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.”Alessandro’s POV I made sure to slip out of the house before Amara woke up. I couldn’t face her—not after the way last night almost blew up in front of her eyes. If Ginevra had managed to say even one more sentence in that bedroom, everything Don Francesco told me would have come crashing out in the open. She doesn't need to know. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I’m supposed to handle this quietly. That’s what he instructed. That’s what he expects. But the alcohol burned harder than usual this morning—hot, sharp, unsettling—because the truth Don Francesco revealed hasn’t stopped echoing inside me. FLASHBACK — The Day Francesco came He had stopped in my study, his eyes lingering on the framed pictures of my father on the wall. A small, unreadable smile stretched across his face. “I know you see him as the best father in the world,” He said, still staring at the photographs. I smiled back. “You could say so.” Then he reached behind one frame, his fingers moving with eas
Amara’s POV I had thought it was finally my turn to have the last laugh. Even though I knew this house never promised lasting happiness, I still believed—naively—that I’d earned a small corner of peace. With Ginevra gone, I told myself that maybe, just maybe, Alessandro and I could finally breathe. She had been my shadow, my rival, the wedge that never let him fully be mine. And when my pregnancy came to light, I believed everything would change—that he would see me differently, that the child I lied about that we created would bind us in a way nothing else ever could. Even when fear whispered that he might’ve noticed the original test result Elena and I had hidden—the lie I built our child’s future on—I convinced myself otherwise. He never mentioned it, never questioned, never accused. His silence felt like forgiveness. But I should have known better. When Don Francesco unexpectedly visited, I felt the shift long before I understood it. Alessandro grew quiet and withdrawn
Ginevra’s POV I had always trusted my father to take care of my worries. That was what he did best—solve problems in ways that left no trace of the struggle. When I told him about Alessandro running to the hospital to meet Amara, about how restless and desperate he seemed, my father hadn’t shouted or raged like I expected. He simply poured himself a glass of wine and said quietly, “We’ll find out what’s really going on.” And days later, we did. Amara Vitale—no, Amara whatever—was expecting a child. I remembered sitting in Father’s study as one of his men delivered the report. My heart had cracked in two. Because in that moment, I understood that nothing—no threat, no silence, no humiliation—would ever fully come between them again. The one thing I could never compete with had already taken root inside her. But Father had only smiled. “Let me handle this,” he said. “This time, “I’ll make sure she leaves our world for good.” And like the dutiful daughter, I’d always been, I l
Alessandro’s POV “I always knew your father didn’t make a mistake by choosing you as heir,” Don Francesco said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m glad you listened—and that you’ll act on it.” His words cling to me long after I set my drink down. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Every syllable he’d spoken still rang like iron against bone, and the echo of them followed as I rose and walked toward the living room. The television was on but muted, flickering across the marble floor. Shadows twisted with the light, restless, like the thoughts crowding my head. Francesco trailed behind, the soft drag of his shoes the only sound between us. “Would you like dinner before you leave?” he asked. I shook my head. “No.” The taste of whiskey and smoke still burned the back of my throat. Outside, the night air but cold against my face. I powered on my phone for the first time since I’d stepped into the villa. Missed calls from Amara blinked across the screen—screen, eight—each
Amara’s POV When I woke, the other side of the bed was warm but empty. For a moment, I thought Alessandro was still beside me. His scent lingered on the sheets — clean, sharp, familiar — wrapping around me like the memory of the night before. The rain had stopped, and faint sunlight slipped through the curtains. Everything looked peaceful, but I couldn’t shake the strange heaviness pressing down on my chest. The warmth of last night still clung to my skin, but the house felt…off. Too quiet. Too still. Outside the door, I heard faint footsteps — light, careful — and the sound of something being moved in the living room. I lay there a little longer, pretending to be asleep, until I heard the soft creak of the bathroom door. That’s when I decided to move. If I stayed here, he’d tell me to call one of the servants again. He always did that when he wanted to keep me still. So, I slipped out of bed, tied my robe, and walked toward the kitchen, hoping to surprise him with coffee before
Alessandro POV The sound in the living room woke me — faint at first, like glasses clinking or a door closing too softly. For a moment, I lay still, my hand resting against Amara’s waist, unsure if I was still caught between sleep and dream. Then came the knock. A quiet, deliberate tap against the door. “It’s Damian, boss.” His voice was low, but something about it made me instantly alert. I turned my head. Amara was still asleep beside me, her breathing steady, her hand curled into the sheets. Peaceful. Untouched by the chaos that usually waits at the doorstep. I pressed a kiss to her forehead before slipping out of bed. When I opened the door, Damian stood there — rigid, eyes sharp but uneasy. I’d known that expression for years. His father and grandfather both served under mine. A Vitale could tell a storm from the way a man like Damian carried his silence. “Morning, boss.” “What is it?” I asked quietly. “It’s Don Francesco,” he said. “He’s in the living room.”






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