Possessed by My Mafia Stepbrother

I used to be my father’s most beloved daughter. His pride and joy, his shadow, the one he whispered his secrets to late at night when he thought the world was asleep. He’d ruffle my hair, call me his little warrior, and promise me the world. But promises mean nothing when they’re buried with the dead.After his death, my mother and I found ourselves trapped in a nightmare we couldn’t escape. My uncle—my father’s supposed right-hand man—took over everything. The house, the gang, the power. And us. He wasn’t content with just my father’s legacy; he wanted to break the pieces left behind. He wanted us to be obedient, silent.Bruises bloomed on my body like sinister flowers. My arms, my ribs, even my face on the worst days. He always made sure to strike in places I could hide with long sleeves and sunglasses, but I wore those bruises like armor. His public façade was one of benevolence, a grieving brother stepping in to hold things together. But behind closed doors, he was a monster.One

Dante’s POVWalking back into the Marino mansion felt like stepping into a cage. The walls, the chandeliers, the gilded mirrors—they all radiated the same cold opulence that had suffocated me for years. But it wasn’t just the place; it was the man standing in the center of it all.My father.He barely glanced at me as I strode through the room, his dark gaze assessing me like I was an item on a checklist. His expression hardened when his eyes landed on my motorcycle boots, the worn leather jacket slung over my shoulder, and the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of my shirt.“Still dressing like a drifter, I see,” he said, his voice low and disdainful.I shrugged, unbothered. “Still trying to dress like a king?”His jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he straightened his already perfect tie and gestured toward the two women standing a few feet away.“Your stepmother and stepsister,” he said, his tone perfunctory.I already knew who they were. Of c

Dante’s POVFor the first time in years, I let myself entertain a dangerous thought.What if my mother was still alive?The possibility crept in like a thief in the night, stealing my focus and unraveling every belief I had cemented since her death. For years, her absence had been a void I couldn’t fill, a scar I didn’t let anyone touch. And now, with these offshore accounts moving money under her name, the thought of her alive and hiding somewhere felt both impossible and achingly real.“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Matteo said, his tone wary. He sat behind his desk, his sharp eyes fixed on me as if trying to read the chaos swirling in my head.I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk. “Could she be alive?” I asked, my voice low, almost desperate.Matteo’s expression softened briefly, but then he shook his head. “No, Dante. She’s gone. You and I both know that.”“How can you be so sure?” I demanded. “Those accounts—they’ve been active for 18 years. Money doesn’t just mo

Dante’s POVReturning to the Marino mansion felt both foreign and familiar. The cold, calculated atmosphere hadn't changed, but the people inside it made it feel... different. The moment I walked through the door, I found her.Valentina.She was sitting on the edge of the grand staircase, her phone in hand. Her ash-blonde hair fell around her shoulders, and her face was set in a mask of concentration. She didn't look up as I approached, but I could tell by the slight tension in her posture that she knew I was there."You didn't even say hello," I said, leaning casually against the bannister.Her fingers paused briefly over the screen before resuming their movements. "Hello," she said flatly, not bothering to look at me.I smirked, taking another step closer. "That's it? No hug, no 'I missed you'? I'm hurt, kitten."Her head snapped up, her hazel eyes narrowing. "Don't call me that.""Why not? It suits you." I moved closer, deliberately encroaching on her space. The subtle scent of her

Valentina’s POVThe next morning, I found my mom in the sitting room, her gaze fixed on the television. The soft drone of the news filled the space, but I was too distracted by my thoughts to register the words.“Did you sleep well, darling?” she asked without turning her head.Sleep? Hardly.I had spent the night tossing and turning, Dante’s teasing words echoing in my mind. His voice, his smirk, the way his eyes had darkened as he taunted me—it was maddening. Worse, I couldn’t shake the image of him leaning casually against the doorframe of my room, his presence suffocating and intoxicating all at once.Even this morning, as I’d passed his door on the way downstairs, I’d caught a glimpse of him through the half-open doorway. He was sprawled across his bed, the sheet draped loosely over his hips, his muscular chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of sleep.I’d looked too long.Clearing my throat, I forced my mind back to the present. “It would be easier to sleep if the hero o