Prologue

I was assigned to kill her.

That was the deal. But somehow, Giuliana had found a way to quench the thirst for blood in my veins. 

Donatello Morano, handed me the contract with his hands, his whisky glass gleaming under the florescent light, a deadly look resting on his face. I had signed the contract with no hesitation, promising to bring back his daughter, dead.

Marry his daughters, make her believe in love, and ruin her to the point of no return.

That was what I was best at.

But I guess there's always a first time for everything. 

Giuliana made me a failure for the first time.

******

Her skin gleamed under the dim light, her naked thighs brought a rush of blood to my groins. 

I hissed under my breath as I caught her arm, smashing her body on mine.

F*ck! Those doe eyes. They did things to my brain and cock.

“Emiliano…” she whispered, her voice smooth as silk, they dripped with poisonous honey.

“What do you think you're doing?” My voice sounded hoarse compared to her angelic one. 

She fluttered her eyelids, a deep pink color spreading on her face. Her innocence was only a pretense, but hell if that pretense didn't turn my cock to a hard rock.

I felt the precum already dripping down the head dick. I was so gone for this girl.

“I'm only getting ready for bed. Or is there a rule that I have to sleep with a shirt on?” Her voice wasn't defensive. She was merely curious. 

But I didn't miss the wicked glint in her eyes.

“I want you to sleep with your night shirt on, just like you've done every other night,” I said instead of grabbing her and f**king her from behind.

Her eyes widened a little before she bit her lip and nodded. “Okay,” she obeyed.

She released her arms from mine, and walked towards the bed. But just as she got to the foot of the bed, she dragged her hands towards her ass, and pulled down her thong in a slow move.

She continued to the bed, like she hadn't just pulled the only thing covering her fresh pussy from me. 

I cursed under my breath, as I dragged myself towards her, grabbing her before she could land on the bed.

“You want me to fu*k you, don't you?” I hissed into her face.

Her expression remained impassive. “I just want to sleep comfortably, Emiliano,” she said, my name rolling out of her lips like a symphony of sins.

“Like hell you do.”

I grabbed her neck in my large hands, before slamming her to the wall gently, but enough to pin her down. My other hand went under her shirt, ignoring the naked, wet flesh that was pulsing for my attention.

I grabbed her perky boobs, a moan fighting it's way out of her lips immediately. My hands immediately found her hard, pointed nipples. I pressed it between my fingers, eliciting a wince from her.

“You like the pain, don't you?” I said as I rubbed the bud between my fingers, trying to soothe the pain I had caused earlier.

Like a jolt for survival, I shred the flimsy material, acting as a barrier between her skin and mine.

“Emiliano…” she gasped, but I didn't give her enough time to dwell on her ruined shirt. I grabbed her ass, my hands immediately spreading her thighs. Then I plunged two fingers into her tight hole immediately.

“Oh f*ck…holy heavens!” She moaned. 

I continued to thrust my finger into her, my hands quickly drenched by her delicious juice. 

“Emiliano, please…” she begged as she held my neck tightly. She grabbed my face, her lips puckering out to catch my own, but I turned my face.

I couldn't give in. 

If I kissed, heaven only knows what else I would do to keep her. I was already in a dangerous place. I couldn't afford to fall any deeper. I would be completely at her mercy.

This wasn't love.

At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

Instead, I knelt down in front of her, then grabbed one of her leg to rest on my shoulder.

The smell of her arousal immediately hit me like I just stepped into a garden filled with flowers.

My mouth immediately watered at the thought of her juice on my lips. So I dived into her soaking pussy, taking a long drag of her sweet juice.

She tasted too good to be true, but I didn't care. I wanted to die and be buried right inside her. It sounded weird, but this was home for me.

I felt a pull on my hair as my tongue circled her folds, her legs shivering under me. I continued to lick, suck her and even bite her, and when I couldn't take the tightness in my trousers anymore, I threw her on the bed.

F*ck! Even in her hazy and half-fucked state, she looked like a goddess.

I pinned her arms above her head, my body trembling with dark need to be buried deep inside her. Her dark eyes stared at me with the same intensity, but the only difference was the knowing smirk on her face.

“You can't resist me, can you?” She moaned out as I rubbed the head of my cock on her wet entrance. 

“Shut up.” My voice was thick with desire.

