My Mafia Stepbrothers Want Me?

I woke to silence.The kind that hums under your skin like something’s watching. The house was too quiet—no traffic, no street sounds, just the soft whisper of wind through the high windows and the low tick of a grandfather clock down the hall. I was used to chaos. This kind of silence felt dangerous.I slipped from the bed and padded to the window.Fog rolled across the courtyard like breath from something ancient. I could barely make out the security guards circling the perimeter, rifles slung low, steps silent. A prison in every way but name.A soft knock broke the stillness.Before I could answer, the door opened.Luca.Of course it was him. Dark suit. No tie. Collar open at the throat. Hair slightly mussed, like he hadn't slept, though knowing him, he probably didn’t need to. He was the kind of man built for war, not rest.I clutched the blanket tighter around me. “Ever heard of knocking and waiting?”His eyes didn’t leave mine. “You didn’t lock the door.”“And you think that’s a

Serena:The storm had broken overnight.Rain battered the windows with relentless hands, and the wind howled like wolves circling the walls. Most of the estate was asleep or pretending to be. But I couldn't.Not after what happened yesterday.Not after Luca's hand in mine.Not after the way he looked at me—like I was both the problem and the answer.I couldn't get the chill off my skin, so I pulled a sweater over my slip and wandered the halls barefoot. The west wing was always quiet, but tonight, it felt… too quiet.Like something was waiting.I passed Matteo's room on instinct, thinking he'd be inside with his laptop or a book spread open in his lap. The door was slightly ajar.Dark inside.But no Matteo.I should've kept walking.But something about the silence felt wrong.Further down the hall, a door I hadn't noticed before caught my eye. No number. No marking. The handle is made of cold brass and is barely used.I tried it.Unlocked.Of course, it was.Inside, the air was colder

Serena:I woke before the house and remembered how to breathe.No footsteps. No slamming doors. No whispered arguments behind study walls.Only shadows. And mine was already moving.The air outside was cold enough to bite, but I didn't feel it as I slipped into the backseat of the black sedan waiting by the gate.The driver didn't ask questions.He knew better than to ask why the girl with bloodlines in her bones and bruises at her throat wanted to vanish before dawn.I didn't tell anyone.Not Matteo.Not Luca.Not Nico.Because this time, I wasn't theirs.Not yet, at least.The car wound down coastal roads while the sky peeled back from indigo to bruised lavender. I watched the sunrise without a single set of eyes on me.And for the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of clarity.They'd marked me like property.They'd whispered about protection, about power, about legacy.But none of them had ever asked what I wanted.So I made a decision.The campus was older than I expected. Weathe

Serena:Midnight tasted like smoke and iron.The Twelve Gates Club was carved into the underbelly of the city like something holy and profane at once—its doors guarded by silence, its halls lined in velvet shadows and secrets. No name on the building. No address. Just the weight of blood, money, and history pressing into my bones as I stepped inside.I handed the card to the man at the door.No words.Just a flick of his gloved fingers and a door opened with the whisper of something ancient.The hallway beyond was long, crimson-lit, pulsing like a heartbeat too slow to be human.I walked it alone.Not because I wasn't afraid.Because I wanted them to see me that way.The Black Room wasn't black at all.It was obsidian and wine and gold, everything decadent and dangerous. The walls breathed shadow. The ceiling flickered with low-hanging lights like the last embers of a dying fire. A long table stretched in the center, but only one figure sat at it.Dante Moretti.Not dressed like a pri

SerenaI didn’t bother turning on the light.The darkness felt cleaner.No pretense. No performance.Just shadow and silence—the kind I could breathe in without choking on expectation.I stood at the edge of the room for a long moment, letting the hush settle into my bones. My reflection blinked at me from the window glass—sharp, still trembling, but alive.God, I was so alive.More than I had been in months. Maybe ever.I peeled the jacket from my shoulders like a second skin, letting it fall to the floor. The silk blouse followed. Cold air kissed my skin, but I didn’t reach for anything to cover myself. Let the chill bite. Let it remind me I wasn’t made of glass.I wasn’t untouched.Not anymore.I moved to the mirror above the dresser. Not to admire. Not even to check for blood.Just to look.Really look.My eyes were wide and wild, rimmed with the kind of knowing that didn’t wash off. The kind you wore like war paint.I picked up the necklace I’d hidden in the drawer weeks ago—a th