The dark weather and cold breeze that brushed Allison’s skin couldn’t ease the hurt buried in her chest. The sky hung heavy, casting a gray shadow over the cemetery.
With her hands quivering as they grabbed the sides of her black dress, sixteen-year-old Allison stood at the edge of the grave, her eyes red and swollen from grief. It was a small coffin, as if its size mirrored how little time her mother had spent with her—just sixteen short years.
Beside her stood her father, Mr. Blackwell, a man of rigid strength, yet even he could not mask the pain of losing his wife. He quickly wiped away a tear from his face. His other hand rested on Allison’s shoulder, a gesture meant to offer comfort, but she barely felt it. He awkwardly patted her shoulder again. He didn't quite know how to ease her sorrow or comfort her.
"I’m consoled you’ve gone to rest from this toxic world, but I'll forever miss you, my love," Mr. Blade whispered emotionally, but his words fell into the heavy silence that surrounded them.
Nadeem, one of the dependable family guards for Mr. Blackwell, kneeled next to Allison and gently reassured Allison, reminding her that she wouldn’t ever have to go through life alone.
“I’m sorry you had to experience this love. It’s okay to feel sad, but keep in mind that I'll always be here for you; you're not alone.”
Allison only nodded faintly to his reassuring words that barely penetrated her. She was still consumed by the harsh reality of her mother's permanent absence in her life.
“I’m dearly sorry for your loss, sir,” Nadeem continued softly. Turning to Mr. Blade’s, his head bowed slightly out of courtesy.
Trying to be strong for his daughter, Mr. Blade kissed her on the forehead and tenderly wiped the tears that fell down her cheeks. He muttered gently, “It’s time to go home now, Allison. I promise I'll be with you every step of the way, protecting you as a father should.”
Allison began breathing erratically as she murmured farewell to the one person who had ever understood her.
Together, they turned away from the grave, leaving a new mound of earth behind that represented Allison's final moment as a child. Though she didn’t know it then. The world her father tried so hard to conceal would soon merge with hers.
*****
That night sleep was elusive for young Allison; all she could think of was her mother's death. Under the thick blankets, she tossed and turned; the silence that followed seemed to make the evenings last longer.
Unable to rest, Allison slid out of bed. She wandered down the staircase and peeked down towards her father’s study. A low murmur of voices caught her attention, so she quietly crept closer to eavesdrop.
The door to the study was opened slightly. Through the small opening, she saw her father, standing rigidly in front of a man kneeling on the floor. The man was bruised, blood streaking down his face, begging for mercy. Her father was calm—too calm. His hand rested on the arm of the chair, his face an expression of cold indifference.
“Please, forgive me... I swear, it won't happen again," the man stammered, trembling.
“You made a mistake crossing me, yet you won't need to worry since you will pay with your life.” Her father's voice resounded like a poisonous whisper.
This statement was followed by a gunshot that sounded like thunder.It wasn’t her father that pulled the trigger, so Allison quivered and turned to face the direction from which the sound came from. Immediately, the man collapsed to the floor.
With his gun still burning, Nadeem, her father's most trusted security, stood over the inactive body. The room felt frozen in time as blood began to pool beneath the lifeless figure.
"Take care of it." Her dad ordered and turned away, dismissing the dead man like he was nothing more than a broken vase shattered beyond repair. Allison gasped, instinctively covering her mouth, but her father’s eyes snapped toward the stairs. Their gazes locked for a brief second. She felt fear clutch her throat, and she tried to run but she couldn’t move. What she saw had paralyzed her.
Mr. Blade’s eyes widened in panic. "Nadeem, my daughter... Allison,she saw everything.” He stammered nervously, his voice low but strained.
Nadeem glanced over his shoulder toward Allison and quickly holstered his weapon. He walked toward her father, his face calm, calculating.
"We’ll handle it, sir. We’ll say he was a thief—a home invasion gone wrong. It’s believable enough. She’s too young to understand."
Allison wanted to scream, but she couldn't get the words out. Her words were stuck in her throat.
“She wasn’t supposed to see this,” her father muttered, running his hands through his hair. “What would I tell my baby girl?”
Nadeem placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Blade. I’ll make sure she forgets this. She’s just a child. We’ll make sure it never happens again.”
