Semua Bab My Mafia Man: Bab 1 - Bab 10

As he pulls out a pair of guns hidden inside his coat, all that Amber Williams can think of is her mother. The one that she lost fifteen years ago because of a tragic incident. The scene of the man pointing the gun seems all too familiar, but not in a good way. Her breathing rate spikes up, and her hands are clammy. As the bullets leave the guns, the noise startles her. She crouches down to the ground and covers her ears as tightly as she can. She can hear her heart pounding out of her chest. The incident from her past replays in her head continuously: She was eight years old and had just returned from summer camp. She aligned her shoes on the shoe rack and dropped her bag on the couch. She anticipated her mother’s arrival and yearned for her hugs and kisses, but that did not happen. After five minutes, she heard her mother scream. Amber traced the sound and reached the guest bedroom. The door was locked from the inside and the windows were tightly shut. All that little Amber could

Alessandro’s pov:Damn it. Bloody Santino Martino is interfering with the trade again. I turn around and shoot the dead man on the ground, for the twentieth time because he deserves it. He is a renowned member of their gang, and he had come here to finish me off, but things don't always work out the way you want them to. They are involved in human trafficking and other illegal practices. I have refrained our family from such involvement. I don’t know why I picked this woman up, but something in me asked me not to leave her there. I drop her in my convertible shotgun and tend to my wounds. It hurts, but I can tolerate it. One-third of my body is in bandages right now, and a few more, and I might as well audition for the role of a mummy. I buckle up my passenger, tightly and wrap her in a huge shirt to keep her warm. As I look at her, I sense familiarity. I think I’ve seen her before. Nevertheless, I hit the road and swerved my car recklessly. My mother always told me that anger was

Amber's pov: He heads back inside and leaves me in the cold, his words repeating in my head. I walk into the house after a few minutes. Tesoro? I rest my head on the silky cushions laying on the bed of the guestroom pondering Alessandro's behavior. He seems to be completely different than I'd expected. I thought that he would be the typical cold-hearted and angry mob boss, but he portrayed himself to be rather sweet. With these thoughts, I doze off. The following day: "Amber, we've got to go." I heard a voice, and I replied without opening my heavy eyelids, "Mhmm...Five more minutes." "No, sit up, right now." The voice asserts its dominance. I groaned but obeyed it and then, opened my eyes. It was Alessandro. His muscular body was highlighted by the tight, blue suit sitting on him, and one of his large hands carried a thick silver watch that looked like it cost a fortune. "Don't order me around!" I snap. Alessandro smirks at me, then says, "Tesoro, get used to it, you're my wife

Alessandro's pov: I order, "Give me a heads up once the snipers are done with their job." I say, calmly, "Amber, follow me." My voice gives her a clear idea about how crucial the matter is. I warn her, "Don't speak, if you do, know that it might be the end of us." She trails my path and we head toward the painting I despise. Next to it, there is a reading corner with a few books and two sturdy chairs. I pull the lever hidden amongst the books. The door next to the painting opens up. Amber gapes at the sight, I push her inside and say, "It is dark inside, just walk ten straight steps, then take a sharp right and sit tight. Here wear these." I hand over a pair of noise-canceling headphones. I hear Giovanni Flavia, the head of the gang. I close the door and seat myself behind the bookstand strategically. I open the trunk hidden under one of the tiles and get a hold of my rifles. I load them, fully and unlock the door again. I step inside and shut it, tight. "AHHHH!" Amber screams. I

Amber’s pov:No. No, this can’t be happening right now. “Father!” I greet him cheerfully and hug him before pulling him away to a corner. He is confused. “What are you doing here?” He asks. “I don't have to give you an answer,” I glare at him. “Whatever. You were in close proximity to Alessandro Bianchi, you do know who he is, right?” He asks me, but I don’t reply. “Stay away from that man,” he warns me. “What right have you got to dictate that to me?” I ask. “Just because I kicked you out of the house, doesn't mean you aren't my daughter,” the audacity that he has to say that. I shoot him a dirty look before saying, “Look, Pietro, you have never been a father to me. Ever since my mother passed away, you have buried yourself in work and Gretchen. Not once have you bothered to ask me how I felt, or what I was going through. I was just a child, and yet, I had to deal with it on my own. Art was the only thing I could focus on, but every opportunity I got was stolen from me. Gretchen had