Novels by Amadora

Over a week later,The chaos didn’t knock politely. It kicked the door down with bullets and explosions.Enzo Moretti stood on the upper balcony of the cliffside villa, phone pressed to his ear, his voice a low, lethal growl. “I don’t give a fuck what it costs, Rafael. Hit every Rossi warehouse we know about. Burn them to the ground. They want a war? I’ll give them a fucking massacre.”Below him, the glittering Mediterranean stretched endlessly, mocking the chaos about to unfold. He had barely slept since the first attack. Elena’s face kept flashing in his mind. Defiant, beautiful, and now a target painted in bright red by both the Rossis and quite possibly her own father.Inside the villa, Elena tried to lose herself in the art studio Enzo had prepared for her. The scent of oil paint and turpentine filled the sunlit room, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Every distant engine sound made her flinch. She was no longer just a kidnapped bride. She was a symbol. A trophy. A traitor in

Enzo stood on the upper balcony the next morning, phone pressed to his ear, listening to Rafael’s update with a darkening expression.“The Rossis are mobilizing faster than expected,” Rafael said. “They’re not just coming for blood, they’re spreading word that Elena helped set up the hit at the wedding. The Vitale is staying suspiciously quiet. We think he might be playing both sides.”“Fuck them,” Enzo growled. “Double the patrols. If any Rossi bastard gets within a kilometer of this villa, put a bullet in his skull. No warnings.”He ended the call and gripped the railing hard. The war was escalating, and Elena was now public enemy number one in their eyes. Keeping her here was no longer just desire, it was necessary for her survival.Downstairs in the sunlit living area, Elena was trying to distract herself with a sketchpad when the front doors opened. High heels clicked across the marble floors with familiar confidence.A tall, stunning brunette in a short, tight, over revealing re

The gunfire finally stopped shortly after sunset. Enzo Moretti stood in the security room, arms crossed, reviewing the footage with cold satisfaction. Two Rossi vehicles destroyed. Three of their men dead. His own suffered only minor injuries. The message had been sent: the Moretti territory was impenetrable, and Elena was untouchable.“Clean it up,” he ordered Rafael, his right-hand man. “Send the bodies back with a warning. Next time, I won’t be so merciful.”Rafael nodded sharply. “Consider it done, boss.”Enzo rolled his shoulders, tension still coiled tight in his muscles. The kiss with Elena burned in his memory—the fire, the anger, the way she had kissed him back before biting him. No woman had ever challenged him like that. It was addictive. Inciting.When he finally went looking for her, he found her exactly where he had left her, sitting on a sofa in the main hall, arms wrapped around her knees. She looked exhausted but still unbroken.“It’s over,” he said quietly. “For toni

Enzo Moretti stood in his private office overlooking the cliffs, a glass of aged whiskey in hand. The morning meeting had gone exactly as expected. The syndicate were furious about the Rossi retaliation already brewing, but they were loyal. Fear and respect kept them in line. That was how he maintained power.Yet his mind kept drifting to her.Elena Vitale. She was one hell of a lady.He had watched the security feeds earlier. She had spent the last hour pacing the garden terrace like a caged lioness, beautiful and defiant even in simple clothes. The bandage on her hand was a reminder of how fragile this situation was. One wrong move and the delicate balance could shatter.“Boss,” Marco said from the doorway. “We’ve got movement. Three Rossi cars spotted on the coastal road. They’re heading this way. Fast. Looks like they’re testing our defenses.”Enzo’s jaw tightened. “They’re getting bold. How many men?”“Enough to cause problems if they breach the outer perimeter.” Marco hesitated.

Elena woke to the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs and the faint cry of seagulls. For a blissful second, she forgot where she was. Then reality crashed down harder than the sea below. She touched her wrists where his fingers had gripped her the night before. The skin wasn’t bruised, but she could still feel the phantom heat of his touch. "Get it together", she scolded herself. "He’s the enemy."A knock sounded at the door. The same housekeeper—Rosa, she had learned last night—entered with a breakfast tray and a small first-aid kit.“Signor noticed you cut your hand during the struggle yesterday,” Rosa said gently. “He asked me to bring this. He’s waiting for you on the lower terrace when you’re ready.”Elena glanced at her palm. A shallow cut from the shattered glass in the cathedral had reopened slightly during her shower. She hadn’t even noticed.“I can handle it myself,” she muttered.But Rosa simply smiled and left.Elena ate the fresh fruit, yogurt, and strong espresso

She stood under the scalding spray of the shower until the water ran clear. She scrubbed viciously at her skin, watching Marco’s blood swirl down the drain. The dress lay in a heap on the bathroom floor like a discarded ghost. When she finally stepped out, a stack of clothes waited on the bed. Soft black leggings, a silk blouse the color of midnight, and simple underwear that somehow fit perfectly. She wondered how he guessed her size so accurately.She dressed quickly, braiding her damp hair over one shoulder. The terrace doors were still open, letting in the salty breeze and the distant roar of waves. For one wild moment, she considered climbing down the cliffs. Then she remembered the guards and the sheer drop. That was sucide.A soft knock sounded before the door unlocked. The same middle-aged woman from earlier entered with a silver tray.“Signor Moretti (Sir Morretti) requests your presence for dinner on the terrace,” she said politely, setting the tray down. “He suggests you ea