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The Devil’s Dance
Last Updated:
2025-04-28 13:10:13
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The city outside the penthouse window gleamed with cold lights, the shadows long and stretching, like the dark tendrils of the life Camilla was slowly growing accustomed to. Riccardo stood beside her, his presence as heavy as the night air itself. He had remained mostly silent since their conversation earlier, but Camilla could feel the shift in the room—a tension that buzzed like static, threatening to overwhelm them both.She stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the skyline, though her mind was elsewhere. Riccardo’s words still echoed in her head. This world, his world, was now her world too. And the more she learned, the more she saw the fine line between surviving and thriving in it.“You look lost in thought,” Riccardo’s voice broke the silence, sharp and commanding as always. His tone didn’t carry any warmth, but it didn’t need to. In this world, it was the silence that spoke the loudest.“I’m thinking,” Camilla replied, her voice steady, though her insides were a storm of que
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The room was suffocating. It wasn’t the weight of the air or the dim, artificial lighting, but the tension that seemed to wrap around Camilla like a vice. Riccardo had warned her—the game was changing, and now she could feel the shift in the very marrow of her bones.They had moved past small tests and petty challenges. This was no longer about securing a seat at the table—it was about taking the throne. And Camilla was beginning to realize just how dangerous the climb would be.She sat at the head of a long, polished table in the private conference room, surrounded by Riccardo’s inner circle. Seven men and one woman were gathered in the room, each of them watching her with a mix of respect and calculation. It was the same look they had given her during her first meeting, but this time, it was different. She wasn’t just a newcomer anymore. She was a force to be reckoned with.Riccardo stood beside her, his presence towering over the rest. His stoic expression gave nothing away, but Ca
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The rain fell hard against the cracked windshield of Camilla’s beat-up sedan as she pulled into the gravel driveway of her father’s estate. A single dim light flickered above the front door, barely illuminating the ivy-covered walls of the old mansion. It looked abandoned—too quiet, too still. Her heart pounded as she stepped out of the car, high heels crunching over loose gravel. She hadn’t been here in months. Not since the last screaming match with her father. He’d begged her to stay away, told her things were getting dangerous. She hadn’t listened. She never did. Now he wasn’t answering her calls, and his assistant had left her a voicemail in the middle of the night. Come home. Urgently. No details. Just panic in her voice. Camilla shoved open the heavy door. It wasn’t locked. “Dad?” she called out, stepping inside. Silence. The house was too cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones—not from weather, but from something wrong. Lights were off in the foyer,
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The ink was still drying when Riccardo slid the contract back into the folder with the precision of a man sealing someone’s fate. Camilla stared at the paper, her pulse thudding in her ears. Her signature looked foreign beside her father’s. Like a final breath before drowning. “That’s it?” she whispered. “It’s done?” Riccardo nodded. “Congratulations, Mrs. Falcone.” The words hit her like a slap. She wasn’t married. Not really. Not in the way it was supposed to mean. This was a transaction. She had sold herself to the devil and signed it in ink instead of blood. And he wore satisfaction like a tailored suit. “You’ll move into my house by tonight,” he added. “You’ll find the terms of your… stay quite livable.” “Like a gilded prison,” she muttered. He smirked. “Only if you try to run.” She shot him a glare, but he’d already turned his back, reaching for his phone. “Car will be outside in twenty minutes. Pack light.” “I’m not a stray dog you picked up off the stre
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Camilla sat in the back of the blacked-out SUV, her fingers clutched around the hem of the white silk dress Riccardo had laid out for her. Not a gown—nothing dramatic. Just simple, sleeveless, and elegant. The kind of white that dared you to stain it. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She looked down at her hands. No bouquet. No bridesmaids. Just trembling fingers that wouldn’t stop. Riccardo sat beside her, dressed in a black three-piece suit. Not a wrinkle on him. He looked like he was headed to a corporate board meeting, not his own wedding. His jaw was clean-shaven, his expression unreadable, and not once had he glanced her way. This wasn’t romance. It was a branding. “You could at least pretend you’re not dragging me into hell,” she muttered. He finally looked at her. “Hell? Camilla, I own hell. I’m just giving you a front-row seat.” She rolled her eyes, but it was a weak defense. Because beneath her sarcasm was fear—and he could see it. He always could. The churc
