LOGINMiranda was never meant to be a bride, she was collateral. She was shock to learn that her gambling-addicted father sold her to settle an unforgivable debt, she was just a young woman who is forced into a loveless marriage with an aging Mafia King, Salvatore DeLuca. A man whose power commands fear and whose name ends wars. Trapped inside a gilded prison of wealth, violence, and silence, she learns quickly that obedience is her only survival. But within the shadows of the empire lives his handsome son, the heir. Cold, ruthless, and bound by blood and loyalty, he despises the transaction that bought her life. Anger burns in him every time he sees her wearing his father's name, yet desire follows just as fiercely. What begins as resentment turns into dangerous attraction. Every glance to her is a sin, he knows that. Every stolen moment is treason. Yet Lorenzo couldn't help it. In a world where power decides fate, their forbidden love could either destroy the empire, or set them both free.
View More* Lorenzo *I must admit that her body fit against mine perfectly even with an ease that felt wrong for how deliberate it was. Too soft, not tentative, just there, pressed into my frame as the orchestra slipped into something slow and indulgent. A waltz meant for appearances. For sealing lies.I set my hand properly at her tiny waist, fingers splayed just enough to claim control without bruising. Damn, she feels good. I wanted to squeeze her tightly. But I have to follow etiquette. That was what this was supposed to be. A dutiful son dancing with his new stepmother while the guests watched and whispered.If only they knew how ugly the truth was beneath the silk and crystal. The bitterness I felt seemed to dull the moment I inhaled her sweet perfume; it made me want to bury my nose in her neck. Miranda didn't look at me at first. Her lashes stayed lowered, mouth held too still, as if any movement might crack her composure. I kept telling myself to despise her, but now that she is in m
* Miranda *I tried to stop the time by delaying everything as much as I could but Salvatore De Luca is someone who have many people working for him. Even the fittings and my bridal gown were done in just two days. The ceremony unfolded carved with legacy and intention. Rows of guests rose as I walked down the aisle, my dress whispering against the floor, ivory silk and hand-embroidered lace, old-world and deliberate. Maybe for some women awedding is such a wonderful and joyous occasion but to me it's like the end of my life is being finalize.My father, Emmanuel, stood at the front, waiting for me with eyes too bright to hide the emotion he refused to show. While my sister Yolly is with the audience, she knows how I feel but there is no time to stop me.Dad took my hands when I reached him, squeezing once, grounding me more than he knew."You are radiant," he murmured. "Your mother would have been proud, Miranda."I swallowed, nodded, and kissed his cheek even when I felt like scol
* Miranda *It was a few minutes inside the ballroom hall when I realized I'd left my purse in Salvatore's car, and the cool night air hit my shoulders. There is no sign of his men in the private parking, I guess everyone is happily drinking inside.The ballroom doors closed behind me, muting the orchestra into a distant thrum, and for a second I just stood there, gathering myself. The smile I'd worn for the time being loosened, my jaw aching from holding it in place. I turned back toward the parking lot instead of the entrance, heels clicking softly against concrete as I followed the memory of where Salvatore's car had been parked.The night smelled like rain and gasoline. Quiet, the total opposite of how noisy it was inside. But then I passed by another vehicle and I saw the car before I heard voices.Salvatore's black sedan sat half-hidden beneath a flickering lamp, its polished surface catching the yellow light. The car next to it has its rear passenger door wide open. That was t
* Lorenzo *With the glass of whiskey in my hand, I was looking at the entrance the moment she stepped into the Brussels ballroom, before the music registered. Then the low murmur of old money and older egos settled back into its usual hum.Miranda Perez. Not just young and beautiful but she is even more stunning tonight. My mouth curves into a cynical smile as I watch them. She arrived at my father's side, and the room seemed to tilt when they both walked in.The chandeliers threw warm gold over polished marble, but she caught the light differently, like it had been waiting for her. The dress she's wearing was black, not just black, but midnight silk that clung with intention. A fitted bodice sculpted her waist, daring but refined, the neckline plunging just enough to promise trouble without begging for it. The fabric crossed at her collarbone, bare shoulders framed by thin straps that looked far too delicate to hold her together, yet somehow did. A slit ran high along her thigh, rev
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