What Is The Ending Of Putti'S Pudding: Cookie Mueller And Vittorio Scarpati?

"You understand what it means for you to be mine, right? "He questions, and I swallow. Never breaking eye contact with him. "No... "I admit with my voice trembling. "If you become mine, "He begins, his tone dropping into a seductive growl that sends shivers down my spine. "You won't just be working for me. Your body will belong to me. I'll do whatever I want with you, whenever I want, and however I want. "He says, and as my back hits the wall my stomach drops. "You're not... planning to sell my organs, are you?" I ask, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "No, David, " "I mean, I'll fuck you whenever, wherever, and however I want. You'll be mine. My personal... plaything. Of course, you'll be taken care of. Shelter, food, Vanessa's bills... Everything. However, your main job will be warming my bed. "He says, and my eyes widen in horror. ***** His job was… ‘simple’. To rob him, and run as far as his resources could take him. He didn't plan to get caught. And even if that was a probability, he never expected to be spared. He never expected Salvatore to spare his life and keep him alive as a boy toy. He also didn't expect his straight self to fall for a man. Especially not one as rough, dangerous, and deadly as Salvatore. Are the feelings reciprocated? Or is David just a toy to Salvatore? This is the question that plagues David as he falls deeper and faster for this dangerous, Italian hot cake. Realizing he would do anything for the unpredictable man he had grown to love. When their dangerous world closes in, David must decide. Will he run, or will he risk everything for the man who could break his heart?

Five years into my marriage to Dante Moretti, the Don of the Chicago Outfit, the entire underworld knew he loved me more than life itself. He’d had a violin—for me—tattooed right next to his family crest, a symbol of loyalty that could never be erased. Until I got the photo from his mistress. A cocktail waitress, sprawled naked in his arms, her skin marred by the dark bruises of rough sex. She had scrawled her name right next to the violin he’d gotten for me. And my husband had let her. "Dante says only being inside me makes him feel like a man anymore. You can’t even get him hard anymore, can you, sweet Alessia? Maybe it’s time to step aside." I didn't reply. I just made a single call. “I need a new identity. And a plane ticket out.”

One kiss saved his life. Another might destroy them both. Camilla, a talented pastry chef with a troubled past, never imagined that a chance encounter at a costume party would entangle her with Alessandro, the city's most feared mafia boss. As their worlds collide over cupcakes and gunshots, they find themselves drawn into a dangerous dance of secrets and desire. But when Alessandro chooses love over family legacy, the delicate balance of power in the criminal underworld begins to crumble. Now, with enemies closing in from all sides, Camilla must decide: Will she betray the man she's grown to love, or risk everything to save him in a world where trust comes at a deadly price?

The most reckless thing I had ever done was turn my back on the Moretti name and leave St. Clair Harbor with Lucian DeLuca when the Commission pushed his family out and he had nothing left. For three years, we lived in a drafty Brooklyn loft and ducked black Chevrolets on winter nights. Then Lucian fought his way back to the East Coast table. Everyone started calling him Mr. DeLuca again,and I became Mrs. DeLuca, the woman he swore he would always protect. Then Clara Voss appeared. She had once saved his life as a night nurse at an underground clinic, and Lucian never forgot it. He bought her a clinic, protected her family, and let her step, inch by inch, into the middle of our marriage. He said he still loved me, but he also said I was spoiled, jealous, and needed to learn my place. So I did. I signed the divorce papers and left New York behind. Mrs. DeLuca was dead. Evelyn Moretti had come back.

When the Russo family—the most notorious mafia empire in America—brought me, their long-lost true blood, back to the estate, I set three rules: One: Don't compare me to Chloe, the perfect adopted daughter. Two: Don't give her my things as charity, and don't dump her hand-me-downs on me. Three: Stay out of my private life. The man she was supposed to marry is hers. Our father—the Don—agreed. Chloe and I barely kept a fake peace. But when the marriage alliance came up, the rules went out the window. Her fiancé Marcello chose me—a street-wild girl covered in motor oil. My father was furious. My mother, bitter. My oldest brother, the Underboss, looked at me with pure disgust. Chloe was convinced I seduced her fiancé in bed. But God as my witness, I never touched him. I stormed into his private cigar club, demanding he clear things up. Marcello blew out a puff of smoke and sneered. "The Vitiello family's marriage pact was always with the true Russo blood. We have no intention of taking a fake." As he said it, his sharp dark eyes slid toward a trembling Chloe. A cruel, almost sick thrill flashed in them. It took me a long time to get it. He had too much wildness in his bones to marry a smiling puppet. And I—a foul-mouthed, reckless street girl—became his perfect pawn to rebel against his entire family. I was forced to become Marcello's wife. Three years later, he got bored. He threw a divorce agreement in my face. Filled with my unbearable "sins": "Too stubborn. Zero feminine, in bed or out." "Always showing your face at that biker shop. A disgrace. Unfit for the title of Donna." I stared at him. I remembered why he dumped Chloe—he hated her submissive elegance. Now, what he hated most was that I wasn't submissive, and I wasn't elegant. I flicked the ash from my cigarette and said, dead calm: "Fine. I'll sign."

Married to Don Victor for three years, I thought I could finally forget the pain and betrayal of my ex-husband, Dominic. This cold, ruthless man ruled the East Coast underworld. But he handed me the world on a silver platter, healing my broken pieces. Until late one night. Victor's underboss called, frantic, begging me to rush to Manhattan's top private hospital. Victor and Dominic were in a standoff outside the maternity ward. Guns drawn, surrounded by their elite hitmen. They were inches away from sparking an all-out mob war. And standing between them was my ex-best friend, Chloe. She was visibly pregnant. The Commission's mediator slid a truce across the table. His expression was painfully awkward. "The security tapes are clear. The two Dons nearly blew up the entire floor just to decide who gets to stay in her room tonight." Numbly, I signed the papers as the Donna of the Costello family. Prenatal vitamins bought by Victor already piled high in the room. Meanwhile, his and Dominic's men were still arguing over the schedule—how the two Mafia Dons would split their week to keep Chloe company, three days each. When I walked up to the bed, the two lethal men who were just at each other's throats now stood guarding her on both sides. Victor shielded her belly. The same lips that used to kiss every inch of my body now spit out bone-chilling words: "I forced her. If you have a problem, take it up with me." My ex-husband, Dominic, glared at me viciously. "Keep your mad dog of a husband in check. Tell him to stop harassing my woman!" I slowly shook my head. Watching this farce, silent tears slid down my cheeks. A mobster's love... in the end, it's just a cheap lie. Victor, I don't want you anymore either.