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MARRIED TO MY DEADLIEST ENEMY
Last Updated : 2026-10-22
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In the blood-soaked streets of Chicago, Luca Moretti is the most feared heir in the mafia underworld. Ruthless, ice-cold, and untouchable, he rules the Moretti empire with a blade and a smile that never reaches his eyes. Three years ago, he personally ended the Voss family with every last member in a raid that left only one survivor: Alexei Voss, 28, the ghost enforcer who once tried to assassinate him and succeeded in killing Luca’s brother. Now Luca has Alexei in his steel-and-obsidian penthouse, chained to the bed when he’s not on his knees. Every escape attempt is met with punishment: glass pressed to his back, blood on the sheets, and Luca’s voice whispering that this war is far from over. Alexei hates him with every breath. Luca hates him even more until the night Alexei is pregnant and the truth destroys every plan Luca ever had. What begins as pure vengeance becomes something darker, filthier, and far more dangerous. Luca decides Alexei belongs to him forever. Alexei decides he will burn the world down to destroy Luca’s empire… unless that empire is the only thing that can keep his child safe. With knife-play that leaves them both shaking, public-risk fucks in the back of armored SUVs, and moments where hate and love twist so tightly they feel the same, they fight an empire, each other, and the child growing between them. In the end, two monsters from a war that should have ended them both discover they were never the enemy, they were the only home either of them ever needed.
View MoreChapter 1
Chapter 1: The Raid
The rain in Chicago hammered the warehouse like it had a personal grudges with the building. That kind of rain that turned the asphalt into black mirrors and made every gunshot sound wet and final.
Alexei Voss crouched behind a rusted forklift, green eyes narrowed against the downpour. His tactical vest was soaked through, the fabric clinging to the corded muscle of his back, and the cheap cologne he’d splashed on earlier was already mixing with the metallic tang of blood in the air. At twenty-eight he had stopped giving a fuck about how he smelled because smell was for civilians who thought they could run. The Voss crew had lost the element of surprise the second they breached the fence. Moretti men were everywhere black tactical gear, suppressed rifles, the kind of precision that only money and fear could buy. But Alexei had been waiting. He’d been waiting for this moment since Luca Moretti’s father put the first bullet in his old man’s head three years ago. Every scar on his ribs, every scar on his shoulder, every night he’d spent bleeding in some back alley was for this exact night. He raised the suppressed Glock. The crosshair sat right between the eyes of Luca Moretti’s brother, the one who’d been bragging in the Moretti club that Voss was already dead. “Ghost is in position,” Alexei muttered into the throat mic, voice low and accented, the Russian rolling off his tongue like smoke. “One shot. Make it count.” The signal came back clear. He squeezed the trigger. The brother’s head snapped back. Blood sprayed in a perfect arc across the concrete, dark and glossy in the security lights. For one second the warehouse was silent except for the rain. Then the body hit the floor with a wet thud that made Alexei’s lip curl. He was already moving. Before the first Moretti had even cleared the door, Alexei was sliding behind the forklift, boots silent on the wet metal grate. Another shot. The guard on his left crumpled, a red bloom spreading across his vest. A third. The last two turned to run. Alexei put one through the back of the first’s knee, then the second’s throat. He took a fist to the ribs for his trouble nothing broken, just a sharp crack of pain that felt like coming home. “Voss is clearing the building,” he said into the mic, calm as ice. “Targets down. I repeat, targets down.” The rest of the crew moved like shadows, but Alexei was already through the side door, rain stinging his face, heart hammering with that familiar rush. Victory tasted like copper and gun oil. He’d killed the last Voss enemy three years ago and buried the rest. Now it was his turn to watch them burn. A Moretti stepped out of the shadows holding a shotgun. Alexei didn’t hesitate. The Glock barked once. The man’s chest exploded. Alexei was already past him, scanning for the big one—the one who mattered. Luca Moretti. The name hit him like a live wire. Ice-grey eyes, black hair slicked back, the kind of face that looked like it belonged on a wanted poster. He was standing at the far end of the warehouse, pistol still holstered, watching everything unfold like he was at the theater instead of the slaughter. His men were dying around him. None of it touched him. That was the difference. Luca didn’t just rule; he owned the right to watch the