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Camilla had never felt so alone. She stood in the middle of her new room, the ornate door locked behind her, staring at the phone Riccardo had left for her. The weight of it in her hand felt like an anchor, holding her in place. The screen taunted her: Riccardo as the only contact. She couldn’t trust him. Not now. Not after everything. But the message… “You’re free to leave. But if you do, you’ll be hunted.” Her fingers hovered over the screen, torn between curiosity and fear. What had her father gotten them into? What was the full extent of the debts he had owed to Riccardo—and to those far more dangerous than him? A knock at the door. Camilla’s heart leapt. She quickly shoved the phone into her bag and hurried to open it. Her mind raced through a dozen possibilities—maybe Riccardo had returned, maybe it was just another servant—but when she swung it open, she was met with the sight of the maid from earlier, holding a tray of food. “Dinner,” the maid said with a blank
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The docks were quiet. Too quiet for comfort.Camilla stood at the edge of the abandoned warehouse, the salty air of the ocean stinging her skin. The moon was barely a sliver in the sky, but it cast enough light to make the scene feel eerily surreal. The entire place felt like it had been abandoned by time, left to decay in silence. She could feel the weight of the night pressing in on her chest, each passing second heavy with the uncertainty of what was to come.She checked her watch. 10:03 p.m.No one was here.Her pulse quickened. Should she turn back? Should she wait a little longer? Riccardo had warned her—had told her in no uncertain terms that stepping out of line would have consequences.But this wasn’t about stepping out of line anymore. This was about survival. And if anyone had information about her father’s dealings, about Riccardo’s true motives, it was the mysterious figure who had sent her the message.She took a deep breath, walking closer to the warehouse. Her boots cl
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The room was suffocating. It wasn’t the weight of the air or the dim, artificial lighting, but the tension that seemed to wrap around Camilla like a vice. Riccardo had warned her—the game was changing, and now she could feel the shift in the very marrow of her bones.They had moved past small tests and petty challenges. This was no longer about securing a seat at the table—it was about taking the throne. And Camilla was beginning to realize just how dangerous the climb would be.She sat at the head of a long, polished table in the private conference room, surrounded by Riccardo’s inner circle. Seven men and one woman were gathered in the room, each of them watching her with a mix of respect and calculation. It was the same look they had given her during her first meeting, but this time, it was different. She wasn’t just a newcomer anymore. She was a force to be reckoned with.Riccardo stood beside her, his presence towering over the rest. His stoic expression gave nothing away, but Ca
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The city outside the penthouse window gleamed with cold lights, the shadows long and stretching, like the dark tendrils of the life Camilla was slowly growing accustomed to. Riccardo stood beside her, his presence as heavy as the night air itself. He had remained mostly silent since their conversation earlier, but Camilla could feel the shift in the room—a tension that buzzed like static, threatening to overwhelm them both.She stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the skyline, though her mind was elsewhere. Riccardo’s words still echoed in her head. This world, his world, was now her world too. And the more she learned, the more she saw the fine line between surviving and thriving in it.“You look lost in thought,” Riccardo’s voice broke the silence, sharp and commanding as always. His tone didn’t carry any warmth, but it didn’t need to. In this world, it was the silence that spoke the loudest.“I’m thinking,” Camilla replied, her voice steady, though her insides were a storm of que
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The heavy scent of leather and whiskey lingered in the air as Camilla leaned back in the plush chair, her eyes never leaving Dante. His dark presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break. It had been hours since the confrontation with Isadora, but the silence between them was thick with unspoken words.Riccardostood by the window, staring out at the skyline, his expression unreadable. The moonlight bathed his face in a soft, pale glow, highlighting the hard lines of his jaw, the sharp angles of his face. He was a man made of contradictions—unbreakable yet haunted, ruthless yet strangely protective.“I never thought I’d be here,” Camilla said softly, breaking the silence. Her voice was steady, but there was a tinge of uncertainty beneath the surface. “I never thought I’d be standing here, in this world… with you.”Dante’s eyes flicked to hers, his gaze sharp and assessing. “And yet, here you are. You’ve come this far, Camilla. Don’t question it now.”She felt a pang in her che
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The Falcone estate was quieter than usual.Not silent—never that. But quieter. As if the walls were holding their breath. As if the house itself sensed the tension threading its halls like a live wire.Camilla felt it the moment she stepped out of her room. A hush in the corridors. Eyes that watched and then looked away too quickly. Something was brewing.And she needed to know what.She found Riccardo in the study, the door half-shut, voices leaking through like heat through a crack. She paused just long enough to hear two words—blood oath—before she pushed the door open and walked in.Riccardo was behind the desk, Marco and Isadora standing nearby. They didn’t flinch at her entrance.“Am I interrupting?” Camilla asked, eyes narrowing.Riccardo’s gaze met hers, calm and unreadable. “Not at all. You’re part of this now.”“Part of what?”Isadora stepped aside so Camilla could move closer. On the desk lay an old leather-bound book, its edges singed and worn. In the center was a symbol s
