Twisted Loyalties

“Say my name!”

“Adrian!”, the woman screamed

“You know what? Today is your lucky day, so tell me exactly how you want me.” Adrian said to her amidst playing with her clit, teasing and rubbing it as she moaned

With lightning speed, he pulled his fingers and inserted them into her wet pussy. She wasn’t expecting that, so she screamed.

“Adrian, I want…” she moaned. She was already on edge as he fucked her intensely with his digits. She couldn’t say anything else but his name. She couldn’t even bring herself to make demands. He only stopped finger-fucking her when he saw her cum on his fingers. She was spent.

“I’m gonna fuck you hard. This is just the beginning, so brace yourself, you whore.”

Before she could reply, he pulled her closer to his face and buried his face in her chest. He latched his lips around her swollen nipples, which, in his opinion, had been calling out to him.

He suckled on her breasts in fierce tugs like a hungry child on his mother’s breasts while his fingers hovered over her clit area, and before she could recover, she felt his massive dick in her.

He thrust in deeply

“Fuuuckk, you are so huge,” she moaned.

He pounded her continuously and relentlessly, and he could see her breasts bouncing to the rhythm of their movement. On and on, they went.

Just when she thought he was getting tired, Adrian pulled her up from the bed, turned her back to him, with her ass facing him, and pounded her from behind. The thrusts were so deep and fast, she was edging towards another climax. And just then, he moaned loudly, pulled his dick out of her cunt, and poured his cum all over her back.

They both fell onto the bed, breathing heavily, thanks to the marathon sex they just had.

Hours later, the woman beside him, a striking blonde with legs long enough to wrap around his waist twice, traced her fingers over his chest, her lips hovering over his jaw.

“Stay the night,” she murmured, pressing herself closer, ensuring he felt the full weight of her breasts.

Her fingers curled into his hair as she started to kiss him passionately, shifting her body against his as if she wanted another round of the steamy sex they just had.

Adrian exhaled slowly, amused. They always did this. They whispered sweet words and tried to convince themselves they were special.

He shifted, pulling away. “You got what you wanted, sweetheart.” He reached for his cigarette on the nightstand, lighting it with an effortless flick of his lighter. “Don’t make this something it’s not.”

Her face twisted, disappointment flashing in her eyes before she quickly masked it. “You’re a real bastard, Vitale.”

Taking a slow drag. “And yet, you still came. You can’t seem to have enough of this bastard.”

She scoffed, grabbing her dress from the floor. “Go to hell.”

Adrian watched her storm out, completely unbothered. He had no time for clingy women, no patience for the ones who thought they could change him.

A vibration from his phone drew his attention. He glanced at the screen. It was Marco, his best friend and right-hand man.

“Tell me this is important,” Adrian said as he answered.

“You might want to get your ass to Noir.”

Adrian took another slow drag of his cigarette. “Why?”

“Because half our guys are there,” Marco said. “And the other half? The Morettis.”

Adrian’s smirk faded.

“Fuck.”

He stubbed out the cigarette, dressed, and headed out.

In Club Noir, a high-end club for the rich, the music was loud but not deafening. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and the smell of expensive whiskey. Noir was one of the few neutral grounds in the city, a place where mafia leaders and their men alike drowned their sins in alcohol and distraction.

However, tonight was different; it was alive with energy, laughter, and celebration.

Rhea Moretti turned twenty-three today. Enrico Moretti, her father, made sure to secure a private VIP section exclusively for their family and most trusted men. The booths were filled with Moretti soldiers, glasses clinking frequently and a few cheers here and there.

Dressed in an elegant, form-fitting black dress that shimmered under the dim neon lights, Rhea swirled her glass of wine, her painted lips curving in a faint smile. Her 23rd birthday was meant to be a celebration, a night of luxury and indulgence.

“Happy birthday, principessa,” Izzy shouted to her sister, clinking their glasses together before taking a sip.

“I can’t wait for this night to be over, Izzy.”

“Oh, come on. What’s not to love? Booze, music, men staring at you like they want—”

“Men staring at me like I’m their next kill, you mean?” Rhea cut her short.

“Well, I don’t mind a bit of male gaze myself.” Izzy insisted.

