*********Isabella closed the door behind her and let out a long, satisfied sigh. Her eyes scanned the room—the guest room, as they called it—but to her, it was so much more. This wasn’t just a room; it was her victory. A smile spread across her face as she walked toward the bed and sat down, sinking into the plush comforter.“I did it,” she whispered to herself, the words tasting sweet on her tongue. “I finally did it.”She leaned back on her hands, her gaze traveling across the walls and furniture. The room was simple, tasteful, but it lacked her personal touch. That would change soon enough. She wasn’t just a guest anymore; this was her territory now.“Finally,” she said aloud, a giggle escaping her lips. “This house, this life—it’s all coming together. And Sarah…” Her lips curled into a smirk as she thought of the other woman’s reaction earlier. “Poor, sweet Sarah. She hasn’t even seen the half of it yet.”The memory of the DNA test flashed in her mind. The way the doctor had read
SARAHI stood in the middle of my room, staring at the slight mess I’d made over the past few days. Clothes were draped over the chair in the corner, some hanging halfway to the floor, and a stack of books leaned precariously on my nightstand. It wasn’t a disaster, but it wasn’t neat either. Still, cleaning seemed like the best way to keep my mind from spiraling. Anything was better than sitting here and stewing over Isabella and her smug, self-satisfied attitude—or Marco, with his infuriatingly calm demeanor, like nothing in the world could touch him.I grabbed a shirt off the chair and folded it with a little more force than necessary, tucking it into the drawer. The movement was brisk, almost aggressive, but it felt good. At least this, I could control. Folding clothes, organizing, tidying—it was simple and didn’t come with strings attached.“The Isabella situation,” I muttered under my breath as I grabbed another shirt. That’s what I’d been calling it in my head. It sounded clinic
SARAHAs I walked down the hallway, the house felt different—like someone had been here, touching things that didn’t belong to them. It was subtle at first. A throw pillow on the couch was slightly off-center, its crisp lines disturbed. The vase I had carefully placed on the mini table in the living room was now perched on the corner of the mantle.I frowned, stopping mid-step to glance around. I hadn’t moved it. No one ever moved anything in this house unless I told them to. The staff knew better than to tamper with my things.Who was behind this?I shook my head, forcing myself to keep walking, but the unease stayed with me. By the time I reached the kitchen, I was determined to find some kind of distraction. I'd rather be hanging around in the kitchen than seeing him. Avoiding him right now felt far more important.Martha was there, wiping down the counters with practiced efficiency. She turned as I entered, her face lighting up with a warm smile. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” she greet
SARAHI woke up feeling a little lighter, the tension from yesterday not completely gone but dulled enough to let me breathe. I stretched, letting the faint morning light seep into my room before heading to the bathroom. A warm shower was exactly what I needed to set the tone for the day.After drying off, I opened my wardrobe to pick out a dress, only to freeze. Something was off. The neatly arranged rows of clothes I’d spent time organizing were disheveled, with hangers out of place and garments folded in ways I would never fold them. My brow furrowed as I scanned the wardrobe again.“What the hell…” I muttered under my breath.I pushed aside a row of dresses, checking the back for anything missing. My eyes landed on an empty spot where one of my scarves used to hang. Confused, I stepped back, trying to recall the last time I’d used it. Shaking my head, I moved to the drawers and opened the one that held my jewelry.That’s when I noticed it—my bracelet was gone.I stared at the empt
SARAHBy the time dinner rolled around, I felt more settled. The small victories of the day—reorganizing the spaces Isabella had claimed and setting some quiet boundaries with Martha—gave me a sense of control I hadn’t felt in weeks. It was almost laughable how reclaiming a few drawers and shelves could make me feel so accomplished, but after days of feeling like I was drowning in chaos, I would take every win I could get.As I made my way downstairs, I mentally ticked off everything I had rearranged earlier. The bookshelf in the living room? Back to its original setup. The vase Isabella had moved to the coffee table? Returned to its rightful place on the mantle. Even the pantry had been sorted, with labels that made sense to me instead of her haphazard system. Nothing seemed out of place. Good.When I entered the dining room, the familiar, comforting scent of roasted vegetables and seasoned chicken greeted me. My dinner was already set on the table, just like always. Martha, ever tho