Allison sprinted to her room, stumbling as she climbed the stairs, but never backed down till she got to her room. She sat on her bed, trembling after what she had witnessed downstairs—the man begging, the gunshot, the blood. Her thoughts swirled in confusion and fear.
She jumped when the door to her room creaked open, revealing Nadeem. She shrieked backward from fear as he calculatively walked toward her and knelt beside her, his tone gentle but serious.
“Allison I want you to understand this,” Nadeem began, choosing his words wisely.
“Whatever impression you might have from what you saw downstairs is most likely wrong. That man was a thief. He broke in to harm and steal from your father.”
Blinking, Allison tried to take in what he had said.
“But he was begging,” she whispered, her voice small and confused.
“Why didn’t you call the police?" She asked softly.
Nadeem sighed. “If we did, and he escaped, he would tell others about your father. They would return to exact revenge on your father for ratting out their partner. You just lost your mother; are you prepared to lose your father as well??”
“No… I don’t.” Allison interjected; her eyes widened in fear. The thought of losing her father hurt her.
Nadeem nodded solemnly.
“Exactly, your father is a good man. He would never harm somebody unless it was to keep this family safe or to defend you. That man would have killed him if I hadn’t acted first.”
Allison swallowed hard, wiping her eyes and declaring to Nadeem. “My dad wouldn’t hurt anyone. He’s a good man.”
“That’s right,” Nadeem agreed.
“Now promise me you’ll never speak of this to anyone. To keep you, our family, and our friendship safe," Nadeem inquired, whispering.
“No, I won't; I love my daddy,” Allison responded carefully.
“I know you do, and that’s good of you, love; now, try to get some sleep.” Nadeem proclaimed patting Allison’s hand.
With that, Allison curled under her blankets, desperately clinging to the belief that her father was a hero, pushing away the horror she had just witnessed. But deep down, Allison knew she would never forget.
———————————————.
"Do you, Allison Blackwell, take Dontrell Blade as your husband, in sickness and health, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"“Yes, I do.” The words came out mechanically, a part of me still numb from everything that had happened. I had been kidnapped, tortured, and brought to this moment—standing before an altar, surrounded by people I barely knew, married to a man I hardly understood. As the priest spoke, I turned my head slightly, scanning the crowd. I searched for him. ‘Clayton’. But he wasn’t there. Where was he? Was he angry? Did he wish it were him standing beside me, taking my hand in marriage instead of his brother? A part of me wished he had been the one. But another part was relieved. Because Clayton, with his dark, unyielding eyes and the violent edge to his soul, was the one who had taken so much from me. ‘Dontrell’—his softer, quieter brother—had given me an escape, a way out of a life I feared would drown me. I had no choice in th
The plane landed with a smooth bump, and as I stepped up to the boarding door, the cool San Diego midnight breeze ruffled my hair. Dontrell’s large hand was warm as he took mine, lifting it to place a peck on it.“Let me guide you, my lady,” he murmured, his voice low, close to my ear. “I don’t want you tripping.”Without any more words, Dontrell led me down the plane's stairs, his hand still holding mine. His steps were sure and confident, and his presence was strong as I carefully followed behind. The bright glow of runway lights pierced the night and cast long shadows across the ground. At the end of the step, I was met with the warm grins of a gathering of youthful ladies and men dressed in savvy, blue outfits that made it clear they were part of Dontrell's domestic staff. Their modest appearance was a simple indication of the kind of life I was venturing into—a life where the simplest detail was carefully curated. I adjusted my Chanel bag, holding it tightly against my side. On
I woke up with a start, the coldness of the room hitting me before the alarm even had a chance to screech. My body always seemed to know when it was time, jerking awake moments before the loud, obnoxious beeping could ring in my ears. I grunted, reaching for my phone on the nightstand, and snoozed the alarm as soon as it started its irritating noise.I rubbed my eyes with one hand and my feet together simultaneously to shake off the chill from the air conditioning. The sting of the cold was brief—better than the oppressive LA heat. I propped myself up, resting my back against the cushioned headboard. Turning to my left, there she was—my wife, curled up like a cat, her wavy blonde hair scattered across her back, almost covering her entirely. She clung to the pillow like it was her last lifeline. But that didn't last long. Her face shifted, turning toward me. I couldn't help but notice her slightly parted soft lips and the slight flush of her skin from sleep. She was more beautiful tha
