke out, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.“Hmm, no,” he says simply, leaning in closer. His breath is warm against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. “You see, Amara, I’ve been thinking. You’ve got this… spark, this little fire in you that you like to wave around. I’m curious to see how long it takes for me to snuff it out.”The threat hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest, but I force myself to stay still.My stomach churns, the fear I’d been fighting all night finally crashing over me. But I won
The Mafia King's Trophy 5 - I Have To Break Her
MatteoThe whiskey burns on the way down, but it’s not enough to drown out the irritation buzzing under my skin. I slam the glass down on the parlor’s side table, the sharp clink echoing through the room. The fire in the hearth crackles, the only sound in the suffocating silence, but it does nothing to distract me from the gnawing thought eating away at me: I lost control.What the fuck was I thinking, going into her room like that? Threatening her. Taunting her.I rub a hand down my face, the tension in my shoulders refusing to loosen. She gets under my skin in a way I can’t explain, and I hate it. I hate how I felt the need to prove something to her, to remind her of her place. It was a moment of weakness, and I don’t do weakness. Not for anyone, and especially not for her.The door creaks open behind me, and I don’t bother turning around. Only one person in this house enters a room as quiet as a ghost.“You look like shit,” Markus says, his voice calm, almost detached, as he walk
The Mafia King's Trophy 6 - A Mother’s Advice
MatteoI sit at the edge of my bed, my jaw tight, running a hand through my hair as the events of last night replay in my mind. I lost control, but now, with some distance, it’s clearer what I need to do.She thinks she has me figured out. She thinks she can provoke me, twist the knife, and that I’ll react. But that ends now.I need to stay away from her for a few days, let her stew. Let her wonder what’s coming next. Amara Cerulli is like a coiled spring, full of tension and fire, and if I want to break her, I need her wound so tight she snaps under her own pressure.With a growl, I shove off the bed, throw on a shirt, and head toward my mother’s wing of the mansion. Her and my father’s rooms are worlds away from the rest of us—secluded, private, and steeped in the quiet authority only they can command.The guards nod as I pass, but I barely notice them. My mind is too busy running through the conversation I’m about to have. My mother may be sharp as a blade, but she’s also the only
The Mafia King's Trophy 7 - The Man and the Monster
AmaraIt’s been a week. A week of silence, of waiting, of wondering. The absence of Matteo Dragonetti isn’t a relief—it’s a torment.The food arrives three times a day, always on time, always brought by someone who doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. The quiet stretches endlessly, the silence in this room more suffocating than Matteo’s hand on my throat ever was.Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow under the door, sends my heart racing. Every night, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, too afraid to close my eyes. What if he comes back? What if I wake up to him pinning me down again, that infuriating smirk on his face, the venom in his voice?It’s driving me insane.I pull my knees to my chest, staring out the window. The sun is high, bathing the garden in light, but it feels like a world away. A world I’m no longer part of.Then I see him.Matteo.He’s in the garden, his dark hair catching the sunlight, the sharp lines of his face softened by the light. My breath cat
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The Mafia King's Trophy 8 - RUN
AmaraI’ve been pacing for what feels like hours, my mind spinning with thoughts of Matteo. His calmness, his control—it’s unsettling in a way I can’t shake. I expected rage, threats, violence. What I got instead was indifference. And somehow, that’s worse.He’s planning something. He has to be.I glance at the door for the hundredth time. It’s locked. It’s always locked. The sound of it clicking shut earlier echoed in my mind like a death sentence. But the longer I stand here, staring, the more an idea begins to form.What if it isn’t? Would it be so out of character for him to leave it unlocked, to see what I’d do? To play another one of his games?The curiosity gnaws at me until I can’t stand it anymore. Slowly, I creep toward the door, my bare feet silent against the cold floor. My hand hovers over the handle, hesitation curling in my chest like a weight.This is stupid. If he catches me—But he’s not here. And this might be my only chance.I take a deep breath and twist the hand
The Mafia King's Trophy 7 - The Man and the Monster
AmaraIt’s been a week. A week of silence, of waiting, of wondering. The absence of Matteo Dragonetti isn’t a relief—it’s a torment.The food arrives three times a day, always on time, always brought by someone who doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. The quiet stretches endlessly, the silence in this room more suffocating than Matteo’s hand on my throat ever was.Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow under the door, sends my heart racing. Every night, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, too afraid to close my eyes. What if he comes back? What if I wake up to him pinning me down again, that infuriating smirk on his face, the venom in his voice?It’s driving me insane.I pull my knees to my chest, staring out the window. The sun is high, bathing the garden in light, but it feels like a world away. A world I’m no longer part of.Then I see him.Matteo.He’s in the garden, his dark hair catching the sunlight, the sharp lines of his face softened by the light. My breath cat
The Mafia King's Trophy 6 - A Mother’s Advice
