All Chapters of The Mafia King's Trophy: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

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

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

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 p

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

MatteoThe morning sun barely filters through the heavy curtains as I push open her bedroom door. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, still in those silk pajamas that cling just enough to make me linger a second too long before stepping inside. Her hair’s a mess, her eyes rimmed with defiance and exhaustion.She looks like hell. And yet somehow, she still manages to look like she belongs in it.“Get up,” I bark, shutting the door behind me. “We’re making a proof-of-life video. You’re going to tell your father you’re alive, and you’re going to do it without fucking it up. Got it?”Her glare cuts through the room, but she doesn’t move. “Why should I make anything easier for you?”“Because I said so,” I reply, crossing my arms. “Now, get up. I don’t have all day.”She stands slowly, her movements deliberate, her chin tilted in defiance as she takes a step closer. “And what if I don’t?”I smirk, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Then I’ll give your father a reason to worry. Maybe I’ll