I pushed my cock into her half way, before withdrawing back completely. 

She let out a groan, throwing a glare at me.

“What's wrong? Are you afraid to admit you want me? Or that I've already seeped too deep into your skin, and now you're afraid I might cause a virus?” she says before throwing her head back as I thrust completely in to her to shut her up.

Her pussy clenched around my cock so tightly, I almost cummed right there. But I held on.

I slammed my cock into her harder, shutting any words that threatened to spill out of her mouths again.

I suddenly grabbed her waist, turning her to rest her stomach on the bed. I didn't want to see her eyes. They made me want to ruin everything just so I can hold her in my hands every night.

I was her executioner. She should never fall for me. 

Giuliana cried as I continued to slam into her roughly, drowning the sound of her wet pussy.

“Emiliano…f*ck, please. Ohhhh, just like that. Yes, right there…” she continued to yell profanities, cursing me when I pulled out, only to slam into her, harder.

This was my punishment. One minute of heaven was the only reward I get to be given.

****

She was asleep when I got out of bed, a cigar in one hand, a glass of whiskey sitting on the table.

My eyes trailed over her exposed skin, my handprints on her hips and ass, hickeys on her neck.

 But nothing on her lips. 

They remained in their natural size and shape. I didn't kiss her once all through the sex.

She looked ruined, just the way I like it. 

She was mine to ruin.

But f*ck! I had to stop this madness. I had to end this before I fell any deeper. It would only lead to my ruin.

I had to hate her and in return make her hate me.

“You should get a picture instead,” her groggy voice broke me out of my thought. I hadn't even noticed she had opened her eyes because I was busy staring at her perfectly shaped ass.

“Get up! You're moving to the guest room,” I said without looking at her.

“What?” she immediately sat up.

“You heard me right. Move your ass from my bed, and get yourself out.” I turned my head to her, my eyes meeting her in an angry glare.

“You can’t tell me to leave my matrimonial room after f*cking me like a starving animal! I'm your fu*king wife!” She cried.

“Wife?” I scoffed, taking an inhale from the cigar. “You were a job, Giuliana. A means to an end. Everything that happened last night was based on one job,” I chuckled darkly. 

“You're nothing special. You didn't think you would wake up to my hands being wrapped around you like a fool in love, did you?” I shook my head. Her hands clenched by her side, but her face remained neutral, like nothing I said hurt her. Donatello had taught her well.

She stood up from the bed, naked, her eyes never leaving mine. She came closer, her scent hitting me immediately. I could still smell her sex from here. I fought the urge to close my eyes and sigh.

She brought her face close to mine. “You lie, Emiliano. Look me in the eye and tell me the night we spent together meant nothing to you. Tell me you didn't feel a certain heat warm your skin when you buried yourself deep inside. Prove to me, it was just sex,” she seethed.

I stared right back at her, willing my mouth to tell her how my crippling desire for her left me breathless. A passion like a wildfire raging out of control…my forbidden passion towards her burned brighter each passing day.

But instead, I looked her straight in the eyes, and told her the one thing that would be considered a nightmare to any woman. 

“Patricia, my ex-wife. I think of her every time I thrust myself into you.” I walked closer to her, my breath fanning her cheeks, “You'll never stand in the place of my Patricia. All you'll ever be is a temporary distraction.”

The look on her face broke my heart, but I knew I had finally made her hate me.

But my heart? It only grew three times bigger for her.

Chapter 17

Emiliano's pov

The sound of the gun reverberated around the room as I watched her fall to the ground, a painful screech leaving her lips. Her head hit the ground with a thud, and I wince from the impact like I felt it.

My hands fall to the ground as I watch her unconscious body on the floor, the milky skin of her thighs contrasting the dark floor.

My hands hitched to touch to glide on her soft skin, swipe the status hair that played on her forehead, but I didn't. I watched her with something that felt like empty feelings.

I turned away from her with a sigh, pushing my gun back into my pocket.

Donatello would be happy now, wouldn't he?

I had finally done what he asked of me. He would never have to worry about a Giuliana Morano.

The apartment was silent as I walked through the halls, searching for something I couldn't recognise myself. I limped to the mini bar at the back of the dining hall. The balls of my feet pierced with an annoying sche, but I ignored it as I stretched my hand to grab a bottle of rum.

