My Biker Mafia Stepbrother
Candice Harper’s world shatters when her mother remarries billionaire Sanna d’Agostino just weeks after divorcing her beloved father. Uprooted from New York to a glittering Los Angeles mansion, the 17-year-old senior vows to endure one year of this gilded cage before escaping to college—and freedom. But freedom becomes a distant dream the moment she locks eyes with her new stepbrother: Mantovani d’Agostino, the infamous mafia underboss hiding behind a polished facade of wealth.
Mantovani is a storm wrapped in control—ruthless, volatile, and haunted by a darkness he refuses to name. Ordered by his father to play English teacher at Candice’s elite academy while hunting the sheriff dismantling their empire, he plans to despise the innocent girl invading his world. One glance at her fragile beauty among the lilies, however, ignites a forbidden fire he can’t extinguish. She’s off-limits. She’s, his stepsister. Yet every shared breath in their opulent prison tightens the noose of desire around his throat.
As Candice navigates a life of bodyguards, paparazzi, and a mother obsessed with status, she’s drawn to the brooding enigma who fleas from her presence yet watches her like she’s prey. Strange midnight visits, heated glances, and whispered commands blur the line between protection and possession. Mantovani fights to bury his hunger, but the mafia’s shadows creep closer—enemies circle, secrets unravel, and a single misstep could destroy them both.
In a world where loyalty is blood and love is a death sentence, Candice and Mantovani must choose to surrender to the inferno threatening to consume them… or burn the empire down trying to resist.
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Chapter: The Morning that felt RealCandice's P.O.V.The sun came streaming through the hospital blinds in fine golden bars across the bed, and made stripes across the chest of Mantovani as the bandages just showed their heads through the open neck of his gown. I had seen those stripes go on--slow, tireless, measuring them out as they had to be they were evidence that time still had some course, that we were still alive at night. It ached in my back where I had just left the chair, it hurt my eyes because I had not slept, and my fingers were sore because I had not managed to take my hand off his, but it did not make any difference.He was breathing.On his own.No engines pressurizing him. No alarms screaming. Only the hard, obstinate swell and heave of his chest, each breath a little wonder that I knew I was bones.I had not slept over a few minutes at a time since the time they wheeled him out of the surgery. Whenever I shut my eyes I would see once more the red mark on my chest, I
Last Updated: 2026-02-15
Chapter: Dawn through the BlindsCandice's P.O.V.The very first time that Mantovani opened his eyes after the third crash I believed I was dreaming.The room we were in was dark--blinds half-open to the mid-morning sun, machinery clammering its constant, mechanical lullaby--and I had been staring at his face so long that I had begun to see at the edges. His skin was too pale over the white sheets, the coarse stubble on his jaw coming out in sharp relief, the new scar on his temple still angry and red. I knew every word of him that had been stuttered in the operation since surgery: the tiny freckle in the left eye, the tiny crescent scar on his chin of some previous fight which I knew him when he was still young, how his lashes brushed against his cheeks when he slumbered.I hadn't slept.Not really.Each time my eyes drifted shut I saw the color red dot on my chest once more, saw him leap, saw him hit back at me and spurred my blood through both our shirts and I screamed his name
Last Updated: 2026-02-14
Chapter: His & HersMantovani's P.O.V.The initial inhalation that I made in the absence of fire in my lungs caused me to feel like robbing something holy.Slow--deliberate--as though I had to relearn the operation of air. The hospital room smelled of bleach and coffee that was old and stale and the kind of sterile silence that rubs against your ears until you start hearing every little thing: the drip of the IV, the little beep of the monitor that was keeping track of my heart (steady now, stubborn) and the soft rustle of Candice in the chair beside me.She hadn't left.Not once.The head of her dark hair lay on the edge of the mattress against my hip, and the spilt hair was lying on the white sheet like spilt ink. One hand also remained clasped about mine in sleep--fingers woven together to such an extent that I felt her pulse as if it were my own still trembling where the right hand still trembled. There were bruises under her eyes, a nick on her cheekbone that was
Last Updated: 2026-02-13
Chapter: FamilyAs we split up, foreheads against each other, breathing each other's air, she said, The doctors told me you had hardly escaped a surgical operation. The bullet tore--cut your lung, your spleen. On the table they lost you twice. Sanna was screaming at them in Italian. Conti punched a wall. Mom wouldn't stop praying. Dad... Dad just held me while I cried."I shut my eyes, and imagined it--my father losing his temper, my brother smashing up, her parents seeing the shambles of the life we had led. The feeling of guilt in my stomach was more like the surgical scars."They're all here?" I asked quietly.She nodded. "Down the hall. They wouldn't leave. Sanna is arguing with the hospital administrator regarding security. The fact that Conti is guarding the door like Fort Knox. Mom and Dad are going to get coffee and make a show that they are not terrified.I exhaled shakily. "Family.""Yeah," she said, voice thick. Our beautiful messed-up family.A
Last Updated: 2026-02-12
Chapter: The Long dawnMantovani's P.O.V.My consciousness came back in bits--sharp jagged bits that cut deeper than the bullet ever had.Then there was the pain: a living entity, red-hot and angry, wrapped around my chest like barbed wire that was tightening with each inhalation. Then the cattle, the sounds, beeping monitors, low voices, chattering in desperate Italian and English, the drip, drip, drip of an IV line somewhere overhead. Odors ensued: antiseptic, blood (mine, mostly), the slight odor of coffee that some one had spilled somewhere. And finally--her.Candice.She lay huddled against the bed in the little corner beside me, with her head on the edge of the mattress, and one of her hands still clodded in mine even asleep. Her hair had dropped round over her face and strands of it had clung to the lines of tears that were still not quite dry. She breathed quietly and irregularly the type of rhythm that follows hours of weeping yourself to pieces. The view of her, weary
Last Updated: 2026-02-11
Chapter: Alive in the WreckageMantovani’s P.O.V.Pain was the first thing that registered--sharp, white-hot, blooming across my chest like someone had driven a red-hot poker through my ribs and left it there to twist. Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass, shallow and ragged, each inhale dragging fire deeper into my lungs. The world came back in fragments: the low hum of an engine, the metallic taste of blood on my tongue, the faint scent of pine and gun oil clinging to the air. And then—her.Candice.Her hand was wrapped around mine, small but fierce, fingers locked so tight it hurt in the best way, grounding me when everything else wanted to pull me under. I could feel her trembling through the contact, could hear the soft, broken sound of her breathing—like she was trying not to sob and failing. My eyelids weighed a thousand pounds, but I forced them open anyway, blurry green meeting blurry green, and there she was, face streaked with dirt and tears, hair wild,
Last Updated: 2026-02-10
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