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CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride
CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride
Author: Hewrite

Chapter 1

Author: Hewrite
last update Last Updated: 2025-09-08 02:21:22

~ANYA POV~

“Yaya!”

The shout cut through the bass-heavy music pounding inside CÉRRO Nightclub. I didn’t need to look up from the drink I was mixing to know it was Athena.

Only she called me that.

I glanced anyway. There she was, strutting across the bar like she owned it—blonde hair glowing under the neon lights, lips glossed to perfection, and that mischievous grin plastered across her face. The grin that meant trouble.

“No,” I said flatly, sliding the cocktail across to the waiting customer.

He didn’t take the drink right away. His eyes were too busy glued to my chest. Typical.

“Would you like anything else, sir?” I asked, forcing my voice into customer-service-sweetness.

“Yeah,” he yelled over the music, leaning way too close. “Your number.” I clenched my jaw. Great. Another drunk who thought spitting on me while shouting counted as flirting.

He wasn’t ugly—late twenties, maybe, with dirty-blonde hair and a smirk that screamed “I’ve watched Wolf of Wall Street too many times.” But still. Not my type.

“You know…” he dragged out the words, breath smelling like cheap whiskey, “I could take you outta here. No more slinging drinks. No more shitty customers. Just me. You. Shiny things.”

I almost laughed. His order was the cheapest drink on the menu. Shiny things? The only shiny thing he could probably afford was a discount keychain from the gift shop across the street.

Behind me, Athena was trying not to burst into giggles. My annoyance must’ve been written all over my face.

“Why so quiet, baby girl?” he asked, raising his brows like he’d just dropped the line of the century.

I gave him the fakest smile in my arsenal. “Not interested. Thank you.”

Then I spun on my heel and walked away before he could argue. Rule number one of bartending: never let them think they’re winning.

Athena was waiting, leaning against the counter with a piece of paper in her hand. She fluttered her lashes at me.

“What now?” I asked, wiping down the sticky counter with a rag.

She slapped the paper against my chest. “Another love note. From Mr. Tall, Dark, and Probably Toxic.”

I sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re my best friend, not my girlfriend.”

She gasped dramatically, clutching her heart. “Tragic. Rejected again.” Then she tossed her blonde hair and sauntered off like the stage queen she was.

I shook my head, grabbed the next set of orders, and let my hands do the work. Mojito. Sidecar. Californication. Quick, smooth, automatic. Bartending was muscle memory now.

When I pushed the tray back to Athena, she shoved it right back.

“Not me. I need the ladies’ room. Or maybe the men’s.” She winked, then disappeared into the crowd, leaving me stuck with delivery duty.

“Of course you do,” I muttered.

***********************

“Mattie, cover me for two minutes,” I told our co-worker, balancing the tray.

“What’s in it for me, sweet cheeks?” Mattie smirked, adjusting his perfectly tailored vest. He was hot enough to make the straight girls swoon and just gay enough to never let them forget it.

I winked badly. “A back-alley makeout.”

He recoiled, fanning himself dramatically. “As if. Standards, babe.”

“Fine, fine,” I laughed, weaving into the crowd with the tray.

The drinks were for a table shoved into the corner—teenagers, barely legal, all pretending they weren’t. I dropped the tray onto the sticky surface, plastered on my fake smile, and bailed before one of them tried to ask if I knew where to score pills.

“Fuck my life,” I muttered under my breath, heading back to the bar.

Here’s the thing: I really do love my job. Loud music, flashing lights, endless chaos—London nightlife is its own beast, and I thrive in it. Wild. Free. Untouchable.

That’s me.

But sometimes….just sometimes….the loneliness hit. Being thousands of miles away from Mijas, from family, from the warm sun and sea breeze… it stung in the quiet moments.

Not that there were many quiet moments at CÉRRO.

At least I had Athena. She wasn’t just my co-worker. She was my childhood best friend, my roommate, my partner in crime. Tall, legs for days, and curves that made men trip over themselves. Compared to her, I was the shorter, curvier, redheaded best friend with a resting-bitch-face.

But hey…..I had my looks. I knew I was beautiful. I didn’t need anyone else to tell me that.

“Yaya!” Athena’s voice yanked me out of my little daydream again. She snapped her fingers in my face.

“Hello? Earth to main character?”

I blinked. “Sorry. Zoned out.”

She rolled her eyes, then leaned closer like she was about to spill a secret. Before she could, Mattie’s voice cut through: “Closing time countdown, babies. Two more hours!”

Two more hours. I could make it. Then home, bed, peace.

Still…

Abuela’s old words echoed in my head: “Cuando el alma se inquieta, algo viene detrás.” (When the soul feels restless, something is on its way.)

And tonight? My soul was restless.

I just didn’t know why.

