All Chapters of When You Make A Deal With The Biker Mafia : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Adriana“Papa, you have to do something. You have to. It’s not fair!” My voice cracks, raw from hours of shouting and crying. My throat burns, but the words force themselves out anyway. “I work every day, and I still can’t pay off all the money you owe!”The kitchen smells of stale beer and burnt cigarettes. The single bulb above the table flickers, buzzing faintly like a fly circling the room. Papa sits slouched in his chair, a bottle dangling between his fingers. His face is blank, but his eyes betray him; they were dark, sunken, wet with something that almost looks like shame.“You can leave then. Go,” he mutters, voice flat, as if I’m just another nuisance. He waves the bottle vaguely, like it’s part of the conversation. “I’ll handle the debts myself. I don’t know why you keep complaining.”I let out a laugh, sharp and humorless. The sound bounces off the yellowed walls, bitter even to my own ears. Tears sting hot against my lashes, finally spilling over. They run down my cheeks

AdrianaOnce i hear that sentence, I jump off my bed.Did I hear that right?No—no, it can’t be. My brain must still be tangled in dreams, the remnants of sleep playing tricks on me. Because what I think I just heard…It’s not possible.I sit up, rubbing my eyes hard enough to blur the shadows into streaks. My heartbeat is a drumbeat inside my chest….loud, frantic, refusing to slow.The voices come again. Low and tense.I slide out of bed, feet cold against the floor, and press my ear to the door. Every muscle in my body is taut, straining to catch every word.My breaths turn shallow, my chest rising and falling too fast, the edges of my vision going tight. My knees tremble, and I’m not sure if it’s fear or the leftover weakness from sleep, but it’s enough to make me feel like I could collapse if I move too suddenly.“Gesù Cristo,” Papa mutters, voice raw, chest heaving like the air itself has betrayed him. There’s something in his tone I don’t hear often…not just fear, but a deep, stu

AdrianaGunfire shattered the night.I dropped low, pressing my head down, heart thundering in my chest. The crack of bullets ricocheted off metal, and the smell of burnt rubber clawed into my lungs. Matteo was crouched at the back of the vehicle, his hands gripping his head like a man seconds away from erupting.The tires screeched as his bullets tore them apart. The car fishtailed, sparks spitting against the road. The man in the passenger seat howled, clutching his hand. Blood streaked down his wrist and soaked the fabric of his shirt.For a heartbeat, instinct pushed me toward apology, to say something absurd about his hand and beg them to let me out. Then my eyes caught it.Ink.A tattoo that twisted across his skin, coiling into a dagger, a serpent winding tight around it.The Colombo mark.My breath stilled.Suddenly I understood why Matteo had fired. Why his aim hadn’t been wild, but precise.I dragged a hand over my face, trying to push away the tears gathering in my eyes. I

Adriana Matteo, the Don of the Diavolli, was on his knees.The Playboy of New York.The man everyone feared.On his knees for me.The sight stole the air from my lungs. Words clung to my throat but refused to escape. All I could do was stare down at him, the most dangerous man I knew, folded before me like a supplicant. I had told him earlier I was indebted to him, but the truth was heavier than that.I owed Matteo my life. And he wanted more than gratitude.I closed my eyes, and for a moment, I let memory claim me. The first time I ever saw him, I was eighteen.Papa had always made sure I stayed clear of Cosa Nostra business. “Art, Adriana,” he would say. “Stay with your paints, your brushes. Leave the evil world we live in to me.” It was his way of keeping me safe, or maybe of keeping me ignorant.But Mama… Mama had a different vision. She raised me not as her daughter but as her golden ticket. “Perfect yourself for a rich man, a made man, she whispered, day after day. Beauty wou

Adriana I woke up naked in Matteo’s bed. But I guess it may have been ours now.The sheets smelled just like him.Cigars, leather, and a darker scent that was pure male. I shifted slightly, only to wince when the soreness in my wrists and ankles screamed at me. Pain and memories crashed back like a storm. The shadow in the club. The rough hand trying to drag me away. The panic choked me until Matteo’s arms cut through it.His fingers were in my hair now, combing slowly, his chest rising beneath me like he’d been carved like a demigod. His voice was low, a whisper in Italian over the phone, commanding but careful, like he didn’t want to wake me.But I was already awake. My body was sore, and my pride was completely hurt.A shiver rippled through me, and instantly, he knew. Matteo always knew. His lips brushed my forehead, a feather-soft kiss that silenced the chaos in my head. “The doctor is on his way. He’ll check you, make sure you’re not too wounded.”“I… I’m fine,” I whispered,