All Chapters of Forceful pleasures: Subjected to the Don: Chapter 41 - Chapter 49

Nella’s POV“Elena… Elena…”I repeated the name slowly, like a spell I was trying to break.Where was my photographic memory when I needed it?I scratched my head slightly, pacing the bedroom, trying so hard to recall anything at all that related to this Elena.Then it hit me.Yes.I remembered now. Very vividly.The woman who came with her apprentice to help me get ready for the induction ceremony. The older woman with kind hands and quiet efficiency. She had styled my hair, adjusted my dress, and spoken to me gently, almost motherly.She was alive.According to the stories I had heard, Elena was Giovanni’s fiancée — and she had died.So who was the woman I met?Determined to know the truth, I lay on the bed, asking myself a series of questions.“I would ask Susan tomorrow morning,” I muttered. She should know more about Elena. I knew if I was going to ask about this person, it wouldn’t be a male, not even Marco because it seems like the male had swore to be loyal to Giovanni withou

Nella’s POVThe car screeched to a halt outside the private hospital wing—Evergreen Hospital. The light shines brightly on the building. Everything happened too fast.Giovanni’s hand was ripped from mine as the medical team rushed him through the double doors on a stretcher. I tried to follow, but strong arms held me back.“Señora, you can’t go in yet,” one of the nurses said gently but firmly.I saw his mouth move, like he was trying to say something. The only words I could grasp were “I…. Lured….”I stood there in the brightly lit corridor, staring at the doors that had just swallowed him.My head spun for a second.He lured whom? Me? My heart skipped a beat.He lured me to do what? I hoped this wasn't my greatest fear smiling at me. Was Antonio right about the kind of man Giocanni was all along? I panicked, and my breath came out unevenly.“Calm down, Nella,” I muttered to myself. My hands clung tightly to the flare gown I wore.Maybe I didn't hear him well, I tried to convince m

Giovanni’s POVBefore I could finish speaking, she was already placing the baby in my arms.And just like that… everything shifted.These hands of mine—built for war, for power, for control—held something impossibly small, impossibly fragile. And for the first time in my life, I handled something without strategy, without calculation.Just care.She smelled new, warm, and impossibly soft. Untouched by everything I had become.I studied her face—the delicate brows, the full cheeks, the small lips. Nella’s nose, unmistakably. I found myself searching for something of mine in her, something to claim quietly.“She’s beautiful,” I murmured.Nella stilled. “She?” she whispered.“I asked the nurse.”That was all it took.She didn’t just chuckle the way she usually did. She smiled—broadly, fully, without reservation.Then, like a thread pulled from another time, a memory surfaced.“Nella,” I said quietly, glancing at her, “you remember the lounge in New York?”She froze. Then her cheeks turne

Brenda’s POVDevastating in its simplicity.I had not hated Nella when I wrote it. That was the complicated part — the part I did not discuss with Lucas, who would not have understood it, or with Rico, who would have found it irrelevant. I had not hated her. I had watched her grow up in this house, had packed her school lunches and soothed her nightmares and I had known the exact pitch of her cry before she could speak. There was something real in that. Something that existed alongside everything else, it was inconvenient and persistent.But Nella was her father's daughter in every way that mattered. She had his face, his stubbornness, his absolute certainty that the world owed him just like she thinks the world owes her something. She had grown up inside the proof of everything I had been denied. Every time I looked at her I saw the life that had continued around me as though I were furniture. As though I were part of the walls.But now, I was not part of the walls.I had decided

Rico’s POVNella was the variable I had not fully accounted for.I had known about her for years: pretty little Vito’s daughter, the pampered artist, the girl who was kept so carefully behind the walls of her father’s world that she had never developed the sharp instincts that world demanded.From a distance, she had seemed entirely manageable. A soft pawn. Useful collateral.But I had been watching her more closely since she moved into Giovanni’s villa. Since she began painting again. Since Antonio quietly reported to Lucas that she was asking questions and filing away the answers instead of acting on them immediately.That last detail had given me my first genuine pause.Most people, when they stumbled across something they did not understand, reacted too quickly. Fear made them reckless. Curiosity made them careless. They confronted, accused, and exposed themselves.Nella had done neither.She had observed.And that made her dangerous.The paintings had been useful, almost poetic i