LOGINAmara thought her life couldn't get worse, trapped in poverty, caring for her ailing grandmother, betrayed by the man she loved. But one night changes everything: a police raid lands her in jail, where she meets the last man she should ever cross paths with…. Alessandro Vitale, the ruthless Mafia boss feared across Italy. He offers her freedom, but at a price: Marriage. A deal, a trap, and a lifeline all at once. What Alessandro doesn't know is that Amara carries a secret… a child that belongs not to him, but to his own bloodlines' rival. Their dangerous union sparks a web of betrayal, obsession, and power struggles, where love is both their greatest weapon and their deepest weakness. As past feuds resurface and enemies circle closer, Amara must decline: will she remain a pawn in the Mafia’s deadly game, or rise as the unexpected queen of an empire built in blood.
View MoreAmara’s POV
“If Marco loved me, this test would change everything. But if I had misjudged him… then one pink line might ruin both our lives.” “Tell me, Amara, tell me, tell me!” Emma’s excitement spilled over her words, her voice higher than usual. My hands trembled as I placed the pregnancy test kit on the table. “I don’t know what it says. You check. I’ve never used one before.” Emma didn't need more encouragement. She slid into my spot, taking the kit with eager fingers. I stepped aside, heart hammering. Emma’s mother was a nurse, and Emma had practically grown up in the hospital halls. If anyone could read it right, it was her. But then…. Silent. Emma’s eyes lingered on the test, unreadable. “Don’t go quite on me,” I urged, voice sharp with nerves. “What does it say?” She looked at me, then grinned so wide it nearly split her face. “We’re having little Marco.… and I’m going to be an aunt!” she shrieked. “Shhh!” I slapped a hand over her mouth before she woke my Nonna. My grandmother would never understand our English chatter, but still, her frail body needed rest, not chaos. Excitement and fear watered inside me. I managed a shaky whisper. “So…. What do we do now?” “What do you mean?” Emma tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. “You tell Marco, of course. Then we can start planning the wedding.” Her words should have filled me with warmth, but instead, I whispered, almost to myself, “A wedding. Yes…. That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Emma squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t overthink. Just tell him.” I didn't even wait to say goodbye. My legs carried me straight to Marco’s apartment, excitement overriding reason. We hadn't spoken much about marriage yet, but Marco loved me. He would want this too. Or so I thought. When I reached his door, I hesitated, hand on the handle. That's when I heard it…. The unmistakable sound of a woman’s voice. “So when do you plan on ending it with that dirty girl?” My breath stilled. Marco’s voice came next. “Which girl? I don't know what you're talking about.” “Don’t play dumb. You know I mean Amara. I kept fucking you while you play house with her.” I froze. “You don't have to worry,” Marco said smoothly. “Amara and I…. It’s nothing serious. Just a fling.” The words slammed into me—just a fling. The stranger pressed further. “And what if this fling leads to pregnancy?” Marco laughed. Laughed. “Pregnancy? That would never happen. And even if it did….. I’d never marry someone like Amara. She doesn't fit my status. I need someone like you.” His voice dipped lower, followed by the wet sound of a kiss. The weight of my hand on the door handle suddenly became unbearable. My chest burned. My legs refused to move. He wasn't my boyfriend. He wasn't my future. I was just a joke to him. I ran before my sobs betrayed me, the night air cutting into my skin as hard as his words. But where could I go? Nonna was waiting in our tiny apartment. I couldn't raise a child there. I couldn't even afford her medicine. I pressed my palm to my mouth, mugging a sob. Emma’s words from earlier echoed cruelly: “If Marco truly loves you, he’ll stay. If he doesn't….you’ll finally know the truth,” Truth. A blade sharper than any knife. I thought of Nonna—my grandmother—her mind slipping further each day, forgetting my name, mistaking me for a stranger. Or the job I’d lost two weeks ago, the bills were piling higher than hope. Of Marco, who had sworn to build a future with me. Every memory was a thread fraying at the edges. I walked blindly until neon lights and the stale stench of alcohol pulled me into a bar. Men turned their heads as I entered, their gazes sharp, unwelcoming. No other women. The bartender was a man, too. I sat anyway. I needed to drown Marco’s betrayal, if only for a moment. “Beer,” I muttered, my voice breaking. When my phone rang, every eye snapped towards me. I turned my face away, clutching the phone like a lifeline. It was Emma. “ Amara….. Please get here now. Your Nonna tried to get up. She fell. They've admitted her, but won’t treat her until your debt is paid. I’m begging them, but they won't listen. Please, come quickly.” My stomach dropped. My breath caught. Nonna….my only family, my reason for surviving. I shoved back from the counter, ready to run….when gunfire cracked the air. One shot. Then another. Chaos erupted. The men who’d been watching me scattered instantly. Chairs overturned. The bartender vanished. My heart stopped as police sirens wailed outside. Before I could move, rough hands yanked me back. Cold metal cuffs snapped around my wrists. