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Not who he really is
Dernière mise à jour:
2025-09-02 19:03:55
Latest chapter
Disguised to kill the mafia heir Low levels
Franco’s POV His grin cracked. A twitch in the corner of his mouth. “What did you just say?” Anthonio’s voice dropped. “I said,” I straightened, water dripping down my jaw, “are you the dog… or the bone?” For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then his smile returned, uglier this time, stretched thin with rage. “Mind your words here, Franco,” he hissed. “In this place, there’s hierarchy. And you—” he jabbed a finger hard against my chest, right where the bandages soaked through “you’re at the bottom. You’ll stay at the bottom.” “And why,” I purred, “are you so sure of that?” He laughed. Not because it was funny, but because he wanted to cover the crack in his confidence. “Because you thought it was smart to fight one-on-one with Lord Matteo.” I let the corner of my mouth curl. “I know what’s going on,” I said, my voice steady, calm. “None of you can survive going one-on-one with Lord Matteo. But now that I did it, it’s pricked your fragile egos. The idea that someone beneath you
Disguised to kill the mafia heir Broken memory
Franco’s POV I ran, my bare feet slapping against the rough floor, the air thick with dust and the reek of rot. My voice sliced through the path. “I’ll catch you, Federica….” She shrieked with laughter ahead of me, weaving between obstacles. She thinks she can outrun me.I lunged. My body collided with hers, and we tumbled across the dirt, grit grinding into our skin, hair tangled with dust. She rolled over, wide-eyed, panting, cheeks red with life. “How… how could you even run faster than me?” I laughed. “Simple,” I replied, brushing dirt from my lips. “You’re just slow.” Her pout was adorable. “That’s not fair” it wasn’t always like this. We once in an orphanage—four walls, one meal, and rules that I was stubborn to follow. But when they came for me, saying that I was going to be the only one adopted, I refused. I wouldn’t leave my twin behind. So we ran. Into the world that didn’t give a damn if we starved or rotted. We learned quickly. Scraps became feasts. Leftover
Disguised to kill the mafia heir Not who he really is
Matteo’s POV I sat at the edge of the bed, the mirror catching every ugly angle of the bastard’s handiwork. My jaw throbbed where Franco’s knuckles had kissed bone. I dabbed antiseptic over the cut, the sting biting deep, and I almost smiled at it. Pain doesn’t bother me. It reminds me I’m still human—barely. The bandage stuck halfway when I tilted my head, studying the bruise blooming across my cheek like a fucked-up masterpiece. Franco landed a good one. But that wasn’t what gnawed at me. What twisted in my chest was the fact I held back. I didn’t go full strength on him. Why the fuck didn’t I? I strapped the last of the gauze around my jaw, tugged it firm, and leaned back in the bed. The image of Franco pinned beneath me. My weight pressing him into the floor. It felt familiar. A knock split the thought in half, dragging me back from the edge of memory. “Matteo,” came the butler’s voice. I pushed off the bed, rolling my sore jaw before I crossed the room and yanked open
Disguised to kill the mafia heir Love isn’t a good thing
Franco’s POV I feared for a split second that he would recognize me, that the name Franco wouldn’t be enough to mask the truth beneath my skin. But what stared back at me wasn’t recognition. It was disgust. That same look I remembered from the end. The look that told me I was no longer enough. He shoved the supplies toward me. “I was told to bring this to you, Franco.” His tone was clipped, detached, as though even standing there dirtied him. My hand trembled for a heartbeat before I snapped myself out of it, snatching the kit from him without a word. His jaw flexed, irritation flashing in his eyes. “I was also told to treat your wounds.” “No,” I cut in, voice rough but steady. “I’ll do it myself.” That wall of rejection—the one I’d spent years tearing my fists bloody against—slammed back into me with brutal force. Memories of everything all crashed down on me at once. Antonio’s nostrils flared, his annoyance sharp. “Do whatever the hell you want. If you bleed out, it’s not
Disguised to kill the mafia heir Crushed under
Franco’s POV Il Campo di Sangue. The name of the field we were to fight on. Blood and soil, a canvas made for me to paint in red. I smiled slowly, letting him see just enough of my teeth to make it unclear if it was amusement… or hunger. “I love the name,” I purred, my voice low, savoring the syllables as if they were already dripping with his blood. In my head, I saw it clearly—his body folded under me, his breath rattling as I drove the life out of him. The great Matteo, brought to his knees in his own sacred field. Would I survive him? Maybe not. His strength radiated off him in waves, a predator’s dominance. But arrogance was my armor, and cruelty was sharper than steel. If I could not overpower him, I could unmake him. Break him from the inside out. I tilted my head, feigning curiosity, but every word was a sharpened barb. “Are we using weapons,” I asked, voice slow, deliberate, “or are you too much of a pussy to stand with only your hands?” His jaw flexed. For the brie
Disguised to kill the mafia heir Round the neck
Matteo’s POV I leaned against the railing of the estate’s upper balcony, the breeze toying with the hem of my unbuttoned black silk shirt. Binoculars perched against my eyes, I scanned the maze garden with all the calm of a man watching Sunday cartoons, except these episodes bled.Blood was everywhere. smudges of red on the hedge wall. A body slumped like a discarded puppet. Screams muffled by the high hedges. I didn’t bother telling the applicants everything they’d encounter. Where’s the fun in that? The butler warned them it’d be dangerous. Just enough of a disclaimer to keep the lawsuits away. Not that anyone here gave a damn about legality. See, inside the maze, there weren’t just scared little wannabes trying to prove they were worthy of the De Luca syndicate. No. I’d slipped in some rogues, traitors, loose ends, thorns in my side. People who thought they could go against me and live to brag about it. The kind of men with grudges in their bones and death behind their eyes.
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