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TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN

TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN

Mafia
last updateDernière mise à jour : 2026-05-26
Par:  Krystal BahmzMis à jour à l'instant
Langue: English
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3 Notes. 3 commentaires
46Chapitres
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Synopsis

Dark Romance

Steamy

Action

Badboy

Badgirl

Dominant

Affair

Forbidden Love

Twisted

As the wife of the Colombian cartel heir, Krystal Serrano is a symbol of diplomacy and control. Dressed in silk, wrapped in silence, and displayed like a crown jewel at the center of power. But behind the flawless smile lies a woman raised not just to survive, but to rule. When her husband's betrayal ignites a war with the Italian mafia, Krystal is taken. Kidnapped and hidden away by Zachary Romano, the young, ruthless Don who solves problems with bullets and buries questions with bodies. He thought he had captured a soft, obedient mafia wife. What he brought home was a storm in heels. Krystal doesn't beg. She doesn't break. Her silence provokes, her lips taunt, and her gaze slices deeper than any blade. Inside the stone walls of his private villa, control begins to slip. Hatred turns into tension. Tension burns into obsession. And in their world, love always comes with blood on its hands. The ring on her finger still binds her to a man who believes she belongs to him. But what happens when a woman like Krystal meets someone dark enough to understand her, broken enough to match her, and reckless enough to want her? Because there's a difference between loving a woman like Krystal… And trying to own her. And Zach Romano is about to learn—only one man can stand beside her. The rest will be buried.

