She was the daughter of a monster. He was the man who put a bullet in her father’s skull. Now, they're both trapped in a game of obsession, betrayal, and blood. When Mirabella Belluci escapes her brutal Mafia past in Chicago, she doesn't expect to be hunted by the man who freed her. Giovanni Moretti. He is cold, calculating, and a sworn enemy of her family and is meant to watch her from the shadows. Instead, he watches too closely... and wants too much. But in a world where love is weakness and loyalty is lethal, desire comes at a cost. And the closer they draw to each other, the deeper they sink into a war that could destroy them both. "Obsession is just another kind of loyalty.”
View MoreCHAPTER 1: Mirabella's POV
I hated this, I hated it all. The flashy cars, charity events, the attention, everything that hid the horrible things the Belluci family did.
I winced as the maid pulled the strings of my dress tighter, I had always been fuller, curvier, Papa hated it. It was my 21st birthday, and I couldn't help but feel like I was about to be auctioned off.
My papa was power hungry, greedy, foul. For that, he had a lot of enemies, both within and outside the family.
I had two older brothers, Marco and Dominic. They were as good to me as made men could be. What I wouldn't give to go back to the days we would ride our bicycles together, before my papa threw them into this cold world of blood and murder.
Admiring their hardwork, the maids walked out. I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Fuck this," I muttered removing a clip from my hair, allowing the straight black hair to fall around my shoulders. I reached for my second drawer and pulled out my gun, tucking it gingerly into my purse. It was a gift I had gotten myself the moment I turned 18.
I had never needed to use it, but Papa always said, "It’s kill or be killed.” This party could take a bad turn quickly, and I refused to be unarmed amidst the wolves.
“My sweet,” my mother’s soft voice drew my attention, and I met her gaze in the mirror as she stepped into the room. She was beautiful but wore the weight of despair like a heavy cloak. Her smile never reached her eyes, a mask she maintained to navigate this hell of a marriage.
“Mama,” I said, placing my hand on hers resting on my shoulder. I knew all too well her story, a forbidden romance ended by my father's ruthless ambition. She had loved a common man before my father claimed her and murdered him, and now, years later, I could see the guilt etched in her eyes.
My father was the underboss before he married my mother and automatically gained the right to be Don.
“Look at you, a grown woman now, principessa,” she said, her tone affectionate yet laced with caution.
“Of course, Mama,” I replied, my heart heavy with the weight of expectation.
“Sit straight, my sweet,” she reminded me, tapping my shoulder lightly. I adjusted my posture, keeping up appearances was my life. “A couple of your father's friends will be in attendance tonight,” she added softly, and I felt a knot form in my stomach. I understood the implication all too well.
“I don’t want to get married, Mama. I want to go to culinary school. I want to be a chef,” I insisted, my voice rising slightly. My eyes met her cold pair in the mirror, but I pressed on.
“Hell will freeze over before I marry one of Papa’s friends or even worse, their sons. Being unmarried in this world is better than becoming a pawn in his game. I refuse to bring a child into this life, my life,” I said.
“Family comes first, Bella. You know this,” she chided gently, a note of sorrow in her voice. I rolled my eyes, frustration gnawing at me.
“Behave tonight. Your father won’t take kindly to rebellion,” she warned, a flicker of fear passing through her gaze. I nodded. I knew he wouldn't. Not even his children were safe from him, he was the devil himself.
Just then, someone barged in, "Mirabella. Let's go. Don is waiting," my eldest brother Marco said.
"Knock on the fucking door next time," I said, glaring at him.
"Shut the fuck up," he growled, "You're 21 now, learn to control that fucking mouth of yours."
Mama stepped back, allowing me to rise. I collected myself, purse in hand, and strode to where Marco stood. With a flick of my wrist, I flipped my hair into his face before walking past him.
I loved my brothers, well as much as you could love people who killed other people for a living. They both did everything in their power to protect me from this world and our father. But I preferred Dominic to Marco. Marco had this darkness about him.
I arrived at my father's office and took a deep breath before knocking. Marco stood beside me shortly after.
"Come in," he said gruffly and Marco opened the door. I walked in silently and there he was behind his desk, looking so goddamn untouchable. A whore was perched on his lap, her breasts open and in his face with his tobacco pipe in one hand. How could a man be so vile?
“Dio mio, my sweet,” he rasped, eyes lingering on the woman, a smirk tugging at his lips. Marco maintained a stoic facade, but I could see the storm brewing in his eyes, anger, so much fucking anger in one man.
“You look just like your mother did at your age,” he mused, snapping his attention back to me.
“Sit. Both of you,” he commanded, and I obeyed, though Marco remained standing, an act of rebellion that earned him an ominous chuckle from our father.
“You’re 21 now, and it’s time you fulfill your responsibility as my only daughter,” he continued, taking a puff from his pipe before blowing the smoke into the air.
“Papa-,” I began, but was swiftly silenced by Marco’s gruff voice.
"Shut the fuck up, Mirabella," Marco warned. I looked up at him but it wasn't anger in his eyes, it was fear. For me.
“Like I said, you must fulfill your responsibility. You are beautiful and have the potential to fetch a high price,” he stated, retrieving his gun and without a moment's hesitation, he shot the woman on his lap. My heart dropped, but I forced myself to remain impassive. Weakness was a luxury I couldn’t afford in his presence.
“Can’t have her spreading family secrets, now, can we?” he remarked, nonchalant as he holstered his weapon. “Have that cleaned up,” he ordered Marco, who didn’t flinch.