Our car swerved sharply into the compound, the tires crunching over the gravel as it came to a halt. The car parked near the entrance, just next to the circular driveway, where a majestic lion statue stood in the center, its fierce gaze directed toward the grand steps leading into the mansion.I stepped out and immediately felt the icy chill settle over me—the kind that was more than just a breeze, the kind that sank into your bones. It was the same compound they had brought me when they first kidnapped me—those memories felt icy against my skin, clinging to me. Dontrell’s hand pressed gently on my back as we walked forward.“It’s okay if you want to go back,” he murmured beside me, his voice soft but concerned.“No, I’m good,” I lied; my heart was thumping. The truth was, I wanted to be here with him, despite the dark memories tied to this place.As we reached the entrance, Dontrell stopped to pull me closer into his arms. "You know I love you, right?" he whispered, his breath warm a
The sensation of ice water dumped on my head jolted me awake abruptly with a gasp and a sputter as it streamed down my face and mingled with the sweat on my skin already glued in place by the heat of the room.My body spasmed as I struggled to breathe. Panic constricted my chest, and I blinked furiously, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Slowly, the spinning world came into focus—a dim, suffocating room with walls that seemed to close in on me. A shadow loomed overhead. The man’s massive frame eclipsed the faint light, his presence radiating menace. He tossed the empty bucket aside with a loud clang that echoed in the confined space. I tried to move, but the ropes binding my wrists to the back of the chair bit into my skin, holding me firmly in place. My breaths came in shallow bursts as I craned my neck to look up at him. "Oh, our damsel in distress is awake. No, wait—it’s Sleeping Beauty," one of the guards quipped, his sneer pulling laughter from the others. I blinked ra
The pain radiated from my neck as Clayton’s grip tightened, his fingernails digging deep into my skin. The knife still hovered dangerously close to my face, and I gasped for air as his cold breath tickled my skin. “Don’t think for a second you’re getting out of this,” he hissed, his voice venomous.Then, without warning, the pressure eased. But it wasn’t mercy—it was a shift in position. I stifled a breath, the knife finally leaving my face. He crossed in front of me, bending over my shoulder, his body hovering close. His grip remained firm on my neck, and I could feel his heat, his body pressed into mine as he reached behind me. He cut the ropes binding my hands, but I could barely think as his presence loomed over me; the weight of his body on my shoulders held me in place.When the ropes finally gave way, my hands were free, and I gasped, moaning from the relief on my sore skin. My chest tightened, but it didn’t last long. In a split second, the tension in my body snapped into a fra
"Hours of talk, and the loverboy here still thinks peace will save us," Clayton growled, his eyes cold. He sat opposite me, alongside my father, his demeanour as sharp as a blade, and the way his eyes settled on me made it clear who the insult was aimed at."For every action, there’s an explanation. If the Regent infiltrated our warehouse, there must be a reason—perhaps he was threatened." I responded, leaning forward with a calm that I didn’t entirely feel.Clayton scoffed, his gaze deadly. “Or perhaps he wanted to use it to expand his arms trade and build his empire! The Circle wants us weak so they can name a new Godfather. If we don’t act, we lose everything.” His words hung heavy, and I couldn’t ignore the way his fists clenched with restrained fury.I glanced at my father, who sat still, his expression unreadable. He was always silent in moments like these—the calm before the storm. I knew better than to underestimate him. My father, the Godfather of Los Angeles, always had ruth
