In the haunting shadows of Calabria, Dr. Talana Fabrizio transforms from a healer into a vengeful force. Betrayed by her family and ensnared by the ruthless Drake de Marco, she navigates a treacherous world of mafia intrigue. Talana battles the demons of the underworld while falling in love with the second most powerful and ruthless mafia, Don, Massimo Morelli. All the while coming to onto who she truly is after years of being kept in the dark and away from those who truly loved her. As desire and vengeance intertwine, will she find love or lose herself completely?
Lihat lebih banyakIt was very rare for Talana to go out with her colleagues. Tonight, she had promised to join them at the club.
Later that evening, the soft glow of neon lights flickered outside the bar as Talana smoothed down her short red, strappy mini dress, black stockings, and a pair of short heel black shoes. As she entered, they beckoned her in their direction. Using their signal, she began walking over to them only to stop dead in her tracks. She felt it, someone's eyes roving over her, the intensity of a strong, dominant male’s gaze. Trying to ignore it, she proceeded to the group. Too late, he was seated just before her table. Massimo Morelli was looking at her with an intensity she had never felt before. As she passed by his eyes, we’re eating her up. His taut muscles visible flexed beneath his snug T-shirt and tattoos that snaked along his arms. His sharp jaw-line and smouldering blue eyes beheld an intensity that made the air around him feel heavier. As theycwere throwing back their drinks, instantly the noise faded into the background as the presence of a male approached their table. "Care to dance?" he leaned over and whispered in Talana's ear. Her heart beat faster at the sound of this male husky voice. As she looked up, her expression froze. It was him, the guy that had been watching her, a slow, confident smile spread across his chiselled face. "Well?" he asked, waiting on a response. "Go," one of the doctors nudged her under the table. "Okay," Talana responded reservedly. Holding out his hand, he guided her to the dance floor. The moment he stepped closer, his scent, a mixture of Old Spice and something uniquely him, enveloped her. They moved to the rhythm, and the world around them fell into a haze as she lost herself in the moment. Spinning her around, he pulled her closer into him, their bodies melding into a perfect harmony of excitement and danger. “I'm Max.” His lips curled at the edges, making her weak in the knees. “You come here often?” “I'mTalana and no,” she said, biting her lip bottom lip. “It’s a first. Tonight was a rare treat.” “I know who you are doc! But yes, a treat indeed,” he smirked, his eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite identify, something mystifying. “You should have more nights like this.” His tone was laced with some magnetic. "hmmmm," she responded. The music kept on pulsating. Talana was lost in the moment. As the music changed, Talana removed herself from the dance floor and headed back to her table. Grabbing her drink, the rest looked on in awe. "Oh my goodness, he's like a god," the one doctor said. Talana was trying to catch her breath when, "Mr. Max wants you to join him at his table," his authoritative voice commanded. "I'm out with friends," she responded aloof and cool. "Doc, how often do you get a guy like that hitting on you," they urged her. Giving them the skank eye, she relented and went over to his table, but not before saying she would make it up to them. Over at Max's table, she excused herself, going to the ladies' room. Max knew who she was, for years, he had desired her. As Talana was about to exit the ladies, a door pushed open, forcing her to the side. "missy!" the man said, his breath wreaking of old alcohol and cigarettes mixed with the scent of new. his face having a covering over it. Pushing her back inside, he forced her against the wall. "Such a fucking whore! I'll teach you a lesson!" he grabbed her inner thigh pushing his hand upwards to her pleasure point, Talana screamed for help. Sensing something was wrong, he went towards the ladies room, then a scream bellowed. "Angel!" his chest clamped tight. He didn’t hesitate, pushing the door open he pulled the male away from Talana. "I'll kill you, you piece of shit!" he screamed hitting the man across the face full force with a fist. Grabbing Talana he said in a gentle, calm tone, nothing like she had just experienced when he went at the assailant, "Are you okay Angel? Did that bastard hurt you or violate you?" "I'm okay," she stammered, all shaken from the experience. He wrapped her in his embrace, “It’s alright, angel, I’m here for you.” This meant war, Talana was meant to be his woman, but first, she would need to know her background. As they walked, she noticed him with a cigarette in hand. "You smoke!" she stated. "Why? don't you like it, angel?" he smirked. Truth was he only smoked when he had been drinking. "Not at all," she responded. She had also noticed the smell on him when they danced. "I'll keep that in mind," he responded, his lips at the sides curled upwards. As they entered the private room, she asked, "What's this?" "This, angel, is the V I P room. Here I can see everything that goes on," he explained as he led her to a window and stood behind her, pressing his hard torso hauntingly against her supple body. He wanted so badly to kiss her, but after the experience a few minutes back, he backed down. "Max," she said as she wiggled out from his embrace. "Relax angel," he answered, "you're safe with me. I promise I will not do anything to harm you or violate your trust in me." Talana didn't know what to make of this. She'd never even been with a guy. "What made you come here?" he asked curiously, "You're different from all the others that come here." "Different? How?" she asked, standing by the window looking out over the club scene below. "You're more sophisticated. I take you for someone who loves the opera, art galleries, and quiet dinners," he observed her reaction. