All Chapters of Mafia Men VI - Alessandro's Games : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Alessandro ☩══♛══☩ Alessandro blinked against the early morning light, his eyes burning from lack of sleep, but no one asked why. His father shoved a gun into his hand with the same indifference he had when handing out orders to his men. “Time to earn your keep, son,” Vito muttered. Alessandro didn’t show any emotions. At twelve, he’d seen worse than most men. He didn’t cry, didn’t shake. The man tied to the pole barely looked human anymore—gagged, eyes swollen shut, tears mixing with the blood that streaked down his face. His entire body was covered in bruises and burns, broken in ways Alessandro couldn’t even begin to imagine. But all Alessandro cared about was the stillness he could give him. Any other kid would’ve run screaming, but Alessandro? He just stood there, gun heavy in his hand, his mind working out the logistics. He could almost hear the gears turning in his head, calculating the angle, the velocity. The kid was a machine, every number falling into place like pi

Viviane ☩═✦═☩ For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to feel. I was torn, completely wrecked between what I was feeling now and what I had felt before when he had pushed me away. Alessandro had managed to get me everything I needed, everything I didn’t even think to ask for. Somehow, in the space of a few hours, he pulled off what I never expected. I glanced at the supplies laid out next to me. Tampons, pads—more than I could use in a month. Painkillers that actually worked, finally easing the brutal cramping that had me doubled over earlier. And the heat pad, now wrapped snug around my lower stomach, was slowly untangling the knots of pain. He’d done it all, quietly and without making a fuss, while I lay here on the couch, curled up in misery. My mind fought against the appreciation clawing its way up my throat. He wasn’t supposed to care. I wasn’t supposed to care that he cared. And yet, all I could think about was the fact that here I was, covered in blanke

Viviane ☩═✦═☩ A kiss shouldn’t make the world spin off its axis. My heart had no business pounding like I’d sprinted miles, and I sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be struggling to catch my breath, like the simple act had wiped out all logic. And yet, there I was—grinning like an absolute fool. It was absurd. I’d always told myself kissing was just that—a physical act, nothing special. But the way my toes curled, the hum in my veins, the way every nerve lit up like it had been waiting for this exact moment—yeah, that wasn’t supposed to happen. I should’ve been calm, rational, detached even. But there was no pulling back from it, no level-headedness to find. It wasn’t fireworks or floating on clouds—it was him. He had this way of grounding me and unshackling me at the same time, like I could lose myself while still feeling more present than ever. Kissing him felt like slipping into a story I didn’t know the ending to, but I was dying to find out. So, I sifted through Evange

Warning: 18+ Content Ahead. This chapter is nothing but pure, unfiltered smut. Proceed only if you're ready for the heat. Enjoy! Viviane ☩═✦═☩ I’d never felt this kind of raw, burning need to please a man—until now. As I glanced down at him, lying there so sure of himself, that cocky smirk etched on his face, something in me stirred. I wanted to strip that arrogance away, watch it dissolve under my touch until he was nothing but a gasping, trembling mess beneath me. Men think they're in control—until they aren’t. Doesn’t matter how strong, how dominant, how smug they come off. The moment you know exactly what buttons to push, what spots to tease, they crumble. Every damn one of them. They melt into your hands, begging, without even realizing how quickly the tables have turned. I could already see it—the shift in his eyes, that edge of desperation sneaking in. He had no idea what was coming, and frankly, neither did I, but I knew I wanted it—bad. All men are predictable when

Viviane ☩═✦═☩ Most of the time, I don’t bother giving a fuck about what’s eating people or tiptoeing around their feelings. That’s just not me. But with him? It’s different. It’s like he’s carved out this space in my head without even trying, and I hate how much I notice. I leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching him move around the kitchen like he owned the space—like every step, every flick of his wrist, was part of a quiet ritual only he understood. He was focused, too focused to notice me, and that was rare. He wasn’t the kind of man you could catch off-guard. I knew him well enough to tell when something was off, even when he tried to hide it. He had this way of doing everything like it was second nature—It was the small things with him, always the small things. I smiled to myself, watching how capable he was. Most men with his kind of money couldn’t find their way around a kitchen if their lives depended on it. Alessandro didn’t need anyone to cater to him,