The smoke from Clayton’s gun lingered as the man crumpled to the ground. Clayton holstered his gun, his cold gaze fixed on the body. “Get rid of him,” he ordered, his tone like ice. The security men swiftly dragged the corpse out. He turned back to the council. “This is our time to act. Call the Graves’ second-in-command—no deals, no mercy.”The room was tight with tension as Clayton spoke. His words were sharp, cutting through the heavy air like a blade. I stiffened at his bluntness. Clayton had no patience for diplomacy.Simeon, the Graves Gang's representative, shot to his feet. His eyes burnt with anger, his voice booming across the room. "You can’t accuse us of killing our boss. Of robbing you." His words echoed, thick with indignation."No one mentioned robbery, Simeon. Yet you seem to know about it.” Clayton shot back.I turned my gaze toward Simeon, locking eyes with him. Every man in the room was watching him now, waiting for him to break, but he struggled for words, caught u
She didn’t understand it and maybe she didn’t need to.Because she still saw the world in soft, redeemable tones. Even after what my father did. What Dontrell did. What I did.And maybe that’s why I fought so hard to deserve her. Because someone like her doesn’t end up in a life like mine by accident. She was chosen by fate—or cursed by it. Either way, I knew I’d burn down every version of this world before I let it take her from me again.I looked at my phone. The hospital report came in.Same condition. No progress. The nurses said Dontrell hadn’t spoken since; instead, he started having seizures often and often, and yet… I still sent money. Still made sure his room had sunlight. That his sheets were clean. That the men standing outside his door reported only to me.Because he was my brother.And that still meant something.I heard her voice behind me. “Again?”God, that voice. The way she could make one word feel like a thousand. She’d seen the worst of me—every bloodstain, every b
I watched Clayton from across the rooftop garden as the breeze rustled the edges of his open shirt. The golden sunset flared behind him, but he didn’t look up. His gaze hovered on his phone, thumb paused over the screen, like whatever he was reading had pulled him somewhere far from me.“Again?” I asked, pitching my voice to be loud enough.He looked up slowly, locking eyes with me. That same determined gaze he wore when things got hard. When his emotions ran too deep to show.“Yes,” he said, voice low, firm. “I have to do it.”I crossed the space between us, barefoot, heart steady. “But you know you don’t owe him anything.”Clayton’s lips curved, soft and sad. “He’s my brother.”My heart ached for the way he said it. Not because it was a lie, but because it was true.Five years since the trial, since the feds shattered Dontrell’s empire. Clayton hadn’t run from the damage—he stood in it. Quietly, fiercely, with no cameras watching.He bought back every property the feds didn’t bury.
I peeled off his suit jacket slowly, my fingers trailing over the dark silk. The tag glinted on the inside of his chest—*Godfather.* A title barely a few hours old, still hot from the Circle’s overnight meeting where he had been crowned.We were supposed to be at the Victory Gala right now—celebrating his hotel expansion in partnership with my new dance company. But we couldn’t wait—his mouth claimed mine the second the car door shut and his men stepped down. Instead of champagne and niceties, we were tangled up in the back seat of his car—completely unable to keep our hands off each other.His men stood like statues—guns, suits, dead stares. No one came close.Our mouths were locked. The windows fogged as we kissed like starved souls. His lips, greedy and sweet, erased the ruthless man crowned by the ‘CIRCLE’ just hours ago.“Congratulations, Godfather Clayton,” I whispered against his lips.He chuckled, dark and low, then kissed me harder. “Thank you, my queen.”I dragged my hand
"What are you doing here?" Clayton's voice cut through the silence. He stepped inside, his figure shadowing the doorway. "Why couldn't you stay in the living room downstairs, or at least stay in the fucking room? Why come here?"I didn’t flinch. I’d heard that bark before. Clayton Blade had always been a man of biting words. I stood there, tears wet on my face, paper clenched in my hand.I ignored his harsh words and the sting and asked, my voice trembling, "Did you mean this?" I held out the paper. "Did you mean everything you wrote here?”His jaw clenched, a muscle working beneath the skin. For a moment, I thought he might ignore me, walk away, or tell me I was being foolish. But instead, he scoffed and muttered, "You shouldn't be here.”That was all. He didn’t give me an answer. Just that damn, dismissive line—like none of it mattered. He wasn’t even looking at the paper. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking somewhere past me, somewhere I couldn’t follow.I couldn’t stand there
