The Italian's Mistress Melanie Milburne の小説・ストーリー

Grace couldn't comprehend what her daughter meant. I smiled lightly instead of getting involved. Too much talk led to mistakes; it wasn’t time to reveal my intentions. However, pacifying wouldn’t work because someone on the table was relentless. “It’s never good news whenever you come here,” Melanie pointed at me, “Don’t think you’re one of us just because you married Matthew.” She sounded like the wife, and I was the mistress. I calmly looked at her and responded, “Are you talking about me?” "If not you, who else?" Melanie didn’t hold back.

“And that you had a private dinner last night.” Svetlana stood beside an unused easel, a chill tracing its way down her spine. She kept her eyes low, uncomfortable, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress. Mirella continued, speaking in the English she so despised but had learned at the request of her late husband. “Have you already become his woman?” Svetlana shook her head, though Mirella wasn’t looking. The Italian woman slammed the palette down on the worktable and turned sharply. Her dark, steely eyes cut through her like blades.

“I’m going to let you play the hero card. Someone tried to kill Delfina this morning. We’re on our way to the medical clinic just outside of Beckinsale. Get mom and Carma in the chopper. Carma is distraught. Comfort her.” “What happened to Delfina?” “I believe it may have to do with the Vellucci daughter who keeps tossing my name around like it entitles her to be more than what she is.” “A slut, whore, liar, cheat, airhead, egomaniacal twat?” Furio didn’t miss the way Caprice’s lips twisted as she heard Valente in the quiet of the car.

“One more word, Simon, and I’ll rip your eyeballs out and feed it to you, got it?” Simon nodded quickly. Tate looked at me, curious. I leaned back, turning my attention back to Milene, lying still. Her hair was pinned tightly, except for one piece that curled over her temple. I wrapped it around my finger. I couldn’t wait to see how controlled she really was. I carried Milene into the motel room and set her on one of the beds. I pulled a twig out of her hair letting her hair fall loose. I stood straight. Tate sighed. “ Her family and the head of the Mafia family which is Dante will want revenge.”

"Let's have lunch. We will go to your old house after that. I have to show you something." Myra was neither interested in having lunch nor did she want to go anywhere. But reluctantly she went downstairs to have some lunch. There she met Luca's wife for the first time. She was a blonde woman with a genuine smile. Her name was Melissa Moretti. "I thought of paying you a visit but decided to let you settle first at this place. I am sorry for my son's behaviour. But dear he is too protective about his only sister. I have heard about your situation back in India. Remember my child, we women are the creator and destroyer by ourselves. It depends on us whether we want to create or destroy, whether

“You asked me to get a picture of Silvio, and I risked my damn life to do it. I was sitting right across from him, my hands were shaking so badly I thought I was going to pass out. I almost got caught, Gav, and now you’re telling me I sent the wrong person?” “No, that’s not—” I tried to keep my voice even, but it was hard. “It’s just that… that can’t be Silvio. No. It’s not possible. The man in that photo… he can’t be him.” “Ughhhh,” Melanie cried out, sounding thoroughly exasperated and tired. “You are driving me insane right now. What do you mean, it can’t be him? I took the picture myself while he was sitting with Eva. That is Silvio Rossi.”

No one spoke carelessly in rooms like this, not when tension was already hanging heavily in the air, not when war was slowly approaching, Luca leaned back against the chair with exhaustion written across his face while another man projected surveillance photographs onto the large screen mounted on the wall. Photographs of Melissa, leaving class, entering cafes, walking across campus laughing with her friends completely unaware that powerful men were discussing her existence like the center of an international conflict, rage simmered low inside my chest again. One of Romano’s captains had been caught two hours ago carrying more photographs in his car, Melissa from different angles, different

My secretary says, placing them before me. “Care to fill me in?” “My apologies, sir.” He bows his head. “Miss Caroline and I did some digging, but we didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.” “What do you mean?” “The Milans had Melody two weeks after their company went bankrupt.” “Was it known that Mrs. Milan was pregnant?” “Yes, sir. The media had several photos of her pregnancy. The details of the months and due date weren't disclosed.” If the Milan’s already had a beautiful daughter, what exactly would prompt them to have another?

Chandelier lights brightened the area, and the ceiling featured beautiful murals and paintings. The announcer’s loud voice rang through the room as he introduced us. "Mr. Luca Delgado, from the American mafia, and Mrs. Valentina Moretti, from the Italian mafia." It still fucking strange to hear myself called Mrs. I smiled when most people in the room turned to stare at us. They looked fearful and apprehensive. It was a gorgeous sight. Everyone knew we were married. However, it was an extremely dangerous partnership between two powerful mafias in the world.

“And now I want that man out of here.” “What?” I was confused by the sudden change of subject, but Mel seemed to catch on quickly. “Giancarlo is gay!” “I don’t care—he’s got two eyes and a dick. I want him away from my woman.” He argued with Mel the same way I used to argue with my brothers. It wasn’t the Don speaking, nor the Devil of the Camorra, which was why Melissa huffed, stomping her heels back and forth. “I’m not yours,” I said, drawing his attention back to me, keeping us trapped in that little bubble while his sister whined on the other side. “And what you just said—does it mean you’ll keep me away from every man if we get married?”