Hold Me, Then Hurt Me

When I opened my eyes again, I was pinned against the floor-to-ceiling window of the skyscraper by my stepbrother, Rocco. The man I had been infatuated with for a decade.

He panted, his hot lips and tongue trailing along my collarbone as he murmured, "Don't go."

In my past life, on the night I received my acceptance letter from London Business School, Rocco got blind drunk.

Late that night, I gave in to his pleas for me to stay. I willingly gave myself to him.

After a debauched night, his cherished fiancée, Clara, caught me walking out of his room the next morning, my clothes in disarray.

She ran out in tears, her parting words ringing in the air, "I'll let you have each other."

A month after she disappeared, the family search party found her engagement ring at the edge of a cliff.

At the bottom of the cliff lay mangled remains, battered by the waves until they were unrecognizable.

Rocco clutched that ring and didn't sleep all night.

On the surface, he acted as if nothing had happened, even arranging a trip for me to Sicily, telling me to go and relax.

The night I landed, I was kidnapped by assassins from a rival family.

I screamed for him to pay the ransom, only to hear him give the order himself over the phone:

"Don't make her death a quick one. The Costello princess? She's nothing but a damn liability. Torture her. Break every bone in her body. "

"This is what she owes Clara."

You like playing games, Rocco.

But in this life, I refuse to play along.

...

"Harper, be good..."

"Don't leave me. You're all I have..."

The first thing I felt in my new life was Rocco's hard chest trapping me against the bookshelf.

His large hand slid roughly under my silk nightgown, his fingertips calloused from years of holding a gun, tracing a line up my waist.

A sickening shiver ran down my spine.

In my past life, I had fallen completely for his performance as a devoted rogue, willing to lose myself in the forbidden pleasure.

I even believed that he truly loved me.

Until, in the throes of passion, he gasped another woman's name:

"Clara..."

This time, I snatched the heavy crystal whiskey glass from the desk and, without hesitation, threw its contents in Rocco's face.

Ice and liquor splashed against his handsome, yet repulsive, face.

"Wake up."

Rocco froze, the amber liquid dripping from his sharp jawline. The lust in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by confusion.

Before he could react, I shoved him away, smoothed my disheveled nightgown, and pressed the security button under the desk.

"Are you sober now, my brother?"

Our family's Capo was at the door almost instantly.

Seeing Rocco's state and smelling the reek of alcohol in the room, the Capo immediately lowered his head, not daring to meet my gaze. "Principessa, what are your orders?"

"Tie him up."

"Take him to the Bellini estate. Deliver him to Miss Clara. Now."

The Capo hesitated, instinctively wanting to object. After all, Rocco was the Don's most valued enforcer.

But when his gaze met my own, cold as steel, he nodded at once. "Yes, Principessa."

Twenty minutes later, I received a text from Clara. The text message radiated disbelief and anger.

[Harper Costello, are you insane? What is the meaning of this, sending Rocco to me in this state!]

Calmly, I typed my reply.

[Miss Bellini, I heard it's your birthday. Since you want him so much, consider him a gift. You're welcome.]

The phone screen went dark, reflecting my face. Memories of my past life flooded back like a tide.

Rocco and I share no blood.

My father, Giovanni Costello, is the most powerful Don in this city. Years after my mother's death, he fell for Rocco's mother at first sight.

And Rocco was merely the outsider who came with his mother, becoming my stepbrother in name only.

In my previous life, I was deeply in love with Rocco.

A decade of secret admiration culminated in one reckless night, where I willingly surrendered myself to him.

But after our night together, his one true love, Clara, walked in on us.

She cried, putting on a pitiful show of stepping aside for us.

Then she ran away from home and vanished.

A month later, the family found a blood-stained ring and a mangled corpse at the cliffside. She was declared dead.

Rocco showed no signs of distress. He even comforted me in my panic.

He said, "Harper, don't be afraid. Your brother is here for you."

He even meticulously planned a trip to Europe for me, saying it was to celebrate my birthday.

Until the day of my departure, when I found myself tied up in a musty warehouse.

I heard him myself, laughing coldly as he gave the order to the tattooed thugs:

"She's Costello's daughter. Beat her until she can't scream anymore, and when you're done, kill her. Make sure to record it."

"Afterward, dump her in the East River. Make it clean."

"This is what she owes Clara!"

I begged him through my tears. "Rocco! I'm your sister! How could you do this to me?"

Rocco's laughter echoed through the phone, as cruel as a blade. "Sister? Ever since Clara jumped off that cliff because of you, I've wanted to tear you limb from limb."

"And I bet you don't know, when the old man heard you'd been kidnapped, the shock nearly killed him. He's in the ICU right now, on his deathbed."

"There's no one left in this world to protect you, my little princess."

My heart turned to ash.

In the rival family's warehouse, I endured hours of brutal beatings before they broke all my fingers and both of my legs.

Finally, I was thrown into a filthy gutter.

All of it, at the hands of Rocco.

There was no peace for me in death.

In this second life, I just want to stay as far away from Rocco as possible.

The next morning, my father was browsing the financial section of the newspaper and casually asked about my day.

My stepmother, Elena, elegantly directed the maids to serve coffee.

I had just cut into my eggs Benedict when Rocco stormed in with Clara.

Rocco's shirt collar was slightly open, revealing several fresh love bites on his neck, clear evidence of a passionate night.

He held Clara's hand and strode directly to the dining table with a defiant air.

My stepmother greeted them with a beaming smile.

My father merely glanced up from behind his paper, his expression indifferent, and instructed the butler to set two more places.

After a few bites, my father excused himself, citing urgent business with the organization.

At the table, my stepmother fussed over Clara, already treating her like a member of the family.

Rocco cut his steak, the knife scraping harshly against the porcelain.

He suddenly stopped and turned to me with a playful smile.

"Harper, why so quiet?"

"It's Clara's first time having breakfast with us. Don't make her feel unwelcome."