{INGRID'S POV}**I feel so small. So utterly insignificant in front of him. He looms over me like a shadow, dark and oppressive, making me feel like nothing more than an object and something to be used. Something to be disposed of when he’s done with me. He sits me down on the bed… that's if you can even call it that. It’s not a bed. It’s a mat stretched across a wooden frame. Hard, uncomfortable. Nothing like the softness I’ve longed for in all of my life. Yet never had.But at the moment, I don’t care about comfort. I never did. I don’t care about anything anymore.He pushes me onto it with a force that makes my breath catch in my throat. My back hits the unforgiving surface. I’m too scared to move. Too scared to even breathe the wrong way. My hands instinctively grip my knees. My body stiffens as I sit there, trembling like a leaf in the wind. I can’t stop shaking. I just want to escape. To run.
{GIOVANNI'S POV}**Uncle. Uncle?Fuck. Hearing that word from her gives me the shivers. Like.. “Uncle.” How nice it sounds. Perhaps, if she had been pleading that word while he was fucking her, it would've made sense. No, no, no, no, no, Giovanni. Wake up. Out of that thought now; she's just a minor. I can't fuck a minor. But then, if I was to have sex with some woman, and let's drop all the daddy, papi shit.. If the woman was to call me Uncle, would I like it? Perhaps. But then when this little girl called me Uncle, when she pleaded the word Uncle, at first I was surprised. Then I became amused. I was excited; my blood and nerves were bubbling for no reason. Yeah well, for a reason. For this reason. And I felt energy going down. Down, onto my most manly area. My dick. Focus. Let's focus.But then, focusing back
{INGRID'S POV}**He stares at me for a long moment, then grabs my throat like I’m some enemy to him. “Good. Now lick it,” he says, low but in a commanding tone.I've never seen a man so calm yet fearful. My spit runs down his cheek. It's going down onto his lip. No. I have to hurry before it does. He seems to hate that act of spitting on him. I lick it. Just so close to his thin lips.I look away, unable to look at him. Disgusting cazzo.He smiles then lets go of my neck only to grip my cheeks this time. It makes me eyeball him. “Your sister, Agata, is dead,” he tells me. Wait, Agata? Who's that? “Your father, Mr. La Rosa was going to give her out for slaughter, all in the name of business. So, she killed herself first, Miss ‘I’ La Rosa.” He purposefully emphasizes the ‘I’ not knowing my name. Probably to show me that he knew who I was. Who I was by birth; a La Rosa. Bastard. “B
{CARA'S POV}**It’s been two weeks. Two weeks without seeing Edmondo. That’s good, right? It has to be. I keep telling myself it’s for the better, though sometimes the thought creeps in: Why hasn’t he come for me?I try not to dwell on it. Instead, I focus on my days with his mother.The day I first met her was nothing like I’d expected. After only a few minutes together, she cried with a stoic demeanor. “I never liked her,” she said bluntly, brushing away false tears with exaggerated trembling fingers. “Agata, your sister was… razz, I suppose. Bold, brash. But good as a Donna, not as a wife. Never as my son's wife.”That day, she sat across from me in her expansive sitting room with a distant gaze. As if the memories were taunting her. I hesitated before speaking. “But didn’t the Don love her?”Her head snapped toward me and her expression turned sharp. “Love?” She scoffed. “What does an iron man like Mondo know about love? He stuck to her for pleasure. And her intriguing pers
{EDMONDO'S POV}**The sterile air of the clinic pisses me off. It reeks of antiseptic and hopelessness. I mean, it's likely a place where people come to give up. My fingers drum impatiently on the armrest of this goddamn chair. I don’t even know why I agreed to this. Hospitals are for the weak. For people who can afford to fall apart.I’m not one of those people.I glance at the clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. It feels like the bastard’s mocking me. Three fucking days. Three days I’ve waited for this appointment.Giovanni should’ve been here. But I sent him off on business at the city's back entrance gate. My mother? She’d insist on holding my hand. But I left her with Cara.Cara.The thought of her makes my jaw clench. She’s nothing now. A pawn that's of no use to my game. If my mother wants to break her or destroy her, so be it. She’s irrelevant to me.The door swings open, pulling me out of my thoughts. Dr. Vieri strolls in with a clipboard in his hand. He’s young; too fucking
