Guilty Gucci Book Novels & Stories

Chapter 3 Sophia’s POV “Fuck Olivia your hands move just like mine it’s creepy as hell sometimes,” I said laughing a little as I stood next to my twin in the kitchen mixing the glaze for the muffins. Our arms lifted at the same angle, our fingers stirred in the exact same rhythm like we were mirrors of each other and it only made the guilt twist harder in my gut. The pregnancy secret sat heavy right under my ribs mixing with the morning sickness that kept threatening to push up my throat.

His. He'd dropped it saving her. The inside was engraved with a "C." "You used to call this your lucky charm. Why aren't you wearing it?" Her lips quivered. Tears rushed in. "Don't—don't bring that up. Giacomo made me." She dropped, sobbing. "He had dirt on me. I didn't have a choice!" Her voice cracked. "Those two years I handled the books, I stole. Jewelry. A whole crate. That Patek Philippe. Eight hundred grand.

‎After freshening up and getting dressed—still in my previous clothes, I head on out. ‎The bodyguard leads me to the garage. ‎Black Bentley. ‎Mikhail inside. ‎Dressed sharp. ‎Cologne filling the car. ‎I slide in. ‎Far side. ‎He pulls me close. ‎Hand on my waist. ‎Possessive. ‎I don’t fight. ‎Not yet. Too tired to do so anyway. ‎--------------------------------------------------------------------- ‎The stores are temples of luxury—Gucci, Prada, Chanel, names I’ve only seen in magazines.

Then it twisted into something else—hope. "Felix... you're selling this place to buy a new one for us, right?" She sniffled. "I know you feel guilty. That's why you didn't come see me. I'm not blaming you... maybe it just wasn't the right time for us and the baby..." Guilty? I let out a laugh. I walked to the door and dragged her luggage outside. "I just think this place feels dirty," I said flatly. "I don't want that kind of mess around me.

They had sent a message; one that Victor Morano wouldn’t ignore. Victor, a powerful mafia figure, had once tried to get rid of him. He hired a hitman to kill Zagaff at a business gala, making it look like a robbery. But the plan failed, and that Zagaff survived. Now, he was just returning the favor. Victor will soon know who truly runs this city. Sylvania stepped into Style Studios, her heels clicking on the shiny floor. The room was alive with movement as designers bent over their sketches, hands flying across pages, while models walked up and down the runway, practicing their steps. The air smelled of fabric, new leather, and fresh coffee.

Some whispered a half-mad woman haunted a red-light slum in South America, her ruined face still faintly hers. *** Three months later, my global book tour for The Price of Omertà kicked off. Fans filled the hall, buzzing with excitement. Bella sat beside me, doodling stars on every title page. In the corner—Giovanni. Unshaven, gaunt, eyes burning with regret, begging without words. I didn't look his way. Just signed the next book: [Dear one, life hands you a script. But remember—you always have the courage to rewrite it.]

It came from within, burning quietly and bright. Inside Gucci, she let her fingers trail over silk blouses, skirts, and bags that cost more than some people’s rent. I watched her in the mirror as she slipped on a fitted jacket, the fabric hugging her frame. She caught my reflection staring and raised a brow. “Do I pass your test?” she teased. “Wildfire, you passed the moment you walked in,” I said.

“Whatever this thing is, why couldn’t you return it in front of your nonno and Matteo? In front of me?” “I made a mess I need to clear. I need to talk to him or I’ll forever keep thinking about him.” She closed her eyes. “That didn’t come out right.” Her voice lowered. “This thing, if I keep it with me, I’ll keep feeling guilty, because truth be told, he has no fault in whatever happened. He’s always been kind to me.”

I know better than to disobey the man in these meetings, they are all dangerous, and although I like to live dangerously, I still like actually to live. I walk to him slowly, and he places both his hands on my hips, making me gag. I close my eyes, trying to avoid a scene of me puking all over him. His hands feel wrong touching me. The cute guy, all of a sudden, stands up with a gun in hand, and I try my best not to gasp in horror. It’s not that I have never seen a gun before, because I have, but no one has ever pointed at someone to defend me. “Our present has arrived, gentleman”, the guy says, and I swallow my tears and the bile that has risen from my stomach into my mouth.

It felt too good to be true and to be honest it felt surreal that we were actually doing this. After taking a stroll at the park, we walked our way to some shops while Milo went looking for some clothes too. We got into some really expensive brands which wowed me with the insane price tags attached to it that I know I can never ever buy in a million years. He tried some outfits in Gucci and asked for my opinion about it but then all of the clothes he tried on were good on him no matter what color or style. It made him more Milo.