SARAH“Where did you find my bracelet?” I snapped, my voice louder than I intended, trembling with the anger that had been bubbling inside me all day. My gaze locked onto the bracelet on Isabella’s wrist—a charm bracelet I could never mistake. My bracelet. The one I had been searching for like a lunatic all morning, tearing through every corner of the house only to find it here, now, dangling mockingly from her wrist.Isabella’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile, as if my frustration amused her. “Sarah,” she said softly, in a tone so calm it only fueled my fury, “there’s no need to get so worked up. It’s just a bracelet.”“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I spat, my chair scraping loudly against the floor as I shot to my feet. The sharp sound echoed in the room, but I didn’t care. My anger had its own momentum now, unstoppable. “Where the fuck did you find it? I’ve been looking for it all day, tearing this place apart, and now it’s just c
MARCO I sat at my desk, my eyes fixed on the ledger before me. The columns of numbers blurred into one another, mocking me with their impenetrable logic. No matter how hard I tried to focus, to force my mind into the calm precision I was known for, it felt like grasping at smoke. The harder I tried, the more elusive it became. I leaned back in my chair with a sharp sigh, running a hand through my hair. The scattered papers, the quiet hum of the office—it all felt like a testament to my failure. I’d been sitting here for hours, pretending to work, trying to keep my mind from going where it always went. But nothing worked. The numbers refused to make sense, and my thoughts refused to stay in line. This wasn’t me. I was always in control. Always sharp. But lately, it felt like control had slipped through my fingers. Like the more I tried to hold onto it, the faster it unraveled. I hated the feeling. Hated that I couldn’t snap my fingers and make it all go away. I pushed back my ch
SARAHThe rhythmic motion of my hands moving the crochet hook through the yarn was oddly soothing. It was one of the few things that could keep my mind calm these days. I sat on the living room couch, determined to finish the little blanket I’d started weeks ago. The soft, repetitive motion allowed me to focus on something other than the chaos that had become my life.Across the room, Isabella was lounging on another couch, scrolling through her phone. She hadn’t said a word to me since she’d entered the room, and I wasn’t about to start a conversation. The silence between us was sharp, almost suffocating, but I preferred it over whatever fake kindness she’d try to throw my way. I kept my eyes fixed on my work, ignoring her presence entirely.Every now and then, I’d hear her let out a soft laugh or the click of her nails tapping against the phone screen. It was infuriating how comfortable she seemed, sitting there like she owned the place. I tightened my grip on the yarn, forcing myse
SARAHMy heart slammed against my ribs as Marco’s words sank in, ringing inside my head over and over. “They found us.” The beach felt like it got smaller, like the whole world shrunk to just the two of us sitting there in the fading light. The soft crash of waves, the breeze off the ocean, the smell of salt in the air—all of it faded behind that one sentence. Marco’s body was already moving, already shifting into that other side of him. The side I hated. The one that made him untouchable and far away, like no matter how close I stood, I could never quite reach him.I just sat there for a second, watching him. The man who had been laughing with me minutes ago, struggling to set up a picnic table like a regular guy, now moved like the man who ran half of New York. His face was stone. Cold. Like every wall I’d been trying to chip away at all these years just slammed back into place. He pulled out his burner phone, barking short, clipped orders to whoever was on the other end. His voic
SARAHI woke up to the softest light pouring into the room, like the sun was taking its time this morning. The sheets were cold against my skin, the AC turned up too high again. I grumbled quietly, reaching out to switch it off, still half-asleep. But as soon as I opened my eyes, there he was. Marco. Sitting at the edge of the bed, sipping his coffee like he owned the whole world.He didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at me with that usual serious face. The one that always made me wonder if he was solving a problem or planning to break someone’s legs before lunch. But then, just as I was about to tease him, his mouth curled into the smallest, rarest smile.“You sleep like a baby,” he said, voice deep and scratchy from the coffee or maybe just from being Marco.I yawned, still fighting to stay under the covers. “I’m pregnant, I think I’m allowed.”He leaned closer, voice dropping a little as if it was just for me. “No, like a baby baby. Drooling, little pout, the whole thing.”