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" she laughed softly. "I don't need charm angel, I call it as I see it," he said. "See those girls down there, they're here every week, flirting, dancing, and kissing any guy that gives them attention." "Jeez," she said. "You angel, don't belong in a place like this, but you do belong up here with me," he smirked at her. Gently tugging her away from the window, he guided her over to one of the plush couches. Handing her a glass, he said, "Drink, it will calm your nerves after what just happened." Accepting the glass she sipped on the neat whisky and ice, a warm burning sensation glided down the back of her throat, hitting her stomach with a warmth. A wisp of hair fell out of place, Massimo reached out and brushed it way gently, softly gazing into her eyes as his thumb grazed her bottom lip. "Come dance with me again, angel!" his tone, more fervent. For some reason, Talana felt comfortable with him. She felt she could trust him. Her body didn't shudder to repel him the way it did with the assailant in the ladies' room earlier. Pulling her down to the dance floor, he moved his body closer, pulling her tighter into him as the vibe of the music slowed down. His hands rested on her hips lightly as he effortlessly guided her, leaving her breathless. "You're good at dancing," she commended as he twirled her in his arms. "Angel, I'm good at a lot of things," he replied as his lips curved into a wicked grin, pulling her closer to him. As they moved closer, Massimo said, "Angel, you are playing with fire!" he smirked as he bent his head and kissed her forehead. As the song ended, he twirled her one last time as her back leaned against his chest, pressing close to him. "You're trouble, angel," he murmured, sending a shiver down her spine at the nickname he had given her. "And you're not?" she shot back. "I'm the kind of trouble you will never forget, the kind you don't take home,” he chuckled low and deep. Early hours of the morning - "I need to leave," Talana said as she checked the time on her phone. Massimo didn't like the idea of her leaving the club alone and decided to escort her to her car. Taking her soft, defined hand in his strong, firm calloused hand, his thumb rubbed over its back, igniting something deep inside. "Let me at least get you to your car, angel. After everything you've been through tonight. I need to know you will be safe out of here. Talana didn't reject his offer. Instead , he warmly accepted it. As they got to the car, he pushed her back against it. His body was hard pressed against hers. His warm breath hovering just above her lips, as his hand reached for her face, his thumb again grazing her lips. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice a rough caress against her soft skin. Talana stood there, mesmerised by Max. Her lips parted, but not a sound escaped. "Angel, tell me to stop because once I start, there will be no holding back. I can barely control myself now,” he said again. Her body responded before her mind to tell her to resist. Her fingers curled into the silk fabric of his shirt, gripping him, silently begging him not to stop. Was it the alcohol that untamed the uaually very controlled and calm Doctor Fabrizio? Max’s lips captured hers, slow but possessive. A kiss that burned, setting her on fire. He pulled her closer, deepening the intensity, tasting, and exploring every ounch of her mouth. Max's hands explored the contours of her body as her back arch, her body moulding into his. His one hand clasping the back of her nape, angling her her head as he deepened their kiss. His other hand gripped her dress as though he wanted to rip it off. His mouth left her lips, trailing the side of her neck just below her ear. "Angel," he growled. Talana let out a sultry moan as he pulled her tighter, allowing her to feel the full hardness of his arouressing against her. Heat coiled within her moistening the region between her thighs. His hands trailed still lower, slipping under the hem of her dress as his fingers ghosted across the skin of her inner thigh teasing her. "Fuck angel," he rasped, "you have no idea what you're doing to me!" Talana trembled under his touch, a feeling within her; a flame she'd never felt before. "Don't," she cried. Those words nearly undid him. "You're so wet for me, angel." And just like that, just as she felt herself unravelling for him, Max stopped. With a force, he pulled away. Both were left breathless and wanton. "No, not like this, angel " he rasped, "not when I want to take my time with you. Make you feel every igniting desire. Not when I need you too freaking much." "Get in the car," he ordered, his voice strained with desire. "Please angel, before I forget that I'm trying to be a gentleman. Soon, soon I will make you mine," he muttered.The air in Tangier was thick with salt and spice, clinging to the skin like memory. Talana stood on the terrace of the El Minzah Hotel, her eyes scanning the glimmering shoreline. From here, the city looked like a dream painted in gold and ivory, but beneath it pulsed the dark arteries of a world she had come to cleanse."They confirmed," Aria said behind her. "Five syndicates. All sending senior delegates. De Marco’s ghosts will be there."Talana nodded. Her tailored suit was bone-white, the color of surrender and burial shrouds, she intended to give them both."Have the Blood Orchids arrived?"Aria handed her a velvet-lined case. Inside, six black orchids, genetically altered, poisoned at the tips. A symbol. A threat. A promise.Talana closed the case. "Place one at every table."Aria raised a brow. "Subtle.""Not meant to be."The summit was to take place in the old Palais du Bey, a forgotten fortress now reclaimed for its beauty and brutality. It had once been a house of concubine