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commentaires

Littlecute00
Littlecute00
may i know if you're still updating author
2026-02-16 11:28:44
1
0
shinto nugroho
shinto nugroho
I hope you continue writing this story as well. The Romano brothers...double Z. you write so well. I enjoy both story.
2025-11-03 20:05:47
1
1
Tara Danielle
Tara Danielle
love thisss
2025-07-08 18:14:05
0
0
46
if i vanish, blame the wind
The sky above Santorini melted into a deep orange hue, spilling across the sea like paint on canvas. Our table sat right at the edge of the terrace, facing the ocean. The summer breeze brushed gently against my skin, carrying the salty scent of the sea mixed with a faint hint of rosemary from the restaurant kitchen. Soft jazz music played in the background, barely audible.Matteo hadn’t touched his wine.“Someone died this morning,” he said, staring into his empty glass. “Two men from Palermo. Shot in the street, broad daylight. Old-school. Brutal.”The steak knife in my hand paused over the still-bloody meat. I looked at him, waiting. He was always like that… opening conversations like dropping a grenade on the table.“They were probably trying to make a statement,” he went on. “Or send a message. We know who did it. But not enough to strike back without starting a full-blown war.”I leaned back into the linen-covered rattan chair and took a deep breath. The candlelight on the table f
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gold lights, red hands
The pendant lights hung low between the olive trees, casting a golden glow over the crystal glasses and small linen-covered tables. Music drifted softly through the air, a blend of modern jazz and old Latin instrumentals, wrapping the night like a thin, expensive mist.The party was semi-formal. Guests arrived in long dresses and bow ties, but also in relaxed shoes and linen jackets. The scent from the antipasti table mixed with sea salt and too much perfume.I stood beside Matteo, my arm looped through his. His fingers locked around my wrist like an invisible cuff. A possessive grip he probably didn’t realize...or maybe he did.Bretta laughed loudly across the garden, her hand resting on Mauro’s arm as he stood there, patient as always. They spoke quickly, their body language like a small dance. Push and pull, tug and glance, like the world belonged only to them.“Let’s hope you’re not like her when you’re pregnant,” Matteo suddenly whispered in my ear.I didn’t turn to him. Just too
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Zach Romano, With a Smile
The first breath that filled my lungs tasted like metal. Cold and sharp.My eyes opened slowly, blinking a few times before focusing on the unfamiliar interior. Leather so smooth it felt unnatural, soft lights hidden in the seams of the car ceiling, the engine barely making a sound.This wasn’t something I rode in just to get around. And I was sitting… on a leather couch facing another couch.Facing him.The man from the garden. The one who didn’t touch me. Didn’t say my name. But made me feel like I was already stripped bare under his stare.He sat casually, one arm resting on the back, legs crossed. Still wearing the same black shirt from last night, fitting far too comfortably on his body.His eyes lifted when I moved, then dropped to my feet. “You’re awake,”I instinctively leaned back, my spine hitting the side of the car door. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice hoarse.He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He offered
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too much light
He thought silence would scare me.But I knew how the mafia worked. Not every man with a gun has a brain that works. And when a man like Zach Romano leads with authority that borders on religion, his men are usually too afraid to question.Or more accurately... too stupid to suspect.I opened the closet. Expensive dresses hung neatly, all in my size. That bastard even picked out clothes for me. As if this wasn’t a kidnapping. As if this was some kind of deranged vacation.I took a long breath and chose a silk blouse. I changed slowly, deliberately.What I needed was a map. A way out. A route to the garage. The back exits. Who was on night duty. Who looked the youngest, the most tired, the easiest to bend. And most of all, who was dumb enough to swallow my sweet smile without a second thought.But to do that, I needed someone to talk to.A soft knock broke the silence. I turned, shoulders squared.It's him again.The door opened, and the scent of fine tobacco drifted in first. Then he
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Holy Ruin
I didn’t sleep.Not because I was scared. But because too many things were moving in my head like an old machine that kept ticking long after the power was cut. The layout of this house, the number of steps from my room to the main staircase, the sound difference between leather shoes and rubber soles in the north corridor.Even the timing between guard shifts.All of it. Filed away. Neat.And at three in the morning, when the entire villa felt like it was holding its breath, I started to move.Bare feet. Quiet steps. My breathing steady in a slow rhythm. The thin linen dress I wore hung loose on my body, silent, unnoticeable.Hallway after hallway, I passed.This house was too bright in the daylight, but at night... the darkness felt like snake skin.Cold. Smooth. Poisoned.But I knew where I was going: the lower level, east wing. A room I’d seen guarded earlier that day. Large steel doors. A security system too sophisticated for a storage room. I didn’t know what was inside. But I k
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Served Hot with Spite
Morning slipped in like an uninvited traveler. Light crept in through the linen curtains, brushing against my skin with a warmth that felt too gentle for a place like this. For reasons I couldn’t quite name, I’d slept better than the nights before.Maybe my body had given up and my mind was too tired to keep fighting the truth. That here, in this place, Zach Romano was everything.The walls. The locks. The bars around my thoughts.I blinked. The sheets were still warm. But my head felt heavy. Like I’d just left a party without drinking a drop, yet filled with things far more intoxicating.I got up. Left behind tangled linens and the imprint of a night I didn’t want to remember for too long. A dull throb pulsed behind my left temple, probably the aftermath of emotions wound too tight, followed by a sleep that sank too deep.The bathroom mirror greeted me with a face I wasn’t ready for. Slightly puffy eyes. Messy hair. And my lips… God, my lips were still faintly red. Like they remember
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I’ll Poison You Prettier
I sat across from him, watching how he bit into the arepita slowly, like a lion testing the taste of its kill before deciding to devour it.His hands, of course, were bigger than mine. Long fingers. Subtle veins along the back of his hand as it curled around the espresso cup.God. How does a man look that sexy doing something so basic?“How is it?” I asked, stabbing the silence.He just chewed, swallowed, took a slow sip of his coffee, then looked at me. Those eyes. Deep, cold blue. But somehow too alive for a man who killed without blinking.“The arepita’s good,” he answered. “The picadillo... decent.”My eyebrow lifted. “Decent?”“Simple,” he said, plainly. “I like simple.”I let out a quiet scoff. “Right. Because a half-stale croissant with two sour slices of peach is your idea of simple.”His mouth tugged into something that wasn’t quite a smile. A crack in that stone-cold line he always wore. “Peaches are expensive.”“And depressing,” I shot back. “What are you, a mafia don or a
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Soft Things Snap Too
A blank sheet of paper sat in front of me. The pen in my hand moved slowly, listing ingredients one by one.My hand was steady, but my mind was somewhere else. Unlatching back doors, calculating surveillance gaps by the second, weighing exit routes if I ever had to sprint barefoot across cold stone.Across the table, Aldo stood with his arms crossed. He watched me with the kind of boredom that came from a life spent taking orders from another man. A man named Romano.“Do you have to stand there like some cathedral statue?” I muttered without looking up.He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. They never did. They feared Zach more than they feared their own god.I wrote down cornstarch, jasmine rice, fresh beef, whole sea fish, fresh vegetables, and My pen stopped.I tapped the surface of the table. Once. Twice.“White vinegar. Baking soda. Rock salt. Eucalyptus oil. Cotton kitchen twine,” I murmured as I kept writing.Aldo shifted. I heard the soft scrape of his shoes on the wooden fl
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i bet he kills pretty
I walked through the long hallway, winding like the fossilized guts of some ancient beast.The villa's floors were dark limestone. The walls thick, with white paint flaking off in places, revealing the coarse coral stone beneath the arched doorways. The arches were tall, absurdly tall, making me feel small and, strangely, safe.My fingers brushed the wall. The surface was cold, lightly dusted. The scent of the sea slipped through a tiny window down the corridor. Every detail. Old bronze chandeliers, faded paintings of Tuscan vineyards, a cracked marble tile at the end of the hall, whispered something dangerously close to nostalgia.It was ridiculous, standing in the house of a man who could kill me with a smile, yet still thinking: God, if this villa were in the Dolomites...I’d been to the Dolomites once. Long ago. Before Matteo. I stood in front of a crumbling nobleman's castle, staring at the stone tower and stained-glass windows, thinking, If I had a place like this, I’d sleep in
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Handsome Devil in a Tailored Sin
I raised an eyebrow.“Not done,” I said quickly. “I’m just getting started. I still want to know… Who was the first woman you locked inside this stone fortress? Was she pretty? Obedient? Dead? Or did you bury her out back? Do you keep her bones in a closet, Zach? Do you—”He stepped closer, just half a pace. The air between us thickened with the scent of cigarettes and something expensive he probably called soap.His hand lifted slowly. For a second, I thought he might shove me. Or wrap his fingers around my throat. He didn’t.His index finger pressed against my lower lip.Stupidly, I let him. For half a second.His eyes locked onto mine. That deep blue filled with things he’d never say.“If I did keep a woman’s bones in my closet…” his breath warm against my cheek, “would you want to see them?”I knocked his hand away with a flick of my wrist.“Please, Don,” I scoffed. “Don’t flirt with ghost stories. If you want to scare me, try harder. I’ve got more monsters in my head than you’ll
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