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Told from Afar𓎢𓎠𓎟𖦁𓎟𓎠𓎡Alessia Capone adjusted the delicate sleeve of her pale blue silk gown. She sat poised at the long table beside her nephews, smiling politely at a passing donor before picking up her wine glass again.Across the table, she noticed Vincenzo whispering something to his wife before Claire immediately got up and led Madeleine away from the table. Her smile faltered, this wasn't some usual girls going to the bathroom together, Vincenzo wanted something. Her gaze flicked immediately to Vincenzo, seated just to her left. He’d only just looked up from his drink when she turned to him.“Why did you send them away?” she asked softly, touching his sleeve. Vincenzo didn’t look at her. He simply picked up his glass, took a sip of bourbon, and set it down.Alessia’s brows lifted slightly, “Vin?”Her fingers dropped from his arm when he didn't answer. She glanced down the table. Adriano had gone quiet, staring toward the ballroom entrance like he was waiting for some
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘The car door opened and before I could even lift my dress to step out, his hand was already there, waiting for mine.I placed my fingers in his. My skin was trembling and I hoped he wouldn’t notice, but his hand swallowed mine. He stepped out first, tall and sharp in his black suit, jacket tailored within an inch of his life. When he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, it was so smooth it looked choreographed. His jaw tightened for just a second before he turned, facing the cameras and the flashing lights like he’d done it a thousand times.Maybe he had and then, he smiled, and that smile. It was the kind you only see in magazines or movie trailers, the kind that's too perfect to be real. I couldn’t look away. Not from the way he stood, or the way the light hit the sharpness of his face, or the way the air around him shifted like it knew who he was. And somehow I was on his arm.I tried to stand still, tried not to breathe too hard or trip over my own feet. The slit in
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 I could still feel him on me. Not just his hands... him. All of him. The weight of his body behind mine, the way his breath coasted down the back of my neck. Every nerve in me felt hijacked, overstimulated, and buzzing. I didn’t even know what I was saying. What I was agreeing to. My brain was a loop of: Stay calm. Stay soft. Stay sweet. I thought if I could just keep my voice light and my smile gentle, I wouldn’t end up dead in this stupid, dark, freezing wine cellar. Because that’s what it felt like... like one wrong word and this stranger would snap me in half. He asked me if I was okay with his hands on my body, as if I had the room to say no. I was already backed against a table, his chest pressing into my spine like some kind of wall. My wrists still tingled from the grip of him, from the rope and from the way he held me like he’d been dreaming about it for weeks. I nodded. I said “yeah” or “okay” or something that sounded like consent but wh
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ The second the heavy doors shut behind us, the old man’s voice hit like a brick. “I guess your little blackmail worked,” Dad muttered, already halfway to his desk. I dropped into the nearest leather chair, legs stretched out, boots up on the overpriced wood of his desk, “Of course it worked,” I said, “I sent it.” He let out that signature disappointed exhale, like every breath out of me was one more nail in his patience. Then he glanced at Vincenzo, looking for someone with a working brain. “We’re gonna set up a meeting with Rino,” he said, “We’ll return Deo... after Rino accepts our terms.” Vincenzo didn’t even blink at first, just raised both eyebrows, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. I sat up fast, boots dropping to the floor with a thud. “Wait—what? We’re giving him back?” I asked, because there was no way in hell Vincenzo would agree to it, “He’s not just anyone, he’s their fucking underboss, Dad. We’re holding their spine in our fist and you wa
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ She smiled at me over her glass of water like I hadn’t spent the last hour imagining what her throat would taste like if I bit hard enough to bruise. She had a little dressing on her lip. I didn’t say anything but just watched her lick it off like a tease that didn’t know she was teasing. She didn’t even try to be sexy around me. That’s what killed me. She was just being her. Soft, awkward, sweet, laughing too easily. Thanking me for lunch like I didn’t want to throw the entire table across the room and bend her over the fucking wood. I nodded when she stood. Gentlemanly. But inside, it was another thing. She put everything back onto the service cart, cleaned the table while I watched her. My jaw ached from clenching. She turned to leave, then she glanced at me, smiled, and said, “If I don’t get back, Livia’s gonna yell at me again for spending too long in here with you.” Then she turned again and walked out the door. And I watched every sway of her hips
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 I sat on the stainless steel stool, one gloved hand gently bracing a very grumpy gray tabby named Junebug as she flicked her tail and made her displeasure loudly known to the room. “Watch the hind leg,” Professor Kline said, half-distracted as he passed behind me, “They’re quick when they want to be.” “I know, I know,” I murmured, more to Junebug than to him, “I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart. Just checking your pads. That’s all.” Her ear flicked as if in acknowledgment. The room buzzed with the sounds of clippers, conversations, and the occasional bark from the adjacent kennel room. My partner for the day, Samira, was focused on prepping the next set of nail trimming supplies, her black curls tucked into a tight bun, eyes narrowed in concentration. I should’ve been focused. I wanted to be. But my phone sat in the pocket of my scrub top. Every few minutes I imagined it vibrating. I imagined him messaging again. He hadn’t. Not since last night. Not s