world bleed and stay dry. Alexei’s lip curled. “You’re next.” He moved fast. Rain lashed his face. He rounded the last stack of pallets, Glock raised, and saw Luca turn. Their eyes locked. Alexei fired. The bullet caught Luca in the shoulder. Not a kill shot. Just enough to stagger him. Blood soaked through the black fabric instantly, turning the expensive shirt dark red. Luca didn’t flinch. He simply drew his own weapon and put two rounds into the ceiling, the sound cracking like thunder over the rain. “Hold fire!” Luca’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and low. “I want him breathing.” Alexei’s blood ran cold. He spun, kicked a crate out of the way, and kept moving. Moretti men were dropping fast his crew’s work but two of them were closing in on him from behind. He rolled behind a forklift, came up firing, dropped the first with a round to the thigh. The second got close enough to grab his vest. Alexei headbutted him. Bone crunched. The man went down. He kicked free and kept going, boots slipping on the bloody floor. Luca was moving now too, fast for a man who’d been shot. He skirted a desk, pistol up. Alexei saw the intent in his eyes. No more games. This wasn’t about orders anymore. This was personal. Another shot. Luca’s bullet grazed Alexei’s left thigh, hot and vicious. Pain flared white-hot, but he didn’t stop. He slammed into the far wall, used the momentum to vault over a crate, and landed in a crouch. Rain drummed harder now, like the sky itself was pissed at him for making it this far. He reached the exit. Outside, the SUVs waited in a loose arc, engines idling, headlights cutting through the downpour. One of his own men waved him in. The rest were already gone scattered into the night, hoping for cover. Luca followed him out. The rain hit like needles. Alexei was moving for the passenger side of the nearest black SUV, Glock still up, when Luca’s hand clamped around his neck from behind. Not gentle. Fingers digging into the wet fabric of his vest, squeezing until stars burst behind Alexei’s eyes. “Wrong move, ghost,” Luca said, voice right against his ear, calm as ever. “You’re coming with me.” Alexei bucked hard, elbow back into Luca’s ribs. He felt something crack. Good. He twisted, slammed his head into Luca’s nose, and felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage. Blood sprayed across his cheek. Luca didn’t let go. Instead he spun Alexei around and slammed him against the SUV’s side panel. Metal groaned. Rain poured over both of them. Alexei’s vision swam for a second, but he brought his knee up, catching Luca in the stomach. The force drove the air out of the bigger man. Alexei shoved off the vehicle, ready to run for it. Luca caught him by the wrist, twisted, and drove his forehead into Alexei’s temple. Pain exploded behind his eyes. The world tilted. He tasted blood his own. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs and rain. Alexei landed on top, straddling Luca’s chest, Glock raised. The barrel hovered over Luca’s face. One pull and it would be over. He could feel the weight of it, the finality. Three years of revenge. It was right there. Luca’s eyes met his. Storm-grey, unblinking, the kind of eyes that had never been afraid of anything. A thin line of blood trickled from his nose. He smiled anyway. “Go on,” he said softly. “Do it. I’ve been waiting for you to try.” Alexei’s finger tightened on the trigger. His hand shook. Not from fear from rage so pure it tasted like metal. He could see the graves in his mind again, the little markers his mother had carved by hand before the Morettis took everything. He could hear his father’s last words: “Stay.” He lowered the Glock an inch. Luca moved fast. His free hand shot up, caught the wrist, and slammed it down into the wet asphalt. Pain lanced up Alexei’s arm. He tried to pull away. Luca rolled them, pinning him beneath his weight, one knee between Alexei’s legs, the other trapping his arms. The shotgun the guard had dropped earlier clattered to the ground inches away. “Enough,” Luca panted, blood dripping from his mouth onto Alexei’s cheek. “You’re done running tonight.” Alexei bucked. He got one arm free, drove his fist into Luca’s jaw. Teeth clicked. Luca’s head snapped back. For a split second the bigger man’s grip loosened. Alexei twisted free, grabbed the shotgun, and swung it like a club. It connected with Luca’s temple. The crack was loud. Luca staggered but didn’t fall. He caught the barrel, twisted, and slammed the butt into Alexei’s shoulder. Pain flared again, but the adrenaline was too strong. Alexei rolled, came up firing. The shotgun barked once, twice. The rounds tore chunks out of the SUV’s metal. Rain hissed where it hit. Luca dove for the passenger side door, yanked it open, and threw himself inside. The engine roared to life. Tires squealed. The SUV peeled out, headlights slicing through the rain like knives. Alexei stood there in the downpour, chest heaving, blood mixing with the rain on his face. His leg throbbed where the bullet had grazed him. His shoulder burned. And somewhere deep inside, something cold and ancient had just shifted. Luca Moretti was alive. And he was taking the last Voss with him. Alexei stared at the taillights until they disappeared around the corner, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. He laughed once short, bitter, wet. The sound was lost in the storm. He still had one Glock left. One knife. And a city full of enemies who didn’t know he was already bleeding. But the war wasn’t over. It had just found its new face.Latest chapter
