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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 watch
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 didn’t even k
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
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 “Olá, Madeleine. Missed you, princesa.” He walked in like he had all the time in the world and no one could stop him from doing whatever the hell he wanted. My heart stuttered. My breath caught halfway up my throat. His voice, it hadn't changed. I hadn’t heard it in years, but I knew it. I knew the exact rhythm of how he said my name, the way he dragged out the princesa like it was a joke only he was in on. Then, in one step, I was behind Adriano. His arm came out like a barrier, his body straightened, spine tall and chin raised like he wasn’t looking at a man with a gun, but he was looking at something that dared to breathe in his direction. “Ah,” Tigrão drawled, eyes flicking to Adriano with amused malice, “So it’s true. She came back... with some fancy gringo boy.” He cocked his head, grinning and then lazily pointed the gun at Adriano’s chest. “That you?” I gasped, my knees wobbled in fear. My fingers clutched tighter at Adriano’s back, t
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 My dad hadn’t stopped watching him. From the kitchen island, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Adriano, was it?” he asked, like he already hated him but was willing to delay murder until dessert. “Yes, senhor,” Adriano answered respectfully, “Adriano Capone.” Oh my God, he used his last name. I could practically feel the collective mental gasp ripple through the room. My dad’s brow twitched, “Italian?” “Yes,” he said smoothly, like he’d had this conversation before. “Sicilian heritage. My family settled in Chicago a few generations ago. Still have the old estate in Sicily but it's a bit too cold for my taste," he said it casually, like everyone had an estate and casually disliked winter in Italy. Stop sounding expensive, I wanted to scream. Everyone else just... stared. Uncle Jorginho had that face, the same one he made when our neighbor once pulled up in a BMW. That mix of suspicion and low-level awe. Sofi gasped, “Capone... Capone?” she asked, all wide eyes
Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 Steam curled around my ankles as I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel tightly around my body. The scent of coconut shampoo clung to my skin. Outside, the waves crashed against the shore like they had every morning of my childhood, but this time... I wasn’t alone. I padded into the bedroom, water still dripping from the ends of my hair, and found him exactly where I’d left him, sprawled across the bed, half-dressed, arms folded behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked so completely “him” like that: gorgeous and infuriating and cocky all at once. I tossed the damp towel I’d used for my hair onto the back of a chair and crossed the room with a little bounce in my step. “Hey,” I said, leaning over him with my arms still clutching my towel to my chest. “You’ve got about twenty minutes before my family starts knocking on this door with questions. And believe me, they will knock.” Adriano didn’t move, he just opened one eye