Turning to me, he said once more, “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 32: Mirabella's POV I woke up to the scent of lavender and something warm, faintly sweet, waffles? My eyes fluttered open to find a pair of large hazel eyes staring down at me.I might’ve screamed if not for the tangle of red curls and the familiar face they framed.“Eliana?” I whispered, still half caught in the haze of sleep and disbelief.Her eyes widened, and before I could sit up, she vanished from my line of sight. A second later, the bed dipped under the weight of her tackle.“You bitch,” she choked, hugging me so tightly it hurt. “You had me worried sick.”I winced, not from the force of her hug, but from how raw my body still felt. The bruises, the fatigue, it hadn’t all left me yet.I froze, then slowly hugged her back. My shoulder grew damp. She was crying.“Eliana—”“Why the hell would you leave me that text and then disappear?” she snapped, voice shaking. “Do you know what that felt like? I thought you were dead. I thought Giovanni had taken you.”
CHAPTER 31: Giovanni's POV Mirabella didn’t flinch.She didn’t retreat, didn’t break eye contact. She just stood there, shoulders squared, lips parted, eyes locked on mine. That silence between us wasn’t passive. It was a dare. And it echoed louder than any scream.I’d expected fury. Sarcasm. Maybe a slap. She was all edge and defiance, a woman built to bite back.But she didn’t move.Didn’t run.Didn’t say a word.That stillness said everything.She heard me. And some part of her wasn’t trying to escape.I stepped forward, deliberate and slow, letting each pace pull the tension tighter between us. My palm settled on her waist. It was not rough, not soft, just firm. The warmth of her body thrummed against mine, pulsing with tension.“You don’t need to agree,” I said, my voice low. Measured. “I’m not asking for permission. I’m stating what's already been decided.”Her jaw tightened, her anger finally surfacing. “You think you can just claim me like some antique off an auction floor?”
CHAPTER 30: Mirabella's POV My eyes felt heavy. I gently pried my eyes open, the light was soft and warm like morning sunlight spilling across linen sheets, not like the harsh flickering bulb from that godforsaken room.I blinked slowly. My throat was dry, and every part of me ached. My limbs felt like bricks, my stomach hollow and cramping. But I was in a real bed. Clean. Soft. Covered in a thick comforter that smelled like sandalwood and soap.I wasn’t there anymore. I was safe.Then I felt it, his eyes on me.I turned my head, slowly, and there he was.Giovanni Moretti. My saviour. He had saved me twice now. From papa and now from Max.Sitting in a leather armchair beside the bed, forearms braced on his knees, head lowered like he hadn’t moved in hours. His suit jacket was off, sleeves rolled up. A faint bruise darkened his jaw. His knuckles were scraped.Must be from when he knocked that door down.And his eyes, when they met mine, they looked haunted.I opened my mou
CHAPTER 29: Giovanni's POV The night air was still, calm even, nothing like the storm brewing inside me. Two days stolen. Two days of not knowing if she was still alive, if she was hurt, if she was scared. Two days of replaying every decision that led to this moment.We crouched behind the overgrown hedges flanking the west side of the abandoned building. Cracked windows, rusted metal, a collapsed fence. It looked like nothing but my Mirabella was in there. I needed to get her back, to have her in my arms.Every inch of me was wound tight. The kind of tight that came before the storm broke. Before men bled and begged and cities burned. The kind of tight I hadn’t felt since the day I buried my sister.Lorenzo whispered beside me, “Three guards at the front. Two in the back. Cameras were cut an hour ago. Diane handled it.”I gave a single nod. My pulse didn’t race. It never did. Not when it mattered. This wasn’t rage anymore.This was resolve.I’d burned men alive for less,
CHAPTER 28: Mirabella's POV The car ride was quiet. Too quiet.Max's knuckles were tight around the steering wheel, jaw rigid, eyes locked on the dark, empty streets ahead. Streetlights flashed across his face like a warning sign, but he didn't speak.I didn’t either. Not right away.What was there to say when the man who supposedly wanted to protect you just shoved a needle in your arm and kidnapped you?Real protector-of-the-year behavior.My head still buzzed faintly, the aftereffects of whatever the hell he drugged me with making the world tilt ever so slightly. But my mind? Sharp as glass.“You realize this is illegal, right?” I finally broke the silence, my voice low but steady, eyes narrowing on his profile. “I mean, I know cops have superiority complexes, but kidnapping? Bit much.”Max's jaw flexed, but he didn’t look at me. “You wouldn’t listen. You never listen.”“Because your idea of 'listening' is me rolling over and playing scared little damsel? Sorry, not happening.”Th
CHAPTER 27: Eliana's POV I paced the length of my bedroom in my parent's house, phone clutched in my hand, the screen taunting me with silence. Two days. Two damn days since Chloe disappeared. Her last message was still there, a glowing reminder of how quickly everything fell apart."I’m at Vero’s Café. Be home soon.”But she never came home.I ran my fingers through my hair, heart pounding against my ribs. My parents thought I was being dramatic, that maybe Chloe just needed space, but no. I knew her. She wouldn't vanish like this.Unless someone made her. The thought made my skin crawl.I stormed into the kitchen where my parents were finishing dinner, their voices low, casual. The normalcy of it all grated on me."Dad," I said, sharper than intended.He looked up, eyebrows raised. "What is it, honey?""I need a number," I said, crossing my arms. "From one of your business contacts."My father exchanged a glance with my mother. "Eliana, this isn’t the time to-""It is," I snapped.
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