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Chapter 8 - Obedient. Quiet. Pretty.
Last Updated:
2025-08-24 00:28:24
JanedoewritingsYou know, most of the time, kids act based on what they see and learn at home. It becomes second nature. But then they grow up… and sometimes, they realize, wait, that wasn’t okay. That’s when the real strength shows. Instead of repeating the cycle, they choose to break it. Heal it. Do better. I love writing characters who go through that shift. It’s messy. It’s human. And it makes the payoff so worth it. 💔➡️❤️
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Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ The door closed behind me with a soft click. I didn’t speak as I slid into the leather backseat, crossing my legs at the ankle, folding my hands in my lap. Antonio rounded the front, tugging the door shut behind him before settling into the driver’s seat. The SUV purred to life beneath us. We pulled out, flanked on all sides. Two black SUVs, identical to ours, one leading, one tailing, their windows blacker than ebony. A convoy for a Capone. But all I could feel was the space between me and Antonio. Antonio Rossi showed up at the Capone estate about six months ago as a driver, of all things. My father’s newest hire. He used to pick me up from school, open my door, keep his eyes respectfully lowered like a good soldier. He always looked annoyingly perfect doing the most mundane things, parking the car, adjusting his cuffs, standing silent in the hallway like he’d been born to be watched. Which, of course, made me watch him. And watching turned into wondering
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Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ Age 17 | Chicago, Illinois The black car pulled up to the curb outside the restaurant. The city lights flickered across the windshield, Antonio stepped out first. He scanned the sidewalk, one hand already at his waist, coat pushed back just enough to flash the holster clipped to his belt. Then he glanced back at me through the tinted glass and gave a single nod. My door opened and there he was again, tall, sharp-jawed, eyes darker than sin. He extended a hand to help me out. I placed mine in his, letting my fingers linger a second longer than necessary. Heat flared low in my stomach, his grip tightened just slightly. Our eyes met. Then it was gone. He released me like I was poisonous. I stepped out, straightened my dress, and raised my chin. Chicago wind bit across my cheeks, tugging at the edge of my coat. My hair, pinned into a sleek twist, didn’t move. I had learned the art of silence in the last three years. Of posture, of restraint, of weaponizing elega
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Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ I was curled against Papà’s side, face buried in the fine linen of his shirt, staining it with silent tears. His cologne should’ve comforted me, but it only made the lump in my throat grow worse. He let me cling and didn’t say a word, just kept his palm moving in slow circles on my back like I was still his little girl and not the girl some boy had thrown in the sand and kissed without permission in front of an entire crowd. And yes, I told him. I told them both. Every awful, humiliating detail. How Rino grabbed me. How he touched me. How he made me feel like nothing. I told them because some stupid part of me thought they’d care enough to stop it. To call off the engagement. To protect me. Papà just chuckled and called it “puppy arrogance.” Said it was “typical Lombardi showboating.” Across the room, Mama sat perched at her vanity. Her breathing was faintly wheezy from the climb up the stairs, but she didn't stop giving me the judgmental glances through the mir
Promised To The Don: The Runaway Mafia Princess Chapter 8 - Obedient. Quiet. Pretty.
Rino ─𖤝─ She fucking ran. She stormed off like I’d slapped her across the face with my cock instead of my mouth. I watched her figure disappear across the sand, hair tangled from the sea air and whatever happened between us. She was crying. I could tell. Her shoulders were shaking. That quick, hiccupping kind of run girls do when they’re trying to hold in a breakdown. Cute. But also, fuck. And for a second, I started after her. Two steps, no more, like I was some lovesick prick in a bad indie film. But I stopped. Because my jaw was clenched so fucking tight I could hear my own pulse behind my teeth. Because every part of me that wanted to grab her and make it right was crushed under the weight of one thing... My fucking ego. She’d humiliated me again. With those big, bratty eyes, with that mouth she doesn’t know how to shut, with every smug little word that spilled out like she thought she was untouchable. And then the fucking tears. She looked at me like I was the vill
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Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I blinked at him, eyes wide, breath caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, with my body, with the heat crawling up my neck like I’d been branded. I had never been kissed before, not by love and definitely not like that. He cocked his head slightly, like he was admiring a painting that didn’t impress him much. “You really thought you could talk shit and walk away?” he murmured. His eyes flicked down to my lips, my swollen, bitten lips and then right back up to my eyes, smug as hell. “Now you’re tainted by the inbred clown prince of Liguria. Wonder what that says about you.” Tears stung my eyes before I even knew they were there. Hot, sudden, blinding. I turned on instinct, didn’t look back, didn’t breathe, just ran. Their laughter still echoed behind me, but it sounded far away like it was underwater. I ran through the sand, past the fire pit, the mu
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Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ They were playing games. They were not the kind we played back in Chicago, not spin-the-bottle or some watered-down version of Truth or Dare. These were Italian games, I guess. I didn’t know the rules. I didn’t even know the names. There was “Palla Avvelenata”, some drunk version of dodgeball using a rolled-up towel soaked in seawater, half the boys were shirtless by the time it ended. Then there was the weirdest one, “Il Giudice” The Judge. One person stood blindfolded in the center, playing the “judge,” while the others circled around and whispered confessions or secrets. The judge had to guess who said what. If they were right? The confessor had to jump in the water... naked. If they were wrong? The judge went in. I didn’t understand most of it. The rules changed depending on who was winning. Everyone was barefoot, tanned, already drunk or pretending to be. They shrieked, ran, dove, climbed on one another, I stood at the edge of it all, arms crossed, watch
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