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The sun had barely begun to streak in when the first wave hit. Milan bolted from the sheets. She narrowly made it to the ensuite bathroom before her stomach revolted. It was a violent, gut-wrenching sickness that left her gasping for air. Her vision blurred as she slumped against the cold marble floor.The sound of her vomiting and struggling brought Vito charging in. He looked genuinely terrified, his face pale as he knelt beside her, gathering her hair back with trembling hands.“Milano! Milo!” He yelled. But her eyes were shut. She had fainted!Vito’s heart leaped out of his chest at the harsh realization.“Milan? Dio, please open your eyes,” he pleaded, his voice heavy with a panic he couldn't hide. He felt furious that he had left her side and blamed himself for not protecting her well.He scooped her up, calling Andrea to his room instantly to check on her.An hour later, Milan lay propped up on the pillows. Her beautiful face was pa
Vito’s hands dropped when he registered her lack of resistance. He moved away, giving her a moment to breathe.The air in the foyer was thick, charged with tension and the lingering adrenaline of the drive. He didn't want her compliance out of fear. He wanted the fire he knew she was hiding behind that pretense. “Still nothing to say?” he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to pulse right through the wood of the door behind her. “No more talk of cages and wings?” He closed the gap between them, his long, stoic body a solid wall of heat that forced her to tilt her head back. One hand slid to her waist, while the other remained upward, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. It was a firm, possessive grip. And it reminded her he was a man used to taking exactly what he wanted.Her schemes were nothing compared to his big plans. “Matwo is my boyfriend whether you like it or not.” Milan stated firmly to back up his claim.“He can't be your boyfriend. He
The neon lights of Angel’s Den flickered in the rearview mirror as Milan climbed into the passenger seat of Vito’s car. She smelled of spilled gin, fried chips, and cheap tonic. She sighed heavily as she thought back to her shift. It was a blur. She had rushed through the night in a complete daze because of him. Her hands were still shaking slightly, buried deep in the pockets of her jacket. Vito didn't say a word as he pulled away from the curb. The interior of the luxury car felt like a pressurized chamber. Milan stole glances at him as he drove. He was driving with a lethal calmness and his movements were fluid and precise. She remained quiet and as far toward the door as possible. The silence wasn't peaceful, it was a battlefield. Every time he shifted gears, the scent of his expensive cologne drifted over, clashing with the stale smell of the bar on her clothes. Ten minutes into the drive, the pressure became unbearable. Vito’s jaw was a hard line of granite. He co
Milan started to keep her distance from Vito even though they lived in the same house. Her fear had turned into anger. Their last confrontation had opened her eyes. What he did to Mateo was unforgivable. Asking her to abort if she were pregnant was also unforgivable. She continued pretending that she was not pregnant but she was secretly arranging her return to the States with her March income from the waitress shift. She was proud of herself for keeping it together. She and Mateo grew apart after that incident. He didn’t plan another date or speak to her. When she tried to meet up, he gave excuses and she did her best to respect his decisions. She stayed away but kept apologising in text messages. Mateo refused to tell what truly happened and Vito remained a ghost. After her shift most nights, Milan finds it hard to sleep. She forced herself not to drink, but it was nearly impossible. Her guilt towards Mateo had consumed her. She’d had several nightmare
Vito leaned his forehead against the cool mahogany of the door, his eyes closing in a rare moment of defeat. He could break the door down in seconds. He was the Capo, and nothing in this house happened without his consent but he reminded himself that forcing his way in would only push her further into Mateo’s waiting arms. “Rest then,” he whispered, so low she might not even have heard him. Vito lingered there for a long time, listening to the silence of the room, before finally turning away. Milan was only able to sleep after he left. As Vito walked back down the hall toward his study, his thoughts shifted toward the Saturday summit. The Godfathers’ Night hung over like a death sentence. He had been having terrible nightmares but for Vito, the real war was being fought in the aisles of Angels Den the next day. When he caught Milan bent over a sink, pale and trembling. His concern was instantly swallowed by a toxic, burning jealousy. “Why are you vomiting? Don’t even try to tel
The tension in the club was as thick as the cigar smoke clinging to the ceiling. “Is he really that terrifying, or is it that you can't stand the thought of him not coming for you?” The question he asked Milan that day still echoed in his mind. Mateo barked out a furious chortle. He was the terrified one, and a cold dread had lived in the marrow of his bones since the moment he discovered that the address Vito had sent, then rescinded, was known as the location of “Punishment Villa.” Yet he stood his ground for Milan. He wanted to be her shield against a man who killed anyone who tried to claim what was his. The Wednesday night crowd was restless, the air buzzing with whispers of the high-stakes summit scheduled for Saturday. The local power players were on edge, and that agitation trickled down to the lower ranks. Milan was weaving through the tables when a hand shot out, thick fingers curling around her waist with a proprietary squeeze. The customer was drunk, his eyes glaze
Vito woke to a soft, insistent tapping on his bedroom door. For a brief second he let himself believe it was Aurora following their morning routine. He glanced at the small clock on his bedside table and froze. It was still too early for the little girl to be up. The wine from the night before and t
Milan could hardly breathe. Having Vito’s powerful presence standing before her was overwhelming. Too overwhelming. His eyes looked darker than ever, smoldering with an intensity that gave her a fleeting, dangerous thought: that he wanted to kiss her.Damn it if that didn’t send heat flooding betwe
The house felt strangely hollow that evening. Milan stood by the dressing table, slipping on a pale blue dress that fit as if it had been made for her. Every piece of clothing Vito had brought her seemed to match her size perfectly, except the shoes and watches, which were slightly large but sti
“You need to stop drinking,” Vito finally spoke to Milan, his voice low, controlled, but with a touch of rage. “You’re hurting yourself.”She scoffed, grabbing her glass from him. “Oh? Don’t tell me you’re going to forbid me from drinking too.” Before she could take another sip, Vito reached out, t