{EDMONDO'S POV} * * The lamp flickers faintly on my desk. It casts uneven shadows over the papers I’ve spread out. Not that it matters. The words are turning into a blur. Have been for days now. I lean back in the chair. My fingers press to my temples, willing the pounding in my head to easen. It doesn’t. It never does. Marco’s already gone to fetch Giovanni. He knows the drill by now; Giovanni’s the only one I trust with important issues pertaining to my life. And I hate that. I hate that I’ve reached the point in life where trust feels more like dependence. Dependency. It's literally the case now because aside Giovanni, no one knows about my flaw and no one should. I rub a hand over my face, dragging it down to my chin. The meeting with the Cosa Nostras is just in three hours, and I’m barely holding all this shit together. No longer my eyes, my brain betrays me now. What's sad is that it's not just the vision anymore. It’s worse than that. My fucking b
{EDMONDO'S POV}**The air is thick and of course, heavy with tension. It's always thick and heavy when it comes to the things of the underworld.Giovanni and I step into the room and the silence swallows us whole. This is no ordinary gathering. It’s the Cosa Nostras; mafia families from all over Italy, each with their own power and their own stakes. The Gambinos from Sicily, the biggest name in the South, are here amongst other dominant famiglias in the South. Dons from the East, the heart of the world's mafia kingdom are here as well. Famiglias from the West, from the deep corners of Southern Italy, and even the ragtag groups that found their place in some corners of Italy.We don’t need to speak. The moment we enter, all eyes fall on us. Giovanni doesn’t need to give much of a sign. A simple gesture, and I understand. I already know what this is about. They think they have po
{EDMONDO'S POV}**When I get close, I turn away.I walk past her, keeping my gaze straight ahead. I can smell it before I even see her; blueberries. That fucking scent. My fucking scent. On her, it's sweet. Tempting. And it claws at me, like it knows the hold it has. Cara. Her presence is like an itch I can’t scratch. And I fucking hate it. She stands there, glowing under the full moon. Her hair shines underneath the moon like some goddamn fairy-tale red. She's practically radiating like she’s the fucking center of the universe.But I don’t stop. I try not to flinch. I’m not letting her weaken me. Not now. Not ever. If I stop, if I let myself acknowledge her, I might slip. Might give a damn. And I can’t afford to do that. Not with the mess I’m dealing with. Not with her father that I have to kill. That sorry-ass bastard has it coming, and I’m going to make sure he get
{CARA'S POV}**“I don’t get it. I really don’t.”I’m sitting with Porcelina, trying to wrap my head around the mess. We’re in the corner of a dimly lit room, the flicker of candles casting shadows across the walls. The place smells like wood, leather, and a bit of smoke, which doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s just the way things are now. “So, this guy my friend’s been dealing with.. he gave her all the right signals, you know? Green flags, like he's totally into her, making her feel special. Then, boom! He just turns on her. Tells her to get lost. After everything. Doesn’t that feel wrong to you?” I say. My voice is a little too sharp and it's obvious I'm frustrated.Porcelina arches an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. She’s always got this air about her, like she knows things the rest of us don’t. “Are you sure he actually gave her green flags? What if he was just playing her? Using her to get somet
{EDMONDO'S POV}**I’m sick. Sick of the damn reports. Sick of the lies. And sick of her. Every damn day, I feel it creeping in; questions that claw at my insides. Where is she? Why hasn’t she come back? Is she fine? Has she eaten? Hope mother isn't making her feel unwelcomed? What is she up to currently?Is she on her way here?Is she outside my estate gate?Should I send a message?Maybe an order to bring her back?Damn, I'd told myself she’d return after I shooed her that night. I’d told myself she wouldn’t give up. But no. No, she didn't. A week has passed, and not a damn word. A week and four days since I last saw her, a week and four days of wondering if I made the right call by telling her to get lost. Wait. Hold on. Am I missing Cara?Shit.Fuck, anyway, I kept an eye on her through my men and the
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