Marco’s presence was overwhelming, his body heat making it hard to breathe. His dark eyes locked onto mine, making my heart race. “Why do you fight me, Sarah?” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. I tried to step back, but the counter trapped me. “I won’t be your plaything, Marco.” He smiled, a dangerous, seductive curve of his lips. “Is that so?” He pulled me close, his hand burning through my dress. His lips brushed my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “I think you like this more than you admit.” I wanted to resist, but when his mouth claimed mine, I melted into the kiss, my body betraying me. Every touch ignited a fire I couldn’t control. When he pulled back, his eyes were full of desire. “You can’t deny what’s between us, Sarah” Sarah’s simple life turns dark when she catches the eye of dangerous mob boss, Marco De Luca. To settle her father’s debt, Marco forces her into an arranged relationship. Sarah fights to resist his control, but their fiery clashes spark undeniable passion.
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The bakery smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon, a comforting aroma that greeted me every morning. I enjoyed the simplicity of our life. Our bakery, though it was small and modest, it was our pride and joy. Papa, had poured his heart and soul into this place, and it was a decent addiction to our community. “Good morning, Mrs. Alvarez! The usual?” I asked, already reaching for a loaf of brown bread. “Good morning, Sarah. Yes, please,” she replied with a warm smile. Handing her the loaf, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. Despite the financial struggles and the countless hours of hard work, I loved every moment spent here. My father and I shared a close bond, working side by side to keep our beloved bakery running. After Mrs. Alvarez left, I returned to kneading dough, humming softly to the tune playing on the radio. My father was in the back, preparing a new batch of new dough. The old Spanish tunes on the radio filled the space with nostalgia, reminding me of my mother. I pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. “Sarah, how’s it looking out there?” my father called from the kitchen. “Busy, as usual,” I replied, looking at the clock. It was mid-morning, our busiest time of day. “But I can handle it.” He appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. His face, lined with years of hard work, softened as he looked at me. “You’re a good girl, Sarah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I smiled, but before I could respond, the bell above the door rang again. This time, it wasn’t a familiar face that greeted me. A group of men, rough-looking and clearly out of place, walked into the bakery. They spoke in low tones, casting glances around the room that made my stomach churn. I took a deep breath, reminding myself of my father’s warnings about not getting into trouble. “Stay calm, Sarah,” I muttered under my breath. One of the men, tall with a scar running down his cheek, approached the counter. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Got any fresh bread for us?” I forced a smile. “Of course. What can I get for you?” He looked me up and down, a nasty look playing at the corners of his mouth. “How about a smile to start with?” I clenched my teeth, resisting the urge to insult him. “We have rye, sourdough, and baguettes fresh out of the oven.” Rye, huh?” he said, leaning over the counter. “You know what I like about rye? It’s tough. Just like me.” The other men laughedlaudly, crowding closer. I could feel their eyes on me, sizing me up like I was some kind of hooker. My heart pounded, but I stood my ground. “How many loaves do you need?” “Let’s start with two,” the scarred man said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “And we’ll see if your service is good enough for more.” I turned to grab the loaves, trying to keep my hands from shaking. As I placed them in a bag, one of the men knocked over a display of pastries. “Oops,” he said with a smirk. “Clumsy me.” “Hey, watch it!” I snapped, it was getting difficult to control my patience. “Those aren’t free, you know.” The scarred man’s grin widened. “Feisty, aren’t you? I like that in a woman.” Another man, shorter but stocky, moved closer, he looked at me with a perveted smile. “What else you got back there, sweetheart? Maybe something sweet for us?” I glared at him, my fists clenched up. “Just the bread. Take it or leave it.” “Oh, we’ll take it,” he said, reaching out to brush a finger against my cheek. “But I bet you’re sweeter than anything here.” I slapped his hand away, my heart racing. “Don’t touch me!” The men laughed, the scarred man leaning over the counter again. “What’s the matter? We’re just having a little fun.” “This isn’t fun,” I said through gritted teeth. “This is harassment. Now either buy something or get out before I call the police.” The scarred man’s expression darkened. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you, girl. Maybe we need to teach you some manners.” Before I could respond, the bell above the door chimed again. Mr. Morales, an elderly man who visited the bakery daily, shuffled in. He looked around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the men and the mess they had made. “Good morning, Sarah. Could I get a baguette, please?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. I quickly handed him the bread, my hands steadying slightly in the familiar transaction. “Of course, Mr. Morales. That’ll be two dollars.” As Mr. Morales fumbled for his wallet, one of the men snatched it from his hands. “What do we have here?” he taunted, rifling through the old man’s belongings. “Hey!” I shouted, I didn't care about my fear. “Give that back!” The scarred man laughed. “Looks like the little princess wants to play hero. Why don’t you stay out of it, sweetheart?” I stepped around the counter, my anger boiling over. “Give it back, now!” The men laughed again, clearly enjoying the show. The scarred man waved the wallet in front of Mr. Morales, taunting him. “Come and get it, old man.” Mr. Morales looked at me, his eyes pleading. I could see he was terrified, but he tried to put on a brave face. “Please, just give it back,” he said softly. The men ignored him, their attention focused on me. One of them, a burly guy with tattoos snaking up his arms, knocked over another display, sending pastries scattering across the floor. “Oops,” he said again, smirking. “Enough!” I shouted, my voice shaking with anger. “Leave him alone and get out of my bakery!” The scarred man stepped closer, his face inches from mine. “You’ve got guts, girl. But guts can get you in trouble.” I stood my ground, refusing to back down. “I said, give it back and get out.” The bell above the door jingled, and another man entered. My breath caught in my throat. He was tall, professionally dressed, and he had an air of authority that made everyone in the room turn to look. His dark eyes scanned the bakery with a mixture of curiosity and calculation, finally landing on me. “Boss!” the scarred man exclaimed, visibly straightening. “We were just—” He silenced him with a look. “Behave with class,” he commanded, his voice smooth yet edged with steel. “This is not how we conduct ourselves.” There was something about him, something magnetic and intimidating all at once. He moved with the confidence of a man used to being obeyed, his every step purposeful. He was undeniably attractive, with chiseled features and an air of authority that made my skin crawl. His gaze returned to me, and I felt a strange pull, as if he could see right through me. “I apologize for my men,” he said, his tone surprisingly courteous. “They seem to have forgotten their manners.” I managed to find my voice. “It’s… it’s okay. No harm done.” He smiled, a small, knowing smile that felt more like a threat than a reassurance. “Good to hear. What’s your name?” “Sarah,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “Sarah,” he repeated, as if savoring the sound. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” Heat rose to my cheeks, not from flattery, but from anger and discomfort. I quickly looked away, busying myself with a tray of cookies that didn’t really need arranging. What was it about this man that made me so uneasy? He turned to his men, his expression hardening. “Apologize to the lady and help clean up this mess.” They scrambled to obey, their earlier drama replaced with obedience. As they arranged the fallen display and muttered apologies, I stole glances at Marco, trying to understand who he was and why he had such a powerful effect on everyone around him. “Again, my apologies,” he said once more, stepping closer. “It seems my visit caused quite a stir.” “Who… who are you?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself. He chuckled softly, a sound that was both charming and dangerous. “Just a businessman, Sarah. But I think we’ll be seeing each other again.” With that, he turned and walked out, his men following like obedient dogs. The door closed behind them, and the bakery seemed to exhale, the tension slowly disappearing. I stood there, trying to steady my breathing, my mind dashing with questions. Who was that man? And why did he have his subordinates come here?SARAHI woke up slow. No rush. I just laid there for a while, eyes on the ceiling, thinking about nothing and everything. This house… it still felt like home, but not fully. It was familiar, yeah, but there was something in the air, something quiet and cold. Like it was testing me, watching to see if I still fit into it. If I still belonged.I finally pulled myself out of bed, dragging my feet across the rug as I moved around. I started with the small things. Folding the laundry that had been sitting on that chair for two days now. Wiping down the dresser, even though it didn’t really need it. I opened the window and let the breeze roll in. It wasn’t the same as Italy’s breeze. It didn’t carry the smell of sea or vineyard. This one carried traffic and a little dust. But it was air. It was something.Once I finished cleaning up my room, I changed into something light and tied my hair up. I splashed my face, brushed my teeth, went through the motions like muscle memory. Then I walked do
