Matteo Ricci is the ruthless founder of the Diavlo Scuri MC, a name whispered in fear across the underworld. He's cold, doesn’t beg, and doesn’t chase… unless it’s her. Giulianna Bianchi. The only woman who ever owned his blackened heart. But she disappeared without a trace while carrying his child. The only heir of The Diavlo Scuri MC. Now, he’s hunted every lead, burned every bridge, and bled for every scrap of information. Because Matteo isn’t just looking for her, he’s obsessed. Possessed. Deranged enough to tear the world apart to get her back. She thinks she can outrun the past. She thinks he’ll never find her. But Giuli should know by now that Matteo always gets what he wants. And he wants her.
Lihat lebih banyakI didn’t scream.Didn’t move.Didn’t even blink.But my arms instinctively tightened around Sofia’s tiny frame, pulling her against my chest so fast it startled her.She looked up, wide-eyed. “Mom?”“Shh, baby,” I whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Just hold me, okay? Just stay right here.”Across the street, the man still hadn’t turned. But he didn’t need to. The posture was too calm. Too sure. He leaned casually against a postbox, phone pressed to his ear, mouth curved in the kind of smile only devils wear.He wasn’t watching. He was waiting.“Matteo,” I said, barely audible.But he was already moving.He strode to the window, scanned the street, his hand inching toward the gun at his waistband.Then he cursed under his breath. “We need to go. Now.”My throat closed. “We just got here.”“Exactly why they let us.” He turned from the window. “It’s bait. They wanted us to come. To lead them straight to her.”Sofia looked between us, confused and clutching my hair.“I don’t unders
It didn’t matter how soft Teresa’s voice was whispered, broken, barely more than a breath. The impact was a gunshot straight through my spine.Matteo froze at the top of the cellar steps. One hand still wrapped around Teresa’s shoulder, the other gripping his gun so tight I heard the leather of his glove creak. His head turned slowly toward me, and in that second, the chaos fell away.No more blood under our boots. No more ringing in my ears from the bullet that grazed past my head.No more fear of dying.Just one thing. Sofia.“Move,” I breathed, shoving past Matteo, my boots stomping over the man bleeding at the base of the stairs. I didn’t care if he was dead. I didn’t care if he was still breathing. He wasn’t the problem anymore.The problem was who else knew.We cleared the estate with the Diavlo Scuri fanning out, leaving behind bodies that wouldn’t be found for days. Matteo didn’t say a word. Neither did I. Teresa was still semi-conscious, slumped against the backseat of the SU
The drive was almost silent.Matteo kept one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear, eyes locked on the dark road ahead. The engine of the matte-black SUV hummed low and smooth, too quiet for the fury that boiled beneath our skin.My fingers trembled in my lap. Not from fear.From rage.From imagining Teresa's face in pain—her wrists bound, her mouth gagged, maybe her eyes bloodied from a slap she didn’t see coming.I could barely breathe.Matteo didn’t speak until we were nearly an hour from the cabin. “We’re not going in through the front.”“I didn’t think we were.” I glanced down at the blueprint he’d pulled up earlier. The abandoned vineyard outside Ravenna, once owned by a minor French family who imported Sicilian wine back in the 1800s. Sold off years ago. Empty. Private.Now a cage.He parked a full kilometer away in the woods, killing the engine and lights. Then he reached under the seat and pulled out a small velvet pouch. From it, he handed me a tiny silver ring.A blad
The room was still. The kind of quiet that settles only after everyone has exhausted their emotions.Sofia was tucked safely in her bed, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, arms curled around her stuffed rabbit, a gift from Teresa after she went through her surgery. I paused at the doorway for a moment, just watching her. The dim light from the hallway cast a soft glow on her face, making her look so peaceful—untouched by everything that had nearly torn her world apart.When I turned to go back down the hall, Matteo was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, shirt unbuttoned and loose around his waist. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me. And God, that look alone made something deep inside me stir.“I thought you were going to sleep,” I said, brushing past him.“I was,” he said, voice low. “But then I remembered how you sounded earlier… and now, I can't stop thinking about it.”I stopped in my tracks, my spine prickling from the heat of his words.He follow
The room was dim, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. The soft rhythm of Sofia’s breathing filled the quiet, delicate and even, like a lullaby we didn’t dare interrupt. She was curled on the far side of the bed, her tiny arm clutching the edge of her stuffed toy one that my parent's has bought her which now had a mismatched eye and all. She looked so peaceful, her chest rising and falling steadily, a small patch of gauze peeking from under her pajama sleeve.And for the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to exhale.I lay on the other side of the bed the hospital provided for watchers, half-propped against the headboard, legs drawn up to my chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Matteo was sitting next to me, his shoulder brushing mine, the silence between us warm—not heavy.He turned his head slightly, his eyes studying Sofia the same way I had been. “She’s okay,” he whispered, as if saying it aloud might jinx it.“She’s sleeping,” I replied quiet
The night outside was still, too still. The air in our new flat was thick with the soft hum of the heater, the only sound breaking the silence aside from Sofia’s faint, steady breathing in the other room. She was recovering, slowly but surely, and tonight was the first time in weeks I felt like I could truly exhale.I stood by the bedroom window, my fingers curled around a steaming mug of chamomile tea, staring out at the distant lights of a city I barely knew. Our escape had brought us here far from the ashes of Italy and the bloodied memories of home. Here, we were ghosts trying to be human again.I felt him before I heard him. Matteo’s presence was always a quiet storm: invisible yet impossible to ignore. His hands brushed over my waist as he came up behind me, warm and grounding. I tilted my head just enough to rest against his shoulder, sighing quietly.“She’s asleep,” he whispered, his lips grazing the edge of my jaw.I nodded, feeling his breath on my skin, every nerve beneath
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