Marcus Ornellas Novelas Novels & Stories

I growled, trying to push myself up on my elbows despite the fact that my body felt like it was made of broken glass. "No, you did what a fool does, and now the Riccis are whispering because they saw the convoy and they know the King of Chicago is currently bedridden and bleeding," she retorted, pinning my shoulders down with a strength that reminded me we shared the same violent bloodline. "Stay down, you idiot. You can't save anyone if you're dead." "Marcus is unhinged," I panted, my eyes searching hers for some kind of anchor. "He doesn't want to save her; he wants to own her. He wants to erase me by turning that baby into a Castellano tool."

His skin is pale, the arrogant polish completely stripped away by two weeks on the run and three days in a concrete cell. But the ego is a desperate, clinging thing. Marcus leans back in his metal chair. He attempts a smirk, trying to summon the ghost of the untouchable Wall Street titan. "Isabella," Marcus says. His voice is raspy, lacking its usual smooth resonance. "You look well. Marriage to a Moretti suits you."

I was sweating and breathless and so desperate for him. I barely got a glimpse of his face before he swept me into his arms, and his mouth captured mine. His tongue pushed its way between my lips and rebranded my mouth as his own once more. I pushed back, rubbing my body against his, desire and passion sliding over my skin as it slid against his. Consciously, I knew I was branding him as well, and the thought pleased me on a basic level. -Mara. - He moaned in desperate elation. -Tohr, I never thought I'd see you again. I had all but given up hope. - I admitted back.

I drank him greedily, relishing the taste of him on my tongue, swallowing every drop with eager gulps. Marcus collapsed onto the seat, exhausted yet satisfied. As they caught their breaths, I stared at him, an adoring smile playing across her lips. “Cassandra!” I heard someone call out, but my attention was stolen by the sensation of a struggle—an arm wrapping around my waist, hot breath cascading down my neck. “I’ve been waiting too long, Cassandra.” I gasped, panic surging through me as my eyes met Marcus's. My heart raced in my chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut, reopening them only to realize it was all in my head.

OSWALD pushed the door open and stepped into Orlanda's dimly lit room. His sharp gaze fell on her beautiful petite figure lying on the bed. As usual, his presence was heavy, commanding attention, yet Orlanda didn't stir. Unlike the times before, when she would flinch at the sound of his arrival or sit up in fear, she remained motionless, her face pale, her eyes hollow and distant.

He seemed to understand without needing more, nodding gently. “I think my husband’s seeing someone else… I… I can’t really blame him, though. The lady’s his first love.” I wiped my tears with the handkerchief he’d given me. “That’s sad,” he said quietly, staring into the darkness. “It is.” I glanced at him with curiosity. “By the way, who are you?” “Uh… I’m Marco Ricci, an orphan here,” he said. “And you are?” “Alora Eunice Escarra… De Herrera,” I said, the bitterness hanging heavy on his last name.

“Elianna, this hatred will consume you. There is still time to turn back.” Elianna’s laughter was sharp and cold. “Turn back? No, Father. I have only just begun.” She snapped her fingers. The sound echoed through the chapel, and from the shadows, Marcus emerged, Clara’s grip tightened around the journal as Marcus advanced. Father Benedict moved in front of her, shielding her with his frail body. Elianna’s voice was soft but deadly. “Give me the book, Clara. Hand it over, and perhaps I will let you leave here alive. Refuse, and you will discover just how merciless I can be.”

In her place stood someone new. “We should get going,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. Elias studied her for a few seconds longer. “Are you sure?” he asked. She nodded once, firmly. “Yes.” Elias exhaled slowly, then took her hand in his. Together, they walked toward the heavy metal entrance of the warehouse. Marcus appeared almost immediately as the door opened. His hands and forearms were stained with dark, dried blood. His sleeves were rolled up, and there were splatters across his shirt. His face was hard, incensed, eyes burning with controlled rage.

And after that Giovanni left him there. Marcus sat down on the edge of the bed of his late Luna, he's now regretting that he didn't listen to what Ertha said to him during his dream. If only he just let his geart decide and didn't let the anger overcome him, maybe it'll not going to happen. But it did and now Marcus is stuck in this place, where he doesn't even knew how to face Cassandra without her getting mad at him.

I smile at her, I know I will like her, and I now remember her from not that long ago, from when we had to search for Jackson’s brother and somehow found Alena. “Hi Alena, I am Marcus.” Looking at Jackson, I smile. It’s about time he finally got back out there. “I see you have a new sub.” Smiling at Jackson, he shakes his head, well who the hell is she? “Not a sub, not this one, although she might be in time.” Now that sounds good. Why he would want someone who isn’t a submissive, I will never know. Sitting down, the team introduce themselves. I can’t seem to keep my eyes off her.