The Boy I Chose Became My Ruin
When I was twelve, I bought a half‑starved boy from a Brooklyn fight pit. His ribs were broken, blood on his teeth, but he still crawled to my feet.
“Choose me,” he said. “Give me a place, and I’ll be useful.”
So I took him home.
Twelve years later, Matteo Greco had become my family’s most feared enforcer. He bled for me, killed for me, carved my initial over his heart—and called it loyalty.
Then one day a beautiful young woman showed up at my door.
“You were never the one he loved,” she said with a smirk. “You’re just the nightmare he’s been trying to escape.”
She placed a hand on her swollen belly and taunted me, “Matteo’s going to run away with me.”
I let out a cold laugh. I had my men
Bab Populer