ELENA
THEY'RE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF, THEY SAY—Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. Scratch out the last part. There's no way in hell I'm accepting the murder of my brother. That's no way to honor my brother's death; revenge was. “Elena, over here!" A voice called loudly. "What are you doing? We have customers waiting over here.” I turned to my boss, biting back a response. You don't have to be so rude, sir! It's been a year since I held my brother in a pool of his own blood. I was deeply traumatized, even after I left. It broke my heart more and more every time I recalled that night. If I had listened to Marco and stayed at home, maybe he would still be alive. I moved out of our little apartment after conducting a self-arranged burial for my beloved brother. We had no friends and no relatives; it was just the two of us. Well, now it was just me. Settling into the city was difficult, as you can see, I'm still struggling to relate with people. I approached the table, forcing a smile. “Ma'am, what would you like to order?" I asked politely. The lady stared at me over, her expression harsh. “What took you so long? I've been sitting here for hours." Oh, come on, lady. It's barely been 10 minutes since you walked in here. I cleared my throat, holding it tighter onto my notepad. “I'm sorry, ma'am.” She scoffed. "Don't tell me sorry. You did this on purpose, right?” Oh God! "What?” "You got a problem with me? I know for sure that you left me here waiting on purpose.” She ranted. My lips parted to retort, but a man appeared behind me. He placed his palm lightly on my shoulder, and I immediately stepped back. His voice was calm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" he stopped, turning his attention to the lady. “Babe, relax. You're creating a scene." She glared at him. "No, I won't relax. Unless she tells me what her problem is with me. Is it because I'm prettier than she is? She is just jealous.” What the…? Someone better hold me or I'mma design this woman's face. The man looked at me, and back at the fuming woman, clearing his throat lightly. It dawned on me what his actions meant, and a snicker escaped my lips before I could hold it back in. Her eyes widened. “How dare you, Denver?" Confusion spread on his face. “What did I do now? Babe, you're creating a scene." He tried to touch her, but he slapped his hand away. Jerking to her feet, she pointed a finger at him. “You don't think I'm prettier than she is. How dare you embarrass me like this?" Oh God! She is such a drama queen. “Babe…” "You,” she turned to me next, "and you. You will regret this!” The next second, she was storming out of the restaurant. My boss appeared at this point, and I immediately excused myself. I won't stand and wait for his trouble too. I didn't step out of the kitchen after that, waiting for my boss to come reprimand me, but he didn't. However, I couldn't risk it. As soon as the clock struck 6, I left the restaurant. I got this job about a month after I moved to the city. I didn't really need the job for the pay, more like for the exposure it would offer me. Rome is a big city, and the restaurant stands at its heart. It was large and seldom less busy. Almost everyone came here, it was the perfect place to get the information I needed. “Hey!" A voice stopped me as I crossed the street. I turned abruptly, my guard rising. It was the guy from earlier. “Oh! It's just you." I exclaimed, exhaling. He chuckled. "Yes, it's just me. Were you expecting anyone else?” I shrugged. “Maybe your psycho girlfriend." His eyes lit up as he laughed. “Maybe! She'll probably break up with me after this, but it's all in good timing." Raising my brows, I took an unconscious step back. "Oh really? Well, that works for you.” "Well, I won't waste your time. There's this party tonight, and I'd love to see you. What do you think?” He stretched a small card to me. I scoffed. “You think I'll just show up to a party filled with strangers which I was invited to by a stranger?” "That's one way to see it. Another way to see it is as little time to yourself to unwind. You look like you need it." He said. I rolled my eyes. He's not going to give up! I took the card, stuffing it in my pocket without looking into it. “Think about it," he said. “Yeah, whatever.” I'd pick my bed, over any goddamn party. That was the thought that rang in my head as I walked out on him, but as I settled into my bed later that night, I found myself considering it all over again. He was right. I did need some time to unwind. My life was so frigid, stuck in the same daily routine. I had worked in the same place for a year, and I barely knew the names of my colleagues. I tried to shake the thought out of my head and sleep, but it was futile. So I got out of bed and began to get ready to step out into the world. For the first time in what felt like forever. The party was not what I expected it to be—it was better. While I worked as a waitress during the day, my hacking skills came in handy during the night, I was really renowned in the underground world. This party was just one they threw every now and then. “The Genius," I heard someone call out, and I turned immediately. “Conner, can you keep it down? That's supposed to be a secret, dude." I lashed at the dark-haired man who approached me. “I'm sorry, my lady. I'm just really surprised to see you here, you never leave that lair of yours." He said. I rolled my eyes. “This dude named Denver invited me, just thought to give it a try." He clicked his tongue. “Oh, my boy! He ain't here tonight." My face twisted. Did that asshole stand me up? Conner was still talking. “You never accepted any of my invitations, Russo. And yet you fall for Playboy Denver." He whistled lowly. I glared at him. “Get lost, Conner." He raised his hand in surrender, disappearing into the crowd. I rolled my eyes again, finding my way to the bar counter. Conner is just some dude; he is very reliable, though. He's like the middleman between my clients and me. Only that he's annoying as hell. As I settled into the stool, I felt someone's eyes on me. I would have left but since I was already here, I decided to stay. My bed does get lonely at times. I waited, but he didn't stop staring at me, so I turned to him. However, my eyes met him, and the words got stuck in my throat. Oh! .SAMANTHADavon stands by the door, his tie loosened just enough to make him look less like the powerful man everyone fears and more like the man I can’t seem to stop thinking about. His green eyes are fixed on me, sharp and unreadable, but burning with something that makes the air between us heavy—alive.I take a step back, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor. My heartbeat is too loud, my breathing uneven. I don’t know if it’s fear, anger, or something I don’t want to name.Davon doesn’t move at first. He just watches me, every small flicker of emotion on my face reflected in his gaze.