MARRIED TO MY DEADLIEST ENEMY Chapter 9: The Escape Plan
The seventh morning was worse.Alexei woke on his side, wrists raw and stretched, the heavy chain now looped through both cuffs and bolted to the bedpost so his arms were pinned wide. The cuts across his chest and stomach had crusted overnight but pulled open with every shallow breath. The graze on his thigh wept steadily, the bandage soaked through and stiff. His vision was still blurry at the edges from blood loss and pain. He could taste copper on his tongue and feel the rain hammering the window like it was trying to wash him away.He hadn’t spoken once since Luca left. The silence was ironclad. No food. No water. Just the slow drip of blood onto the marble and the low hum of the city far below.The door opened at 6:06 a.m.Luca stepped in wearing the same black slacks and white shirt, sleeves rolled high. The bruise on his temple had turned a deep, ugly black. His storm-grey eyes flicked over Alexei’s chained form, cataloging every new cut, every tremor, the way blood still leake
Last Updated : 2026-10-22MARRIED TO MY DEADLIEST ENEMY Chapter 8: Broken Silence
The sixth morning arrived in a haze of gray drizzle and the low, constant hum of the city far below. Alexei woke up on his side again, the chain now looped around both wrists, pulling his arms tight against his ribs. The cuffs had left deeper purple rings that burned when he shifted. His green eyes felt swollen, the skin around them tight and hot. Every breath pulled at the fresh lines Luca had carved across his chest and stomach crusted, angry, weeping a little when he moved wrong. The graze on his thigh had gone septic; it throbbed in time with his heartbeat, red and slick under the ruined bandage. The tattoo on his forearm had smeared completely, the ink now a dark, bruised smear that itched like fire every time the skin stretched.He’d spent most of yesterday on his knees, then on his side, then curled into a tight ball because standing hurt worse than lying down. No food. No water. Just the rain drumming the window and the slow, relentless drip of blood from the cuts. The safe wo
Last Updated : 2026-10-22MARRIED TO MY DEADLIEST ENEMY Chapter 7: The Safe Word
The fifth morning bled in gray and merciless.Alexei was on his knees again when the door opened at 6:09 a.m., chain pulled taut through the bedpost, wrists raw beneath the cuffs. The new cuts across his chest and stomach had crusted overnight but cracked open with every shallow breath. His thigh burned under the ruined bandage, the graze weeping fresh blood down his leg. The tattoo on his forearm was a smeared ruin. His whole body felt like one continuous bruise, alive only in the places Luca had opened.Luca entered without a word. Same black slacks, same white shirt with sleeves rolled high. The bruise on his temple had settled into a deep violet. He carried the black toolkit and the longer hunting knife. His storm-grey eyes flicked over Alexei’s kneeling form, cataloging every mark like inventory.He set the knife on the nightstand with a soft click.“Up,” Luca said.Alexei rose on shaking legs. The chain rattled. He kept his green eyes fixed on Luca’s face, jaw tight, refusing
Last Updated : 2026-10-22MARRIED TO MY DEADLIEST ENEMY Chapter 6: The Knife Is New
The fourth morning was worse.Alexei woke up on his side again, cheek pressed to the cold marble floor, the chain still looped through the bedpost and attached to his left wrist. His left wrist throbbed where the cuff had bitten in overnight. The cuts on his chest and stomach had started to burn like they were on fire new lines crossed with old scars, each one pulling when he breathed. His thigh had gone completely numb under the soaked bandage. The graze from yesterday had reopened, the bullet wound now a raw, angry ring that pulsed with every heartbeat. His face was swollen, the nose crunched flat, the split lip scabbed over but the inside was still raw. The shallow cut on his neck from the first night had healed into a thin pink line, but it itched like fire when he swallowed. And the tattoo on his forearm “Stay” was bleeding again, the ink smudged and dark.He’d spent the last three days mostly on his side, chain clinking softly with every shallow breath, staring at the bloody str
Last Updated : 2026-10-22
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