SARAHI watched them.My grip on my glass was tight, my fingers curling around the delicate stem as if it was the only thing keeping me tethered. The cool condensation seeped against my skin, but I barely registered it. My eyes were locked on them—Marco and that woman.She was too close. Too comfortable.Her laugh was light, airy, laced with familiarity. Every few seconds, she touched his arm, her manicured fingers gliding over the fabric of his suit like she had every right. A brush of her hand against his shoulder. A playful tap against his chest. And Marco—he wasn’t pulling away.My jaw tightened.The murmurs around me weren’t helping.“Who is she?”“She looks like she knows him well.”“She’s stunning. No wonder she walked in like she owned the place.”I exhaled sharply through my nose, willing myself to stay composed. I knew exactly what they were thinking because I was thinking it too. And I hated it.My husband, standing there with some woman draped all over him like she had eve
AISHASarah doesn’t like me. That much was obvious.I could see it in her eyes—the way she shook my hand, the way her fingers tensed just slightly, the way her lips curled into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was polite, controlled, but I wasn’t stupid.She didn’t trust me.Not that I blamed her.Women like Sarah had instincts. And mine was telling me that hers were screaming at her that I was a problem.Which, of course, I was. But she couldn’t know that. At least, not yet.I needed to be careful. I needed to move slowly, smartly, if I wanted to get close to Marco without raising too many alarms. If she thought I was just a secretary, an employee who happened to be a little friendly, she might let her guard down.I could work with that.I sighed, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear as I made my way toward the bar, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The party was elegant, the music low and sophisticated, the lighting dim and warm. Everything about the atmos
AISHAMarco took a seat beside me, stretching his arms across the back of the barstool, looking way too relaxed for someone who had just thrown a man out of his own party. His eyes flickered toward me, then to his drink, then back to me again.“You okay?” His voice was low, steady, but there was something else beneath it. Something unreadable.I exhaled through my nose, picking up my glass and taking a slow sip. “I’m fine.”Marco hummed, not entirely convinced. “Bastard’s lucky I didn’t break his nose.”I let out a small laugh. “What, one punch wasn’t enough?”He smirked. “You think he deserved more?”“I think men like that deserve worse.” I took another sip before setting my glass down. “But he’s not worth it.”Marco nodded slightly, rubbing his jaw as he glanced toward the bartender. “What are you drinking?”“Whiskey.”His brows lifted slightly. “Didn’t take you for a whiskey person.”“I’m full of surprises.”Marco chuckled under his breath, then signaled for the bartender. “I’ll ta
AISHAMarco took a seat beside me, stretching his arms across the back of the barstool, looking way too relaxed for someone who had just thrown a man out of his own party. His eyes flickered toward me, then to his drink, then back to me again.“You okay?” His voice was low, steady, but there was something else beneath it. Something unreadable.I exhaled through my nose, picking up my glass and taking a slow sip. “I’m fine.”Marco hummed, not entirely convinced. “Bastard’s lucky I didn’t break his nose.”I let out a small laugh. “What, one punch wasn’t enough?”He smirked. “You think he deserved more?”“I think men like that deserve worse.” I took another sip before setting my glass down. “But he’s not worth it.”Marco nodded slightly, rubbing his jaw as he glanced toward the bartender. “What are you drinking?”“Whiskey.”His brows lifted slightly. “Didn’t take you for a whiskey person.”“I’m full of surprises.”Marco chuckled under his breath, then signaled for the bartender. “I’ll ta
AISHAMarco’s weight leaned into me as I carefully guided him through the grand hallways of his mansion. His steps were sluggish, his body heavy, but I kept moving, dragging him forward as subtly as I could. Every few steps, he mumbled something—half-slurred directions that barely made sense, but I forced myself to listen.“Left,” he muttered, pointing vaguely with his free hand. “Then, uh… another left.”I nodded like I was paying attention, though my focus was split between keeping us moving and making sure we weren’t being watched. My eyes flicked around constantly, scanning for any sign of Sarah or anyone else who might get in the way. The last thing I needed was someone questioning why I was hauling Marco through the halls like this.My heart pounded so hard it felt like I could hear it in my ears.Not from fear—at least, that’s what I told myself—but from the sheer pressure of the situation. I needed to get this over with. Fast.Isabella was waiting.And once I was done with thi
SARAHThe party was alive—music blasting, laughter ringing out, people moving around with drinks in their hands. I was caught up in it, letting the distractions pull me in. The energy was infectious, and for a while, I didn’t think about anything else. But then, out of nowhere, a nagging feeling crept up on me.Marco.I hadn’t seen him in a while.I glanced around the crowded room, scanning the faces, but there was no sign of him. My stomach tightened slightly, but I tried to brush it off. Maybe he had just stepped out for air. Or maybe he had gone to take a call. It wasn’t a big deal.Except… it was unlike him.Marco didn’t just disappear without a word. If he needed to step away, he usually let me know. And the last time I had seen him, he had been with Aisha.I swallowed, my unease growing. Something wasn’t right.I turned my head again, trying to spot him through the mass of people. Nothing. No glimpse of his dark suit, no familiar presence near the bar or in the corners where he
SARAHI stared at Marco, my entire body frozen.Did I just hear that right?His voice had been slurred, thick with alcohol, but the name he mumbled was as clear as day.Aisha.Something inside me cracked, sharp and painful, like glass shattering.I swallowed, trying to steady myself, but my hands trembled as I reached for his shoulder, shaking him harder this time. “Marco, wake up,” I said, my voice uneven, breathless. “Get up, dammit.”He barely moved. His head lolled to the side, his lips parting slightly before another mumble slipped out.“…Aisha…”I sucked in a sharp breath, my nails digging into his arm.No.My heart slammed against my ribs, a sickening weight settling in my stomach.I shook him again, harder this time. “Marco, wake up! What the fuck is wrong with you?”Still, nothing.Just a groggy groan, his brows twitching slightly, his face slack. He was completely out of it.I clenched my jaw, my eyes burning as I stared at him, at the way he lay there so carelessly, unaware
SARAHI sat on the edge of the bed, watching Marco’s unconscious form. His chest rose and fell steadily, his face slack with sleep, completely unaware of the storm he had left in my head.I should have just walked away. I should have left the second I saw him like that—drunk, shirtless, and muttering her name. Aisha. His so-called secretary.If that was even true.A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it down. The thought alone made my stomach twist. My mind wouldn’t stop running through the possibilities. What if he had been lying to me all along? What if she wasn’t just his secretary? What if I had been stupid enough to believe all of his excuses while they—I squeezed my eyes shut and exhaled through my nose.No. I needed to calm down. I needed to wait. Jumping to conclusions wouldn’t help anything.But God, how could I not?Everything about tonight had been wrong. The party, the forced smiles, the tension in the air I hadn’t been able to shake. And then to find him
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.