SARAHMarco’s breathing was soft beside me, but it wasn’t peaceful. His jaw stayed tight, and his brow kept twitching like he was fighting someone in his dreams. I lay there curled into him, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his arm across me. Warm, steady, but heavy like everything else about him. The house was quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the sound of him breathing, but my mind was loud. I kept thinking about the way he walked in tonight, smelling like smoke and blood and that sharp scent of gunpowder.Dinner felt like a lifetime ago. The way we laughed while folding baby clothes, how he tried to act like the mob boss folding tiny onesies was beneath him. It had been nice, like a flash of the life we used to have before this war dragged him deeper into the dirt.I couldn’t sleep. I just stared at him. Even now, resting on the couch, with his head tilted back and his hand still half on my belly, he looked like a man ready to wake up swinging. I rubbed my t
MARCOThe fire popped low behind me, casting flickers of orange across the dark wood of my study. I sat with a glass of whiskey, the weight of the night still sitting heavy on my shoulders. Across from me, Tony was halfway through his second drink, leaning back in his chair, loose and loud, while Petrov, red in the face from the booze, was already on his third cigar. The room smelled like smoke and old leather, the sharp bite of whiskey in the air. Petrov raised his glass with that big wolf grin of his, eyes gleaming like we were celebrating a birthday.“To Enzo,” he said, clinking his glass to no one in particular. “May that bastard rot.”Tony laughed, swirling his drink lazily. “Shit, boss, I can still hear that scream. The look on his face when you started cutting him up. Priceless.”I didn’t smile. I stared into my glass, watching the way the firelight swirled in the amber liquid. My head wasn’t here, not fully.Petrov kept going, slapping Tony on the shoulder. “You think the Ross
THIRD PERSON Two guards stood at the Rossi estate gates, shoulders hunched under their coats as they leaned against the cold stone wall. The night was quiet, too quiet, the kind that made men like them start talking just to fill the silence.Luca lit a cigarette, smoke curling past his lips as he exhaled slow and steady. “My wife’s still on my ass about leaving all this behind,” he muttered, staring out past the iron gates into the dark. “Wants me to pack it up, move back to Naples, be a family man.”Franco chuckled, counting out a wad of crumpled bills in his palm. “Yeah? And do what? Sell fruit on the street corner? You ain’t made for that life, Luca.”Luca smirked but there was a sadness behind his eyes. “Neither are you.”Franco shrugged. “Fair point. But I’m smarter than you. I ain’t married.” He tucked the bills back into his pocket. “Besides, we’re sitting on money, power. What’s Naples gonna give you that the Rossis don’t?”Luca didn’t answer right away, just flicked his ciga
MARCOSarah’s laughter was soft, the kind that settled deep in my chest and made me forget—just for a moment—that there was a war outside these walls. My hand rested on her belly, feeling the faint movement beneath my palm. It was a strange thing, feeling something so small and fragile yet knowing it carried my blood. My child. A part of me growing inside her. The thought made something tighten in my chest, something unfamiliar. A kind of protectiveness I wasn’t used to.Sarah placed her hand over mine, her fingers threading through the gaps, holding me there like she never wanted me to move. “She’s kicking again,” she murmured, her voice full of amusement.I smirked, rubbing slow, lazy circles over her stomach. “She?”Sarah arched a brow, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t think so?”I glanced down at her belly, pressing my palm a little firmer against it, waiting for the movement again. A few seconds passed, then there it was—a sharp little kick against my hand. I huffed a quiet
MARCOThe knife gleamed under the low light of my office, smooth and polished, stripped of the blood it had worn just few days ago. I turned it in my hand, inspecting the flawless steel. Clean now, harmless too but that would change soon. It always did.I reached for another, picking up the cloth beside me, running it slowly along the blade’s edge. There was something satisfying about it to me, the way a weapon could look so calm until the moment it was used. It was a deception I admired. A blade never needed to look dangerous. It only needed to be.La Paloma had been a massacre. The blood had dried fast, crusting against the ridges of the handle, settling in the fine lines of the steel. It took effort to wipe it away completely. A kill wasn’t finished until the weapon was ready for its next one.I moved to the next knife, then the next, until each one sat before me, shining like they had never been used. That was when I reached for the sharpening stone.A clean blade was one thing. A
SARAHI tried to focus on the yarn in my hands, but my fingers trembled too much to knit. The needles clicked together uselessly, slipping from my grasp, the pattern I’d started completely forgotten. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning, tangled in the mess of Aisha’s confession, each word cutting deeper than the last.Marco never cheated.The pictures were fake.Isabella was behind it all.I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The truth slammed into me over and over, breaking apart everything I thought I knew. Everything I let myself believe.I should have known.After Isabella was caught lying about her pregnancy, after she was humiliated and exposed, I should have realized she wasn’t the type to let things go. That woman didn’t lose. She didn’t forget. She was like a viper, coiling in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to sink her fangs into my life and tear it apart.And I let her.I swallowed hard, but my throat was dry, aching with the weight of my own stupidity.Every
ISABELLAThe morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my private suite, casting golden light over the silk sheets of my king-sized bed. I stretched lazily, savoring the coolness of the fabric against my skin before reaching for the remote on my nightstand. With a press of a button, soft classical music filled the room, the kind that played in the background of the world’s most expensive penthouses. The kind that reminded me of power. Of control. Of exactly who I was.I slid out of bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush white carpet as I made my way toward the bathroom. Marble countertops, a freestanding tub, gold fixtures—everything hand-selected, everything perfect. I twisted the faucet, letting warm water spill into the sink before splashing my face gently. A morning cleanse, followed by an ice-cold jade roller against my skin. Every inch of my routine was precise, curated.Next came the serum. The kind infused with gold flecks, a favorite of European royalty.