“You’re nervous,” he says finally, his tone calm but edged with knowing.I give a short, dry laugh that sounds weaker than I’d like. “Nervous isn’t quite the word.”“Then what is?” he asks, stepping closer—slowly, deliberately. There’s purpose in every movement, the kind that reminds you he’s used to getting what he wants.“Trapped,” I say, forcing the word out even as my throat tightens
SAMANTHAI’m not sure what surprises me more—the room I’m standing in or the man I’ve just married.The ballroom sparkles like something out of a dream. The chandeliers are made of real crystal, each drop catching the light like tiny stars. The walls shimmer with gold leaf, and the polished floors are so smooth I can see the reflection of my dress trailing behind me. Everything here glows, from the laughter in the air to the clinking of champagne glasses. People move in graceful circles, whispering, smiling politely, measuring each other in the quiet language of power and wealth.And in the middle of it all stands Davon Rancho, the man everyone watches—the man I now call my husband.He looks impossibly sharp, his black suit tailored perfectly, his presence commanding without even trying. Every time I glance at him, I feel that same strange mixture of awe and unease.Meanwhile, I feel like an ornament—something beautiful to look at but too fragile to touch. Davon never strays far. His
SAMANTHA The fields spread endlessly before me, glowing under the soft afternoon sun. Rows of white roses and small wildflowers sway gently in the breeze, their scent light and sweet. Everything looks too perfect — like one of those dreams you never want to wake up from.But this isn’t a dream. It’s my wedding day.The sunlight is golden, but there’s a faint red hue creeping across the horizon, as though the day itself is bleeding into dusk. Rows of white chairs line the aisle, filled with people I’ve never met. I can tell most of them are from the Rancho family — Davon’s world. Their expensive clothes, polished shoes, and practiced smiles can’t hide the danger in their eyes.Among them, I spot two familiar faces — my mother and my best friend, Sofia. They sit in the front row, both looking anxious but proud. Mom wears a pale blue dress that softens her face, making her look younger, though her eyes are filled with emotion. Sofia gives me a small, nervous smile when our eyes meet. I
SAMANTHAWhen he stops walking, Davon Rancho stands close—so close that I can see the faint stubble darkening his sharp jawline. The air between us feels charged, heavy with tension and something else I can’t quite name. A subtle scent of cedarwood and smoke lingers around him, earthy and steady, just like his presence.“There’s always a choice,” he says quietly, his voice low but firm. There’s a trace of amusement there, like he’s testing me. “You made yours.”The words sound simple, but they hit harder than I expect. My chest tightens as I meet his gaze. He looks at me like he already knows how this story ends, like every move I make was already written in his book.His eyes drop to my lips for a brief moment before returning to mine. “Shall we?” he asks softly.Before I can find my voice, another man steps forward. I recognize him immediately—the same man I saw the night Davon came to my apartment. I had done my research afterward, reading everything I could about the Rancho family
SAMANTHAIt has been a week since a visit from the Mafia King of Nuova Speranza turned my world upside down.The morning sun spills softly through my window, golden and warm. Tiny drops of dew glimmer on the potted plants sitting on the sill, shining like little emeralds. The curtains sway gently with the breeze, carrying the smell of wet soil and sunlight. Everything feels calm — painfully calm — like the world doesn’t know what’s about to happen to me.I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the messy sheets, hoping for an answer that isn’t there. My apartment feels quiet and empty, holding its breath along with me.Today, I become Mrs. Davon Rancho.The thought makes my heart jump and my stomach twist. I press my hands against my thighs to stop them from shaking. I’ve thought through every possible escape, every desperate idea, but there’s no way out.This is the only way to keep my family safe.I whisper the words like a prayer. Protecting my mother — Mrs. Jones — is worth whateve
SAMANTHA “You think I don’t know that?” I snap, my voice rising with frustration. “But what choice do I have? He said if I refuse, he’ll come after my family. My mother.”On the other end of the line, Sofia lets out a shaky breath. I can hear her pacing, the soft thud of her footsteps echoing through the phone. “Sam, listen to me,” she says urgently. “You can’t do this. Men like him—they don’t give, they take. They ruin everything they touch. If you marry him, you’ll never be free. You’ll lose yourself.”“I already feel lost,” I whisper, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.She doesn’t speak right away. I keep walking down the quiet street, trying to focus on anything but my life falling apart. The city is waking up—shop owners unlocking their doors, buses rumbling past, the smell of coffee drifting from a café—but all of it feels distant, like I’m watching someone else’s world through glass.“There has to be another way,” Sofia says finally, her voice softer, almost pleading. “We