Mag-log inImran Khan’s life falls apart the day his father disappears, leaving him drowning in debt and hunted by dangerous men. With no way out, he makes a desperate choice, selling one night of his life to a stranger. But that stranger turns out to be Rafaelle Moretti, a powerful and dangerous man who doesn’t just want one night… he wants control. What starts as a deal quickly turns into something darker. Possession. Power. Desire. Imran wants freedom. Rafaelle doesn’t let go. “Say my name, Gattino.” His voice came out low, smooth, and controlled, the kind that didn’t need to be loud to make your body react. It wrapped around me, heavy and dangerous, as his body pressed mine deeper into the mattress. I could feel the weight of him, solid and unyielding, hovering just enough to remind me that I wasn’t going anywhere unless he allowed it. I swallowed, my throat dry, my chest rising and falling too fast. Even thinking his name felt like stepping into something I couldn’t come back from. His hand pinned my wrist above my head, not rough, not painful, just firm enough to remind me who was in control. The other slid slowly along my side, fingers dragging in a way that made my skin heat up against my will. Every touch was deliberate, like he was studying me, learning how I reacted without me saying a word. “Say it,” he murmured again, his face closer now, his breath warm against my lips.
view moreIMRAN'S POV People like to say that the truth always wins. They're wrong. The truth doesn't win on its own. Someone has to protect it. Someone has to carry it. Someone has to refuse to let it die. Several months had passed since everything changed, and every morning I woke up, I still found myself expecting the world to fall apart all over again. Instead, it kept moving. For the first time in years, it moved forward. The evidence we recovered from the estate had done exactly what my father had always believed it would do. One confession led to another. One arrest uncovered ten more names. Secret bank accounts were frozen. Properties were seized. Companies that had existed only to wash dirty money shut their doors. Politicians who once stood proudly behind podiums were escorted into courtrooms in handcuffs. Police officers who had sworn to protect innocent people were exposed for selling justice to the highest bidder. Businessmen who built their fortunes on fear and c
IMRAN'S POV There are moments that divide a life into two parts. The person you were before. The person you become after. As Pierre and I stood inside the hidden room tucked behind the moving bookshelf, I realized I was standing at the exact place my father had died trying to protect. The room wasn't large, but every inch of it carried the weight of years. Metal shelves stretched from one wall to another, each lined with carefully labeled boxes, folders, ledgers, encrypted hard drives, flash drives, old laptops, stacks of sealed envelopes, and rows of filing cabinets. A large steel safe sat against the far wall, its heavy door hanging slightly open, as though someone had searched through it in a hurry but never returned to finish. Dust floated through the thin beam of light spilling in from the secret doorway. The air smelled old, stale, forgotten. Pierre slowly turned in a circle. "My God..." I couldn't answer him. My throat had tightened too much. For years, I'd imagine
Raffaele's POV I had buried too many people to mistake desperation for courage. The moment our convoy stopped outside the estate, I stepped out into the heavy silence hanging over the property. The mansion looked almost untouched from the outside, its grand walls standing proudly beneath the gray afternoon sky, but I knew better than to trust appearances. Men who believed they had nothing left to lose were always the most dangerous, and the people waiting inside this place knew exactly what failure would cost them. I looked over the men gathered behind me. Not the biggest army I had ever commanded. Not even close. Just the ones who had chosen to stay. Some carried fresh bandages beneath their jackets, others wore exhaustion on their faces after days without proper sleep. None of them complained. None of them asked whether this mission was worth the risk. They already knew the answer. "If we fail today," I said quietly, letting my gaze settle on every face, "he disappears, th
Imran's POV I was done being protected. The realization settled inside me sometime before dawn, somewhere between staring at another stack of copied documents and listening to the distant sound of rain tapping against the windows. It wasn't anger anymore. It wasn't pride, either. It was something quieter, something steadier. If everything we'd fought for could disappear because I stayed hidden behind locked doors, then hiding wasn't protecting anyone. It was delaying the inevitable. Pierre looked up from the laptop, rubbing at his tired eyes before glancing in my direction. "You've been staring at that same page for ten minutes." "I know." "You planning to read it, or intimidate it into giving you answers?" A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "You sound better." "I feel terrible," he admitted with a weak grin. "I'm just choosing to complain about it." "That's definitely you." He leaned back carefully, still recovering from everything he'd been through. "You should
༒ ℜ𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔞𝔢𝔩𝔢༒My grandfather never called meetings without purpose.Every conversation with him meant something, every silence carried weight, every word was calculated before it left his mouth. That was how he survived long enough to build the Morretti empire into what it was now. Men feared
༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒ I didn’t even notice when my phone vibrated in my pocket. The club was too loud, too full, bodies moving everywhere, voices overlapping, music hitting so hard it felt like it was inside my chest. I had just gotten to work not long after those men left my apartment, and I still hadn’t
༒ ℜ𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔞𝔢𝔩𝔢༒ Family dinners like this were always the same, just dressed differently depending on who was sitting at the table. Expensive food, polished smiles, conversations layered with meaning that no one said out loud. I sat there, glass of wine in hand, barely touching it, already count
༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒ “Say my name, Gattino.” His voice came out low, smooth, and controlled, the kind that didn’t need to be loud to make your body react. It wrapped around me, heavy and dangerous, as his body pressed mine deeper into the mattress. I could feel the weight of him, solid and unyielding,





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