The Godfather’s Favorite

Ava’s Perspective

Whiskey burned my throat, blurring the empty engagement chamber around me.

I’d dressed in delicate lace. Lit every candle. Waited like the obedient Holy Maiden of the Morgan family—pure, silent, ready to seal my fate with Bill.

My only goal? Keep my dying brother Jasper alive. Secure his hospital treatment. Stop him from rotting away in that bed.

But Bill didn’t even glance at me.

His phone buzzed. Julian—his cousin.

He shoved me aside like I was trash, sneering one word that still cuts my chest: cheap.

Then he walked out. No second glance. No apology. Nothing.

All my hope. All my resolve. Shattered in one breath.

I drank until the bottle was empty. Until loneliness wrapped around me like a freezing blanket.

I was desperate. Desperate to feel wanted. Desperate to forget how worthless I was. Desperate to erase the cold truth—I was just a tool, to be used and thrown away.

The door creaked open. A tall, shadowy figure stepped in.

I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

The dim light and whiskey blurred his face; I only saw the silhouette I’d been waiting for. So I threw myself into his arms. Kissed him hard, hungry, messy. Clung to him like he was the last lifeline in my drowning world.

Until his breath brushed my tongue—tobacco and whiskey, dark and dangerous.

Nothing like Bill’s clean citrus scent.

Ice flooded my veins.

I froze.

“Eager, future sister‑in‑law?”

A low, mocking laugh filled the room—but it lacked the sharp cruelty I feared. More tease than threat.

I lifted my head. Stared into a pair of dark, unreadable eyes.

No malice. Just a faint glint of amusement—like he’d been watching me all along.

Alexander Clarke.

Bill’s elder brother.

The ruthless mafia boss even devils fear.

Up close, though? His jaw was sharp. His eyes warm enough to melt the ice in my veins—if only for a second.

Panic exploded in my chest. Sharp. Suffocating.

My hands scrambled to push him away. But his hand moved between my legs—rough, but not merciless. Firm, not cruel—forcing me back against the bed.

Strength drained from my body. Pleasure warred with terror, twisting in my gut until I thought I’d break.

Tears stung my eyes. Hot. Helpless.

“Why?” I whimpered. My lips bleed from biting down too hard, metallic taste mixing with the shame of my mistake.

His thumb brushed gently over my bottom lip, wiping away the blood. A small, unconscious gesture that made my breath catch.

He leaned in, dark eyes softening just a hair as he toyed with me. Every inch of him radiated dangerous power—but not the unrelenting cruelty I’d feared.

“You threw yourself at me, Ava. Now you play the scared virgin?”

I had no defense. No way to deny I’d clung to him first.

If the Morgan family found out? Execution.

If Bill found out? Jasper dies.

Alexander knew it. Knew every weakness, every secret, every string to yank to control me.

But his gaze lingered on my tearstained face. Like he hated seeing me cry.

He tossed his jacket over my shaking, naked body—warm, still carrying his scent. Cigarette smoke curled around his sharp jaw.

His voice dropped, deadly and quiet, only for my ears. But there was a faint undercurrent of softness.

“Your fiancé isn’t thinking about you. But I’m thinking about you—every secret that can destroy you, every tear you’re trying to hide.”

I stared at him, blood turning to ice. His calloused finger traced a slow, menacing path down my neck—light enough to tease, heavy enough to remind me.

He held my life. And Jasper’s. In the palm of his hand.

When his finger brushed the pulse at my throat, he paused. As if checking I was still breathing. Then kept going.

“You thought last night was a mistake?” He smiled, cruel and knowing, smoke curling from his lips. But his fingers brushed a strand of hair behind my ear—a gentle gesture that felt out of place.

“This was no accident, Ava. I now hold your life—and your brother’s life—in my hand. Breathe a word of this. Try to run. And both of you will pay.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn’t speak.

He didn’t mock me for it.

His finger brushed a tear away, soft, almost gentle. So unexpected it made my breath catch.

He froze, jaw tightening like he hated his own tenderness. Hated showing even a flicker of softness toward me.

But he didn’t pull his hand away. Let his thumb rest lightly on my cheek for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“Cat got your tongue?” he drawled, tone sharpening to mask his unease. But his voice was softer than before.

“Since you think I took advantage, I’ll take you to watch Bill and Julian fuck. See what you’re so desperate to hold onto.”

His finger rested lightly at my throat—not a threat. An anchor. Like he was afraid I’d collapse if he let go.

“This wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice I made.” He corrected, smile still cruel, but eyes softening almost imperceptibly. Warm enough to make my heart flutter.

“I hold your life. I hold Jasper’s. Don’t mistake this for mercy.”

He leaned closer, voice low and final. But his hand moved to my elbow, gently helping me sit up—careful not to hurt me.

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

I lay there, trembling. Trapped between the devil I’d just kissed and the hell I’d spent my whole life trying to escape.

I knew exactly what he was doing—using me to get to Bill, to humiliate him where it hurt most.

Even if it was just exploitation, it was better than being discarded like trash, forgotten and worthless.

But for the first time, I didn’t feel entirely hopeless.

Not with the faint warmth of his jacket around me. Not with the memory of his gentle touches.

All my life, I’d been cold—cold from neglect, cold from being unwanted, cold from the endless cruelty of the Morgans and Bill.

I’d grown used to it. Accepted it as my fate.

But he’d wrapped me in his jacket. A small, fleeting act of warmth I never expected.

Maybe this was just a game to him. Maybe I was nothing but a tool to use against Bill, a pawn in his mafia games.

But even so—being used meant I had value.

Better to be a weapon in his hand than a forgotten doll rotting away, useless and unwanted. Being used is fine; even if I’m just a tool for revenge, at least I have value.

I was a Holy Maiden.

Chastity was my life.

But tonight, I’d been touched by the devil.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if that was a curse—or a gift.