LOGINWARNING ⚠️: CONTAINS EXPLICIT SCENES AND SUITABLE FOR 18+ When Senator Rivera’s secrets come due, his daughter becomes the collateral. Celeste Rivera thought her worst heartbreak was a broken engagement, not until her father sells her to Azrael Valenti, the ruthless mafia boss who rules Sicily with blood to save himself and political seat. Azrael wants her for one reason: revenge. The spoiled senator’s daughter humiliated him once. Now she’s his fiancée, his possession, his plaything… whether she agrees or not. And she might just ruin him anyway.
View MoreThe Don's PovThe cemetery was twenty minutes outside Palermo.I came alone. I always came alone. My men knew better than to follow me here — not because I had forbidden it, though I had, but because there were limits to what loyalty required and watching an old man talk to a grave was beyond them.The drive was quiet. The kind of quiet I had stopped fighting somewhere in my sixties, when I'd finally understood that silence wasn't empty. It was just everything you weren't saying, collected.I had a great deal collected.The cemetery sat on a hillside, old stone walls, cypress trees standing like they'd been placed by someone with strong opinions about atmosphere. The morning was cool. October in Sicily always arrived with manners — politely cold, apologetically gray, nothing like the violence of August.Alessia's grave was in the far corner, under the cypress nearest the wall. Simple marble. Her name, her dates, a small carved lily because she had loved them and I had remembered and t
''Celeste's POV''The thing about sitting still was that it gave your brain too much material to work with.And my brain, left unsupervised, was a menace.It had been doing this thing lately where it replayed moments I hadn't even known I was storing. Not the dramatic ones — not the arguments or the near-death experiences or the time Azrael had looked at me across a room like I was either the best or worst thing that had ever happened to him and honestly both felt accurate. No. My brain, being specifically cruel, had decided to archive the small things.The way he'd handed me a glass of water once without being asked, like he'd simply noticed I needed it.The half-second before he smiled, when you could see him deciding whether to bother hiding it.The way he'd said my name — not 'Celeste' like my father said it, clipped and proprietary — but like it was a complete sentence on its own.I was eating toast at my father's kitchen island at 7am, thinking about this, when I decided I was d
''Azrael's POV''They left me alone at 9am with half a loaf of bread, specific instructions not to die, and a list of things I was not permitted to do that Liora had written on actual paper and stuck to the refrigerator with a lemon-shaped magnet.The list read:'1. No cliffs.''2. No water.''3. No wandering.''4. No wandering and calling it something else.''5. Eat the soup on the stove.''6. Do not touch Auntie's radio.''7. If something hurts, sit down. Do not "push through it." You are not competing in anything.'I read it twice. Found it both deeply patronizing and oddly touching. Stuck it back under the lemon magnet and made myself coffee.The argument about whether they should go had started at breakfast and concluded approximately forty minutes later with Liora's aunt winning through sheer force of personality and a speech about how the market in the village only had fresh anchovies on Tuesdays and if they missed it they'd have to wait another week and she was not, she made c
Azrael's POVI found the boats by accident.In my defense, I wasn't supposed to be outside. I was aware of this. The island rules had been recited to me with such frequency that I could probably recite them backwards in my sleep — don't wander, don't go to the cliffs, don't go near the deep water, don't exist unsupervised in any capacity that might give Liora's aunt another reason to curse at me in Italian.But it was a Tuesday. Or possibly a Wednesday. Time moved differently on Linosa, slow and thick like honey, and I had spent the morning watching a gecko on the bedroom wall and wondering if this was what losing your mind felt like or if it had always looked this peaceful.I needed air.The path behind the house led up a slight rise between two ancient walls of volcanic rock, and if you followed it far enough you came out on a flat shelf that overlooked the northern water. I'd found it three days ago during what I was officially calling 'a supervised walk that ran slightly long.' Li
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