MARCOThe door clicked shut behind me. My shoes hit the floor heavy, muffled by thick carpet. I paused just a second. Took in the office. The same old scent hit me, leather, cologne, aged wood, and something like old books. It hadn’t changed. Everything in its place.Tony stood by the desk, flipping through a folder. His sleeves were rolled up. Jaw tight like he’d been grinding his teeth since morning.He didn’t look up. “Took your sweet time.”I shut the distance slowly. “Was getting used to soft mornings and soft hands.”He smirked, barely. “You mean Sarah?”I reached for the folder. “You trying to gossip or get me briefed?”He let it go easy. “Glad you’re back, boss. It’s been…busy.”I settled into the chair, leather creaking under me. “Start talking.”“Shipment landed clean two nights ago. No eyes, no snags.”“Good. Customs guy?”“Paid well. Didn’t blink. Kept the crates moving.”I nodded and flipped the first page. Numbers, routes, stamps. All standard. “He’ll want more next time
SARAHThe plane was quiet in that expensive way.. Everything smelled like soft leather and lemon-scented wipes. First class—Marco called it “VIP shit.” Whatever it was, it was way nicer than anything I’d ever flown in before.I was by the window, legs under the thick blanket they’d handed me when we boarded. I leaned into the seat, watching the sky out the window, nothing but clouds and blue. The wing cut through them like a knife sliding through whipped cream.I didn’t realize how high we were until I stared long enough to get a little dizzy. That always happened when I thought too long about flying, how something so heavy could just float like this.Next to me, Marco was already knocked out. His arms were folded across his chest, his face tilted toward me. His mouth slightly parted, jaw relaxed, hair messy from his fingers running through it one too many times.Just then the flight attendant showed up quietly.“Would you like your meal now, ma’am?” she asked, voice polite and low, l
SARAHIt was still early, but my eyes refused to shut again.I lay there for a while, tucked in the sheets, watching the soft morning light slide slowly across the wall. The room was quiet, peaceful, almost too still for the thoughts running through my head. My body felt sore in that lazy, sweet way after being touched the way he touched me last night. I smiled to myself, then frowned, then smiled again. It was ridiculous how one night with Marco could still make me feel like a shy girl all over again. My cheeks warmed as I shifted a little under the covers.I turned my head slowly toward him.He was still sleeping, back against the pillows, one arm tossed over his stomach. His chest rose and fell, calm, steady. His hair was messy from sleep, and a strand of it curled across his forehead. I reached over, gently brushing the strand back, then let my fingers rest in his hair for a second. He didn’t stir. I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.“Sleep, baby,” I whispered,
SARAHI woke up to see the soft light pushing through the curtains. Marco wasn’t beside me. The bed was still warm, but his side was empty. I sat up slowly, tugging the sheets around me. He was near the window, sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed already. His back was a little hunched, phone in hand, thumb moving like he was rereading something over and over.“Hey,” I said, voice scratchy from sleep.He turned, smiled. “Morning.” He stood, leaned in and kissed my forehead. “You sleep okay?”“Yeah. You?”He nodded. “Didn’t want to wake you.”“You’re dressed,” I said, glancing at his button-down shirt. “Where you going?”He tucked the phone away like it was nothing. “Nowhere. I’m with you today.”I watched him a second longer. He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Something was off. I knew that smile.. it was his ‘don’t ask’ smile.“Breakfast?” he asked.“Sure.”We ordered room service and ate in bed, legs tangled under the sheets. Pancakes, eggs, espresso. I watched him ch
SARAHThe sheets were still warm when I opened my eyes. Light spilled in from the wide windows, casting gold across the floor. I could feel Marco’s arm heavy around my waist, his chest steady behind my back. For once, there was no tension in his hold. Just peace.I didn’t move for a while. I just lay there and listened to his breathing, soft and even.He was still asleep when I turned a little to face him. His mouth was parted. Hair a bit messy. He looked younger like this. Lighter.“Staring again?” he murmured without opening his eyes.I smiled. “You caught me.”His eyes opened then, sharp but soft at the same time. “You should’ve woken me. Could’ve stared properly.”“You looked too calm. I didn’t wanna ruin it.”He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Nothing you do ruins anything.”We stayed like that for a few more minutes, arms tangled, silence warm between us.Eventually, we ordered breakfast—pancakes, eggs, some espresso. The food arrived quick. Marco pulled the t
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