Novels by thine

CHAPTER 7: His hands were under my thighs, carrying me to our bed.My black Louboutin heels had fallen off somewhere near the fireplace - one near the chair, one near the closet - and I didn't care. My arms were around Damien's neck, his black tuxedo jacket cold against my bare shoulders from my off-shoulder blood red dress, his grey eyes dark and looking at my red lips that were swollen from his kissing."Elena," he whispered again, his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard from the kiss that had started downstairs in the dining room and continued all the way up the marble staircase, through the hallway, into our bedroom that he had locked behind us."Damien," I whispered back, my voice shaking. Not from fear now. From something else. Something that made my blood red dress feel too tight, my heart beat too fast, my skin tingle where his hands touched my thighs.He laid me down gently on the huge bed with black silk sheets. The bed was so big, so soft, and I was in the mid

CHAPTER 6:The kiss on my temple that Damien gave me in front of Carlo and Sofia De Luca burned.It was not a real kiss. It was a show. A possessive, public mark that said "MINE" to his enemies.But my skin didn't know that. My skin thought it was real. My temple tingled for an hour after they left, and every time I touched it, my heart beat faster."Elena, you are blushing again."Luca's voice made me jump. We were back in the dining room after the confrontation. The guards had gone back to their positions, Giovanni had gone to his office to call other Dons and tell them that Vitale Don was married, and Damien had gone to his black office - the one I was forbidden to enter - to make phone calls about the De Lucas.I was left alone in the dining room, still in my red Valentino dress and black Louboutin heels, with a huge diamond ring on my finger that I didn't remember putting on, trying to eat my cold bread."I am not blushing," I said, touching my cheek. It was hot.Luca sat across

CHAPTER 5: I woke up because someone was staring at me.It was not a scary stare. It was a quiet, intense stare that made my skin tingle even in my sleep.I opened my eyes slowly.Damien Vitale was lying on his side, his head resting on his hand, looking at me. He was already dressed - not in a suit, but in a simple white t-shirt and black pants, his black hair still messy from sleep, his grey eyes soft in the morning light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows.The black silk nightgown had slipped off my shoulder while I slept. His eyes were on my bare shoulder, then on my face."Good morning, Mrs. Vitale," he said, his voice rough from sleep.I pulled the sheets up quickly, covering myself. "What time is it?""Six AM. You slept for five hours. You were tired."Five hours. I had been Mrs. Vitale for twelve hours now. Twelve hours ago I was a waitress in Rome washing plates. Now I was in a billion-dollar mansion in Sicily, in a black silk nightgown, in a bed with a Mafia Don who w

CHAPTER 4: The woman downstairs did not sound like a fiancée.She sounded like a woman who owned the mansion and had just found out a thief was sleeping in her bed."WHERE IS HE! DAMIEN! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"Her voice echoed from the entrance hall all the way up to our bedroom on the second floor. Even through the thick wooden doors, I could hear her high heels clicking angrily on the black marble, her Italian accent sharp and furious.I was still standing by the window in my black silk nightgown, holding the silver photo frame of Isabella Vitale, my heart beating so fast I thought Damien would hear it from downstairs.Sofia De Luca.Luca had said her name like a curse. "The De Lucas are here! Sofia De Luca is downstairs!"I looked down at my reflection in the window. My long wavy dark brown hair was still wet, my face pale, no makeup, wearing a black silk nightgown that showed too much skin, with Damien Vitale's jacket discarded on the floor. I looked like exactly what I was -

CHAPTER 3:I couldn't breathe.The silver frame in my hands was shaking. The woman in the photo was smiling so brightly, so kindly, with long wavy dark brown hair, hazel eyes, light morena skin, and a small mole near her left eye.I have the same mole. In the exact same place.The little boy she was holding was maybe 13 years old, with black hair and cold grey eyes even then. Damien. A young Damien, before he became a monster. He was smiling too - a real smile, not the cold smirk he gave me. He was holding his mother tightly."Isabella and Damien, 2005."The handwriting on the back was a woman's handwriting. Soft, elegant.Isabella.Isabella Vitale.The name hit me like a train. I had heard that name before. Not from Damien. From my father.When I was seven years old, before my mother left, I remembered my father coming home late one night, drunk, crying. He was a driver for a rich family then. He kept saying a name over and over."Isabella, I'm sorry. Isabella, forgive me. It was an

CHAPTER 2: The mansion was not a house. It was a kingdom made of darkness and marble.We drove for almost six hours from Rome to Sicily. I fell asleep somewhere after Naples, my head against the cold window of the Rolls-Royce, wearing Damien Vitale's suit jacket that still smelled like him. When I woke up, his hand was still holding mine.I pulled away instantly.He didn't say anything. He just looked at me with those cold grey eyes in the dark car and said, "We are here."I looked outside.I had seen rich houses before on TV. I had seen villas in Rome when I delivered food to rich customers. But I had never seen anything like this.The gates opened automatically - huge black iron gates with a golden V in the middle. Vitale. The driveway was so long I couldn't see the end. On both sides, there were perfectly trimmed cypress trees and stone statues - angels with broken wings. The whole place was lit by soft yellow lights, but it didn't feel warm. It felt cold. Like a beautiful graveya