I hope you all enjoyed today’s update! 💖 What do you think Adriano will do next? How did you feel about his panic attack? Do you think he’s getting a little too emotionally tied to Madeleine? And what about Madeleine’s stance on not forgiving him? Do you think she’s right to hold her ground? I’d love to hear your thoughts, so don’t forget to drop a comment! XOXO 💋
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 My heart hadn’t settled yet. The sting still bloomed on my thigh. The weights on my nipples ached in the most delicious, unfamiliar way. My whole body was lit up and sensitive. I felt him step closer again. He touched my throat, just a single fingertip, dragging up the line of my neck until it rested gently beneath my chin. “I want your breath now,” he said quietly, like he was asking for something more intimate than sex. “I want to feel it stop... just a little.” My stomach dropped, my lips parted in surprise but my body didn’t resist. “Color?” he asked. I blinked behind the blindfold, throat dry. “Green…?” I whispered, unsure what he meant but needing to please him anyway. His palm wrapped lightly around my throat. I could still breathe. I could still speak but the suggestion was there. Then slowly… slowly… the pressure increased. I gasped. My head tipped back against the pillows, eyes still blindfolded, lips parting in shock. My breath caught.
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡Flan and I ate breakfast in quiet, but my stomach was going through a full-blown stampede. Nerves, butterflies, maybe a couple of lions pacing back and forth.Tonight, I was going back to that club with Adriano. Only this time, we wouldn’t be watching anyone else. There’d be no performances on the stage. Just him. Just me. Whatever that meant.I didn’t sleep much. My brain had been spinning all night like it was running on espresso and forbidden thoughts. I’d woken up at dawn, hair a mess, face puffy. And I did what any girl would do when she’s about to step into something she doesn't understand but desperately wants to... Google.Safe search: off.What I found made my cheeks burn and my breath hitch. Words like “subspace” and “impact play” and “sensory deprivation” came with images that had me gripping the bedsheets like a lifeline. It should’ve freaked me out. It didn’t. It made me curious. It made me ache. I wanted to understand why my body had started respo
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ After I dropped Madeleine at her place, I headed straight home. It was late. The Capone estate looked quiet from the outside, but nothing about this house ever really slept. I parked the car in the driveway, stepped out, cracked my neck once, and walked through the double doors. The second I crossed the threshold, I heard her. Tiny feet slapping the marble. Then, boom. Aurelia. She came full-speed into my legs, no hesitation, not a single shred of fear, just wide-open joy. I crouched fast and scooped her up before she could fall, tossing her up a little in the air. She squealed, then giggled loud when I blew raspberries into her stomach like I hadn’t been half-mad with bloodlust a few hours ago. “Bambolina,” I murmured against her belly. “What are you doing up, huh? Past your bedtime.” She didn’t answer, just reached for my hair, pulled them as hard as she could and babbled some nonsense that only made sense in baby-language. Then she moved to mess with my coll
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ Madeleine stood in the middle, arms wrapped around her mother, her cousins clinging to her sides. Her cheeks were wet, lips trembling in that soft way she had when she was trying not to cry too hard like she didn’t want her sadness to make anyone else sad. I stood near the car, leaning against the black door, hands in the pockets of my freshly pressed slacks. No blood. No trace of the man I’d been hours ago. Only the scent of cedar cologne clung to me now, and the faint sting of antiseptic where she’d wrapped my hands in the dark. To anyone watching, I was trying to be the perfect boyfriend. The well-mannered gentleman from out of town who held her bags and said “ma’am” when he spoke to her mother. But my men were still combing through the streets she grew up on, tying up loose ends. Cleaning up trash. And she would never have to know. Her little brother Tomas wrapped his arms around her. She kissed the top of his head, whispered something I couldn’t hear. I just
Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ The metal door crashed shut behind me, locking the stench of blood inside. I’d rented this place for the week, off the books, off the grid because I knew São Paulo had rot that needed gutting. Tigrão was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, head lolling slightly, lip split, one eye swollen shut. His men lined the wall like trash bags waiting for pickup, bruised and gagged, some sobbing through the duct tape. But none of them mattered. Not right now. My boots echoed on the concrete as I walked in. I was just two seconds from ripping out a throat with my bare hands. Tigrão stirred when he heard me, and I stopped in front of him. Stared. My fingers twitched. And the only thing in my head was her voice. Madeleine's soft, honest and furious voice. And this fucking parasite tied up in front of me… he was the reason she hated everything I am. Even if she didn’t know it yet. “I would rather bury them than see them wear that kind of blood on their hands.” She di
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 After the ruined dinner, the house had fallen silent. Tomas and the little ones were asleep. Aunt Pati was still curled on the couch beside Sofi, who hadn’t let go of her mother’s hand since the moment the last gun disappeared. Uncle Jorge stood watch by the back gate, just in case even though our house was crawling with Adriano's security. And my parents, I wasn’t sure but they didn’t say another word about Adriano after everything. He'd already replaced the broken door. Sent men to clean up the shattered glass and bullet holes. He even called a private doctor for Sofi. Offered to fly the whole family out to a hotel if they needed space. And then, he disappeared from the room. But I found him. On the front steps, sitting alone in the dark with his sleeves rolled up, his white shirt still streaked with faded blood. His hands rested on his knees, still scraped and bruised. A cigarette glowed between his fingers, its smoke curling up toward the n