I expected unease walking into this house again.The Blade mansion was eerily quiet, but it no longer frightened me. It had once been a fortress of fear, soaked in pain. With Mr. Blade gone, rotting in prison for even just a few months, breathing here felt a little easier.The heaviness that once clung to the estate had loosened.Clayton’s men stood like statues by his bedroom door, nodding as I walked past and went In. They didn’t question me. They didn’t need to. I belonged here once—even if only at night, in stolen moments, wearing guilt like perfume.The moment I entered, his scent hit me —musk, spice, leather. Familiar, maddening—uniquely him. My eyes scanned the room—the chair by the fireplace, the silk sheets, the broken lamp, the window chair. The whiskey decanter, heavy curtains, the bed—all the same.My chest tightened. I remembered the fortnight—when he hurt, took, and claimed me with blood.But I blinked it away.He wasn’t that man anymore—not in the end. Not lately. Clay
The moment the car door shut, the fake smile I wore at that goddamn charity dinner melted off like wax. My jaw clenched. I sighed, the night’s weight pressing down on me.I didn’t bother acknowledging my driver. He knew better than to speak when I was like this.I exhaled sharply and rolled my neck. The suit jacket was the first thing to go, then the cufflinks—ripped off and tossed beside me. Yanked my collar open just to breathe. The air felt thick—or maybe it was just me, choking on memories.Allison.God, her name still felt like a bruise on my chest.Told myself the damn event would distract me. But it never works. Not with her.I leaned back and closed my eyes. How did I get here? From hating her with every fibre in my body… to falling so deep I couldn’t see my way out?She used to sneak out of her ex-husband’s mansion—my brother’s house. She’d arrive in designer clothes and leave wearing my scent. Every visit started with a plan—some draft to catch Dontrell, some excuse to meet—
“Fuck, that’s tight,” Reed groaned, thrusting in, his veiny hands spreading my thighs wide.The hotel room smelt like expensive cologne, clean sheets, and sex. Our brunch date was long forgotten.“Yeah, just like that,” my moans echoed off the suite’s walls. I clawed at his back, legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust deep and smooth.Classic missionary. All on display. He kissed my jaw, strokes slow but hard, bouncing me into the bed.He slapped my breasts and drove in deep, pausing as I clenched before resuming with a wild rhythm. I moaned in response, throwing my head back like I meant it, nails raking down his back. He was giving it to me well—deep strokes, rough rhythm, the kind of pounding that made the bed slam against the wall. Reed had the stamina and the moves. His sinful voice matched the kisses trailing my breasts, sucking hard as his hips slammed into me.“You feel me, baby? You feel all this dick?” He whispered, lips brushing my titties.“Uh-huh,” I lied, grinding u
Three months ago, my name blazed across headlines like blood on silk.“Allison Blade Finalises Divorce from Mafia Kingpin Dontrell Blade.”“Mafia Wife Walks Away: Allison Blade Now Legally Single.”“From Blackmail to Freedom—Inside the Fall of a Criminal Empire’s Queen.”“Single and Free: Allison Blade Cuts Ties with Comatose Crime Lord”I didn’t need to read the articles — didn’t need to. I’d lived it.The court declared Dontrell unfit for trial—permanently incapacitated, doctors said—vegetative. Alive, but unreachable. A man who once ruled with an iron grip now lay breathless under a sterile hospital light, surrounded by machines that did his living for him.Filing for divorce should’ve felt like a betrayal. Instead, it felt sweet.The day I filed, I didn’t cry. I walked into the courthouse, signed the petition, and told the clerk I was ready to leave hell behind. Two weeks later, a judge reviewed my case. They assigned Dontrell a guardian ad litem—some lawyer who never looked me
I left my father’s house ten years ago and never looked back—even now, confined to a wheelchair, voiceless, motionless. I lived fully.My name would echo through generations— how I played my father and almost won if Celine's jealousy over my cover marriage to Allison hadn't ruined it.I left the house with nothing but a hunger for power—and I swore to claim it, whatever the cost. Father’s ways were too constricting. His empire was built on loyalty, fear, and respect, and I wanted it differently. I wanted more. I wanted total control. It wasn’t just the mansion, the power, or the empire I’d grown up with—it was the respect I was owed. I was the firstborn son, the one who was supposed to carry on his name. But instead, I was just another puppet in a game where he pulled the strings. I do all the work, and he gets all the glory. He leashed me and fed me scraps while he ruled as godfather. But I wasn’t some obedient little dog—that was Clayton. I envisioned power without him—without an