The sky over Florence was a brittle shade of winter blue, the kind that seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to break. Inside the private chapel of the Sanchiano estate, nothing moved except for the golden flicker of votive candles, casting long shadows against ancient stone walls. The altar was cleared. The icons veiled. What was about to take place here wasn’t sanctioned by Church or law, it belonged to something older.Talana stood at the head of the nave, a tailored black suit replacing the bloodied silks of war. Her hair was swept back, a single strand curling free against her cheek. On her finger, the Sanchiano ring gleamed. No tiara. No crown. Just the weight of inheritance.Gianna stood to her right, fierce and calm in a dark crimson coat, holding the family ledger in gloved hands. Aria was on her left, silent but coiled, a blade beneath her dress. Massimo remained behind her, the only one who knew what it had cost to stand here.The pews were filled not with pries
The morning broke grey over the Tuscan hills, mist crawling low over the vineyards like secrets trying to find their voice. The doorbell rang, a courier from the pathologist brought the envelope. Talana, was the first one up. She received the report and now stood at the edge of the terrace, the wond tugging at her sleeves, envelope in hand. Massimo walked behind her, two mugs of coffee in hand. "You not going to open it?" He asked handing her, her cup. Wrapping her hands around its warmth, envelope under her arm now. "I will, I just need to brace for whatever the results are."He took the mug from her hands, "Open it Bella Mia."Talana opened the envelope and read the results her eyes widening in confusion. "And?" Massimo asked. "Negative," she responded, "the results are negative."She stood there, the image of her mother still echoed in her mind, even though she now knew the woman in the photograph wasn't Rosalina.Whoever had written the letter and taken that photo had gone to
The photograph sat on the desk like a relic from another life. Talana stared at it for the third hour straight, as if her mother might suddenly blink or speak from within the frame. The woman in the image looked older, gaunter, her face more drawn than Talana remembered, but the eyes were the same. Rosalina Sanchiano, alive in 2019. Or someone who wore her face.She couldn’t stop turning the question in her mind: "Was this the truth, or another carefully laid lie? A misdirection planted by De Marco before his fall? A ghost conjured to unsettle her?"Behind her, the door opened without a knock. Massimo stepped in, silent as shadow, a glass of water in his hand. He placed it beside her, brushing his fingers against hers. "Still no sleep angel?" he asked gently.She shook her head. "How can I sleep when every answer opens a deeper question?"Massimo looked at the photo, then the letter. He picked it up, scanned it again slowly, as if trying to absorb every stroke of the pen. When he fini
The scent of old paper and cold stone filled the study buried beneath the east wing of the estate. Talana sat alone at the massive oak desk, the flickering lamplight casting her shadow long across the walls. Before her lay a single scrap of paper, aged, yellowed, but unmistakably deliberate.“La madre non è mai morta.”The mother was never dead.She must have read it at least twenty times already, memorized the slope of each letter, the smudge on the edge, the tilt of the final dot. It wasn’t Pablo’s handwriting. It wasn’t De Marco’s. It was from someone who wanted her to know something, or suffer from believing it.Her hands shook as she folded the note again. Was it real? A trap? Hope? Madness?The door creaked as Mariano entered, his steps slow, careful. He carried no gun, no files, no bravado. Just his eyes, which avoided hers.“Close the door,” Talana said quietly.He obeyed. The heavy click echoed like a judgment in the silence.She turned, lifting the note. “Who gave this to me
Talana lingered in the kiss, letting her lips soften against his, the night wrapping around them like silk. When she finally pulled back, her forehead remained against Massimo’s chest. His heartbeat was steady, but low, a sound she had come to rely on like a compass in a world that had spun far too many times.“Do you think we’ll ever stop counting losses?” she whispered.Massimo didn’t answer right away. His hand found hers on the rail, fingers interlacing. “No,” he said. “But maybe we can stop bleeding from them.”They stood like that for a while, two warriors dressed in night air and silence. Below, the sea growled softly, as if trying to keep its secrets.A knock came at the door behind them. Massimo turned. His posture shifted, not tensed, not hostile, but alert. He glanced at Talana before moving back inside.“Come in.”It was Marco, one of Mariano’s oldest men, graying at the temples, trench lines etched into his face like carved marble. He held a leather-bound case against his
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