MatteoI sit at the edge of my bed, my jaw tight, running a hand through my hair as the events of last night replay in my mind. I lost control, but now, with some distance, it’s clearer what I need to do.She thinks she has me figured out. She thinks she can provoke me, twist the knife, and that I’ll react. But that ends now.I need to stay away from her for a few days, let her stew. Let her wonder what’s coming next. Amara Cerulli is like a coiled spring, full of tension and fire, and if I want to break her, I need her wound so tight she snaps under her own pressure.With a growl, I shove off the bed, throw on a shirt, and head toward my mother’s wing of the mansion. Her and my father’s rooms are worlds away from the rest of us—secluded, private, and steeped in the quiet authority only they can command.The guards nod as I pass, but I barely notice them. My mind is too busy running through the conversation I’m about to have. My mother may be sharp as a blade, but she’s also the only
The Mafia King's Trophy 5 - I Have To Break Her
MatteoThe whiskey burns on the way down, but it’s not enough to drown out the irritation buzzing under my skin. I slam the glass down on the parlor’s side table, the sharp clink echoing through the room. The fire in the hearth crackles, the only sound in the suffocating silence, but it does nothing to distract me from the gnawing thought eating away at me: I lost control.What the fuck was I thinking, going into her room like that? Threatening her. Taunting her.I rub a hand down my face, the tension in my shoulders refusing to loosen. She gets under my skin in a way I can’t explain, and I hate it. I hate how I felt the need to prove something to her, to remind her of her place. It was a moment of weakness, and I don’t do weakness. Not for anyone, and especially not for her.The door creaks open behind me, and I don’t bother turning around. Only one person in this house enters a room as quiet as a ghost.“You look like shit,” Markus says, his voice calm, almost detached, as he walk
The Mafia King's Trophy 4 - I Own You
Amara“Comfortable, Princess?” he drawls, his voice low and mocking.“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, trying to pull my wrists free, but his grip only tightens.“Checking up on my little captive,” he says, leaning down so his face is inches from mine. His minty breath fans against my cheek, and I’m acutely aware of the solid weight of him pressing me into the mattress.“Get off me,” I manage to choke out, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.“Hmm, no,” he says simply, leaning in closer. His breath is warm against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. “You see, Amara, I’ve been thinking. You’ve got this… spark, this little fire in you that you like to wave around. I’m curious to see how long it takes for me to snuff it out.”The threat hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest, but I force myself to stay still.My stomach churns, the fear I’d been fighting all night finally crashing over me. But I won
The Mafia King's Trophy 3 - Under His Skin
AmaraThe towel feels too heavy against my skin as I step out of the en suite bathroom, the steam curling around me like a suffocating blanket. I keep the towel wrapped tight, refusing to let this situation overwhelm me. I’ve scrubbed my skin raw trying to get rid of the blood, but I can still feel it. I can still smell it.My reflection in the mirror had been a reminder of everything that’s happened—blood still stuck to the roots of my hair, bruises forming where Matteo’s hands had yanked and dragged me.When I open the wardrobe door, I freeze. Inside, rows of clothes hang neatly on golden rods. Dresses, jeans, blouses, shoes lined up like soldiers on parade. It’s all pristine, untouched, like something out of a high-end boutique. My fingers brush against one of the tags, and when I look at the size, my blood runs cold.It’s my size. Every single piece right down to the underwear.I yank a pair of pants off the hanger and hold them up, then toss them aside and grab a blouse. Same th
The Mafia King's Trophy 2 - Put Out Her Fire
MatteoI slam the door behind me; the sound echoing down the hall as I turn the key in the lock. My jaw clenches so tightly it’s a wonder I don’t crack a tooth. The spitfire inside that room is nothing like what I expected. A Cerulli bride, dressed like an angel and dripping with her groom’s blood, should’ve been crying in the corner by now. But no. Amara Cerulli has a tongue sharp enough to draw blood—and I’m not sure if I want to break her spirit or fuck the defiance out of her.I expected a docile captive—a meek, scared little Princess who’d cower the moment she stepped into my world. Instead, I got… her. A spitfire in a bloody wedding dress who had the nerve to talk back to my father. My fucking father.She’s not what I planned for, and I hate that.Walking back to my father’s study, I roll my neck, trying to shake off the irritation prickling under my skin. I grit my teeth and shove the thought away. Let her be angry. It won’t change anything.Pushing open the heavy door to the
The Mafia King's Trophy 1 - Bloody Blushing Bride
AmaraThe blood drying on my wedding dress feels like it’s sealing me into this nightmare. I sit stiffly in the back of the SUV, the world rushing past the tinted windows as Matteo Dragonetti chats casually with the men in the front seat. His cousins, I think. I’ve tuned most of it out—his smug voice grates on me—but every now and then, his tone sharpens, reminding me that this isn’t over.I take in his side profile, even though I hate myself for doing it. My captor is all sharp edges and dark allure, the kind of man who looks like he’s stepped out of some brooding mafia fantasy. His jawline is sharp enough to cut glass, his beard perfectly trimmed, framing full lips that curve into that maddening, arrogant smirk far too often. His dark hair is artfully messy, like he just rolled out of bed but still manages to look better than anyone has a right to.The tattoos creeping up his neck draw my eyes in ways I hate. Dark, intricate lines snake over his skin, disappearing under the crisp