Rhea was unhappy on her 23rd birthday because earlier that day, she had gone to visit her boyfriend of 2 years, and she caught him in bed having sex with her childhood best friend, and it shattered her. She spent the whole day crying and only came out to the club because her father had made prior arrangements for her birthday celebration. She was in no mood to socialize or be cheerful, as her sister suggested.

Across the room, past the flickering neon lights and the pulse of bodies moving to the music, the Vitales were here, too.

Adrian Vitale strode through the club’s entrance like he owned it, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as Marco, his right-hand man, leaned in with a low warning.

“They’re here.”

Adrian’s gaze flickered toward the VIP section, where Rhea sat with a drink in her hand; she was smiling at something her sister, Izzy, had said. She didn’t look like the daughter of a mafia boss right now. She looked soft, almost untouchable under the dim glow of the club light. He looked around smirking before he saw Dante Moretti, who in turn saw him.

Rhea’s older brother, Dante, lifted his glass in a mock toast, his fake smile oozing disdain.

“Didn’t think you’d have the guts to show up here, Adrian,” he called across the room, voice carrying over the music.

Adrian, on the verge of sipping his whiskey, hesitated momentarily, allowing the tension to intensify. Then he smiled slowly; he knew his men were watching.

“Didn’t think you’d still be alive after your last screw-up, but here we are,” replied Adrian

Rhea exhaled through her nose. God, men and their egos.

“Looks like your birthday just got interesting, sorella.” Dante said to his sister as he left their VIP booth to confront Adrian

Adrian didn’t move at first. He watched with his jaw tight as Dante Moretti stepped forward, flanked by his own men.

“What did you say to me, motherfucker?” Dante asked him, stepping towards angrily as though looking for a fight.

Before anyone knew what was happening, all hell broke loose.

A Moretti soldier slammed a Vitale soldier against the bar, sending glasses shattering to the floor. A gun was drawn, but before it could be fired, another man tackled him, sending them both crashing into a table.

Chairs scraped back. Glasses shattered. Men lunged at each other, snarling like caged animals set free. Gunshots were fired. 2 men were shot dead, and multiple were left wounded.

The club’s owner was furious. Not that it mattered. No one dared to throw out the Morettis or the Vitales—not unless they had a death wish.

Within minutes, the bouncers managed to separate the fighting men, but the damage was done. Bruised faces, blood-stained expensive suits, and a message that rang loud and clear: the war between the Morettis and the Vitales was only getting worse.

Something had to be done.

***

The next day, in a heavily guarded private estate, two men faced each other across a long table. Enrico Moretti and Victor Vitale, the heads of their respective families, both carrying the weight of decades of power. The air was thick with cigar smoke as two of the most powerful men in the Sicilian underworld sat across from each other.

Adrian and Dante stood behind their fathers, silent but watchful. Around them, trusted advisors and high-ranking men from both families remained still, waiting for the verdict.

The fight in the club had been an embarrassment. A public display of their inability to control their own men. And that could not be tolerated.

Enrico Moretti was the first to speak. His voice was low, deep with authority.

“What happened last night was reckless.” His gaze flickered toward Dante. “And unnecessary.”

Victor Vitale exhaled slowly. “We both knew this was inevitable. Our families have been in conflict with each other for an extended period.

Enrico nodded. “Which is why we end it now.”

Victor leaned forward. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Enrico’s expression hardened. “Through blood.”

The room went deathly silent.

Dante already knew where this was going.

Adrian, however, let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You mean to tell me, after years of war, you want us to play house?”

Enrico’s voice was cold. “You have an objection?”

Adrian’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Victor’s eyes met Enrico’s. “Your daughter. My son. A marriage.”

The words loomed over the room like a dire warning.

Adrian remained impassive, but inside, his mind reeled. He’d known his father wanted a truce, but a marriage? A marriage presented an entirely different set of challenges.

Enrico studied him, then nodded. “Rhea, my daughter, will marry Adrian.”

There it was. The deal was sealed.

This marriage has the potential to end a war.

A marriage that neither bride nor groom had agreed to.

And as Dante Moretti forced a smirk, his mind was already spinning because he had no The marriage was one that neither the bride nor the groom had agreed to.

No, this was far from over.

This was just the beginning.