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.” “No….. You don't understand!” I tried to protest, but the officers shoved me forward. At the station, they herded me with the others. My mind was spinning….pregnancy, betrayal, Nonna, prison bars. My world was collapsing. And then…. A voice boomed, commanding, the impossible to ignore. “ Get me my lawyer. Now. Do you know who I am?” The guards tried to quiet him. He refused. I turned towards the sound. “And then our eyes met. Cold. Commanding. Dangerous. The man whose name was whispered with fear across Italy. The infamous Alessandro Vitale….the last man I should ever cross paths with…was staring directly at me.”Amara’s POV The sound of my own scream startled me awake. “Please wait—please don't leave me!” I gasped, my heart slamming against my ribs. For a moment, I didn't know where I was—only that a hand touched mine and a voice spoke softly beside me. “Amara, it’s all right. I’m here,” Alessandro murmured. His thumb brushed across my knuckles. “Just a bad dream.” The relief that followed was almost dizzying. To wake up from terror and see him there—his face close, his voice calm—felt like waking into a new world. Everything that had happened these past few days—him making breakfast, driving me to see Nonna, the quiet talks we shared—wasn't a dream. It was real. And somehow, impossibly, it was my new reality. He waited a moment before asking, “What was it about?” I hesitated. How do you tell your husband you dreamt of ghosts you’ve never met? Of parents whose faces you’ve never seen, whose absence has always been louder than their existence? But the words slipped out anyway. “It w
Alessandro’s POV The morning sunlight brightened the day, but it found me in the kitchen instead of the study. I knew it must’ve been a strange sight—“the Don” with his sleeves rolled up, standing beside a stove. Even Damian looked uneasy as I used the toaster to slice bread, as if I might burn the house down. Elena hovered nearby, insisting she handle most of it, but I wanted to help. I needed to. Doing something ordinary felt grounding after the chaos of the last few days. “You’re cutting it too thick, Signore,” she said softly. “Then fix it,” I replied, half-smiling. Within minutes, the smell of butter and eggs filled the room. The kitchen buzzed with whispered shock. “He never did this for Signorina Ginevra,” one servant murmured. “I’ve worked here six years—she’s right,” another whispered. I didn’t tell them to stop. Let them talk. Their gossip was harmless for once, and a strange satisfaction stirred in me as I imagined Ginevra hearing it from afar. Maybe by
Amara’s POV When Elena told me she had reached Emma and carried out everything I’d entrusted her with, I felt a weight lift from my chest. Relief — sharp and trembling — washed through me. The chessboard was still mine. The dice would keep rolling in my favor. This plan had always been Emma’s masterpiece, from the pills I slipped into Alessandro’s drink to every carefully rehearsed step since. She’d promised that, in the end, everything would fall into place — that I only needed to survive until then. Never get chased out. Never let them strip me of the title Signora Amara Vitale. Now, I had both survival and silence on my side. My child carried the Vitale name — the first grandchild of the Vitale dynasty. And Alessandro? He’d never learn the truth. Not now. Not ever. For the first time in months, I allowed myself to feel proud. Nonna was safe — receiving care in one of the best hospitals, her bills handled without a single debt. My child had a future and a father. I’
Elena’s POV I had witnessed everything — from when Signorina Ginevra raised her voice, to the instant she lost control. Her fury filled every corner of the estate. When Signora Amara denied the accusations, Signorina Ginevra struck her. I had tried to help, but what strength could I have against Matilde and the others, whose fear of Signorina Ginevra chained their hands? The room had felt suffocating, thick with the scent of perfume and panic. When Signora Amara fainted, I screamed for help, but no one dared move. They all stood still, pretending deafness was loyalty. So I did what I had to do — I ran. Outside, the wind hit my face like a slap. Along the estate road, I found a few workmen fixing the gate. I begged them for help, and when one of them finally followed me in, I guided them back inside. Together, we lifted Signora Amara’s limp body and took her out. The man called a taxi, and I rode with her to the hospital, her hand cold in mine. At the hospital, I watched as the d
Amara’s POV When I opened my eyes, the world was white and still. The ceiling above me blurred into a soft haze, and the air reeked faintly of antiseptic. I could hear distant murmurs — nurses asking questions I barely understood. “Can you hear us?” “Does your chest hurt?” Do you feel dizzy?” But my mind wasn't here. It was still trapped in the echo of Ginevra’s voice — sharp, mocking — and the horrified gasps of the servants. Then… nothing. Just blackness swallowing everything. When I tried to move, a sharp tug pulled at my wrist. A drip line. I blinked, realizing I was being wheeled down the corridor on a hospital trolley. The wheels squeaked faintly, and a few nurses hurried alongside, whispering things to one another. Then I saw him. Alessandro stood at the far end of the hall, rigid and silent, his expression unreadable. The doctors gestured for him to follow, and without a word, he obeyed. His eyes flickered once toward me — quick, assessing — before he disappear
Alessandro’s POV I drove like a man with nothing to lose. The Vitale roads blurred into one long, impatient streak of asphalt; I had imagined Damian’s voice in the passenger seat as a distant instrument—urgent, clipped—until the hospital lights cut through the windshield and the world narrowed to the doors and whatever waited behind them. Damian had been waiting in the parking lot. He rushed to open my door and I stepped out before I could ask a single question. A nurse handed me a sheet of paper as if it were casual hospital litter; I didn’t read it then. I scanned the corridor and my stride found a stretcher rolling towards a lift. There she was—Amara, pale and still, tucked into crisp white sheets as if someone had tried to iron the life out of her. Elena beside her, frantic and wet-eyed. The sight cracked something open in my chest that was not anger, not yet—not only anger. The doctor told me aside into his small office and asked if I’d read the results. I told him I ha
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