Novels by Luisa

ELENA’S POV“You’re still as loud as ever.” His voice was smooth, arrogant, the kind of voice that didn’t ask, it declared. The words wrapped around me like a noose, pulling tighter with every second I stood there in his shadow. Enzo—Il Diavolo. The man who I’d saved five years ago. The man who had thrown five million euros like it was loose change just to claim me. My pulse pounded against my ribs, panic and fury crashing together until it burned my lungs to breathe. I jerked against the hands holding me, shoving, scratching, clawing at anything I could reach. “Let me go!” I screamed. “You can’t keep me here against my will. You don’t own me!” Enzo didn’t flinch. He sat sprawled in his leather chair, a glass of whiskey balanced between his fingers like the world belonged to him. Cold eyes, dark and merciless, dragged over me in a way that stripped me bare. He didn’t even bother standing. Without a glance, he flicked his wrist at the men stationed by the door. “Leave us.” The

ENZO’S POVTwo hundred thousand. The moment I said it, silence devoured the room. The air snapped taut, the weight of my voice dragging every pair of eyes toward me. Glasses clinked against tables, chairs scraped. The auctioneer froze mid-gesture, his jaw slack, his hand trembling where it hovered above his little hammer. I didn’t need to look to know what they saw: a ghost made flesh. I stepped forward from the shadows, every stride deliberate, the soles of my polished shoes echoing like gunshots across marble. And then, because I fucking could, I slid into the empty chair beside Dante Moretti himself, unhurried, deliberate, as though the whole damn world had been waiting for me to sit. In truth, they had. The fool stiffened like he’d swallowed glass. His expensive suit couldn’t mask the way his shoulders coiled tight, or how his jaw ticked when I smirked at him. I leaned back casually, one arm thrown over the chair, the other adjusting my cufflink. “Don’t stop on my account,” I

ELENA’S POVI woke to darkness. Not the kind of darkness that comes with nightfall, but the suffocating kind that pressed against my eyes. A blindfold dug into my skin, rough fabric scraping each time I moved. My wrists ached, bound behind my back with something biting and sharp. Rope, maybe. Metal. I don’t know. All I knew was that I couldn’t see, I couldn’t move, and my chest burned with fear. Voices echoed around me—men, deep and gravelly, laughing trading words I couldn’t quite catch. Somewhere closer, I heard a girl sobbing, a sharp cry muffled by a slap. Panic clawed at my throat. Where was I? What are they planning on doing with me? My breath quickened. The memories came flooding back. That face. Matteo’s face. The man I had loved for two years. I still can’t believe that he would do this to me. I know he was just spitting bullshit when he said he would come back for me. Matteo had never worked a fucking day in his life, how was he going to find five hundred thousand euros

ELENA’S POV The rain came down in sheets, hammering against the hospital windows as if even the sky had lost patience with this city. My shift had ended hours late, and every muscle in my body screamed from standing too long, smiling too hard, caring for patients who barely noticed me. My scrubs clung damp to my skin, and my shoes squelched faintly with every step I took across the hospital courtyard toward the waiting cab. I wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. But not my bed. Ours. The one place that felt like sanctuary. Matteo. The thought of him was the only thread holding me together as I pushed open the cab door and slid inside. My chest ached with relief at the idea of walking into his arms, hearing his stupid jokes, letting his warmth drown out the echoes of Dr. Gavin’s biting remarks and the endless complaints of patients who thought nurses were nothing but disposable servants. He was my peace. My reprieve. The one good thing I still had left in this world. Th