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  • CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride    171

    THE YELLOW DRESS~ANYA POV~The balcony looked out onto a pretty garden that someone had clearly taken good care of for a long time. Roses grew on trellises and lavender was planted in neat rows, making the air smell nice when the wind blew. I sat in a metal chair with my feet tucked under me, a book on my lap, but I hadn't actually read any of it for twenty minutes.The yellow dress was in the closet when I woke up. It had flowers on it, fit me well at the top, and the skirt ended just below my knees. It looked fancy, like the kind of style French women have. I wore it because my old clothes from Porto were packed away somewhere and wearing César's gifts felt like the path of least resistance.I hated that it fit perfectly.Hated that when I looked in the mirror I saw someone who looked healthy, who looked rested, who looked like a woman living a good life instead of a captive plotting her escape.My hair had grown out over the months of hiding, the cheap dye I'd been using to ke

  • CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride    170

    THE MEETING~CÉSAR POV~The meeting room upstairs smelled like fancy cigars and old fancy cologne.I sat at the head of the table with my hands folded in front of me while five men who thought they had power tried to explain why they had let a shipment get blocked by the French authorities.Pathetic.All of them.I could see the sweat beading on Moreau's forehead even though the room was climate-controlled. I could see the way Dmitri's hand kept twitching toward his inside pocket where he probably had a gun he was too scared to actually draw.I could see the calculation in Romano's eyes as he tried to figure out if throwing his partners under the bus would save his own skin."The intel was solid," Moreau was saying, his French accent thicker than usual because fear always made people revert to their native tongues. "We had the routes mapped, the customs officials paid off, everything in place.....""And yet," I interrupted, my voice quiet, "thirty million euros worth of product is no

  • CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride    169

    PARIS~ANYA POV~The house in Paris wasn't what I expected.I was expecting something over the top, something that showed off money and power, like that mansion in Marbella. It had gold everything, marble floors, and rooms so huge they felt cold and impersonal.but when the car pulled up to a narrow street in the Marais district and César said "we're here," I found myself staring at something completely different.It was small by his standards, maybe four bedrooms, tucked between other historic buildings with cream-colored stone and black wrought iron balconies and window boxes that someone had planted with geraniums that were just starting to bloom.It looked like a home.It's not a fotress. It's not showing off. Just a beautiful Parisian townhouse on a quiet street where children were playing in a small park across the way and an old woman was walking her dog and everything felt so achingly normal that something in my chest twisted."This is yours?" I asked as César unlocked the f

  • CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride    168

    THE BLOOD~ANYA POV~Someone knocked at 11:14 PM. It was a loud knock. I was half-asleep on the couch, reading a book I wasn't paying attention to.I knew it was him before I even checked the peephole. The guards downstairs would have stopped anyone else.I opened the door and César was standing there with blood on his shirt.Not a little blood. Not a nosebleed or a cut from shaving.His white dress shirt was soaked through on the right side, dark and wet, and there were spatters across his collar and his jaw, and his hands were still dripping slightly like he had tried to wash them but given up halfway through."You can't come here like this," I hissed, blocking the doorway even though we both knew I couldn't actually stop him from entering."Where else would I go?" he asked, and he sounded tired, genuinely tired, like whatever had happened tonight had taken something out of him.He walked past me into the apartment, not pushing exactly but just moving forward with the absolute certa

  • CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride    167

    THE CONTROL TACTICS 2~ANYA POV~The clothes started appearing three days later, expensive items that definitely weren't from the discount store where I usually shopped, designer labels I recognized from my brief time as César's wife when he had dressed me up like a doll.I found them hanging in my closet when I went to get dressed for work, simple but well-made pieces that would have cost more than I made in a month—a soft grey sweater, dark jeans that actually fit properly, a dress in deep blue that I immediately shoved to the back.Because I knew if I looked at it too long I'd remember the last time César had bought me a yellow dress, the last time I had worn something beautiful before everything turned ugly."I didn't ask for these," I said that evening when César showed up, gesturing at the closet."I know," he replied, not even looking up from where he was helping Marcello build a block tower. "But your clothes are falling apart, Anya. You deserve better.""I don't want them.""

  • CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride    166

    THE CONTROL TACTICS 1~ANYA POV~The armed guards showed up on Tuesday, two of them stationed outside the building entrance like silent statues in black suits who nodded at me when I left for work and again when I came home.And I hated them.I hated the way they made the neighbors stare and whisper, hated the way they made it impossible to pretend I was still just Ana Silva, normal single mother, instead of Anya Torres, prisoner with a very expensive security detail.The bulletproof windows were installed on Wednesday, heavy panels that made the apartment darker and more claustrophobic.And when I complained César just looked at me with that patient expression he had perfected and said "Would you rather have regular glass when the next assassin comes?" And I had no answer for that because he was right, because Diaz's man had proven that being connected to César Navarro made me and Marcello targets whether I liked it or not.By Friday the panic room was finished, a reinforced closet

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