I had never hated silence, I had always welcomed it. Whilst everyone craved the noise, fun and bubble of the Mafia life…I dwelled in its calm. The darkness that came after the chaos. The smell of disinfectant after all the blood of traitors had been wiped out. The silence after everyone went to bed, their demons hovering above their closed eyes.

I loved solitude.

It was the only thing I appreciated after the thrill of shedding blood.

But at this moment, I hated it.

The silence. It scratched me in the wrong way,oke an irch that refused to go.

The smell of her wet skin after a shower. The way she tended to my wounds seemed to get worse every hour. The way her eyes grew wide when I touched her, and the way her skin flamed when I caught her looking at me secretly.

It was infuriating. I wanted to clutch the memory off from my head, but they stick like an annoying keech to a warm blooded animal.

She wanted it. She said it herself. She would have done anything to get away from me. I only gave her a free way out of here. She is free now.

It didn't matter if she was dead or alive.

Donatello would never come for her again.

I took another gulp of the hard drink, my throat burning as the liquid went down.

“F*ck!" I cursed as I swept all the contents lying on the table, the sound of glass shattering.

The blood.

The sight of blood never made me anxious , but as my mind went back to the sight of her body lying in a small pool of her blood__ my skin crawled with an unknown feeling.

My thoughts were interrupted when the sound of the front door opened.

Without turning back, I spoke up. “Glad you could make it right on time… for the clean up,” I groaned, my speech coming out a little bit slurry.

"I came as soon as I learnt of the attack, boss,” his gruffy voice responded back. Calm and collected, unlike the tremors that ran through my body.

I didn't say anything back, I just stared ahead, the white walls looking more interesting than his late presence.

Marcus. My right hand man. The only one that was deemed worthy of my trust.

I had left him back in Sicily, hoping he would be able to keep an eye on Donatello, while I tried to protect Giuliana and plan what to deal with Donatello in secret.

But it obviously didn't work out.

Because now, Donatello had set a price tag on my head, and soon I would be facing my death.

“You did it, didn't you?" I heard Marcus' voice beside me as he took a seat in front of me.

I knew what he was talking about but I couldn't muster the strength to reply back to him. I didn't want to recall how her body fell to the ground, her eyes peeled with pain…and betrayal.

“How is Donatello?" I asked.

“He's back in Sicily. But he's got his men hicering around you. They're all on the lookout," he replied.

The big question still hung in the air.

Did I do it?

“He wouldn't have to worry anymore. I'll go to him myself,” I said as I grabbed the glass of Don Julio liquor that he had managed to snag, downing it in one go.

“You killed her, didn't you?"

I looked up at him, my eyes blood red. The scar in his face looked blurry as I tried to decipher the expression on his face.

Was he judging me? Disappointed? Or maybe even happy?

We both worked for Donatello. But I was the one who picked him first. He was just all little kid when I saved from the streets ahd introduced him to the gang.

I got him first. I got his loyalty first.

But now, I couldn't decide if he would choose Donatello's side instead of mine.

But deep inside my heart, I knew it wasn't possible.

Marco would take a bullet for me. The man would give his life for me. He would turn away from Donatello to follow me to the ends of the world.

I was his brother.

But still I never told him about my personal vendetta. It was between me and Donatello only. I didn't need to drag anyone into our business. Not even Donatello knew. He wouldn't know until the day I came for him.

“I only did what Donatello wanted. I need to get back on his good books. She was never meant to last,” I say, quickly driving the bitter taste of my words with my drink.

“You did the right thing, boss. Donatello would be proud of you. She's better off dead, anyway. We both know the boss would never allow her go scot free. He would go to the ends of the earth just to spill her blood.”

I should feel accomplished. But I didn't.

I had gone empty. I had blocked everything, even our memories. Nott the happy ones. We never had a happy time together. But those times we spent together. The way she felt underneath my skin. The way she moaned out my name when I drove inside her. The marks she drew on my skin.

It was all over now.

“We should leave for Sicily now. Contact the pilot,” I told him.

He nodded and then brought out his cellphone, contacting our personal pilot.

I stood up and headed back to the room.

Just as I got there, a sharp sting hit my face, my face turning away from the force of the slap.

“You! How co—” I quickly clamped her mouth shut, kicking my feet back to shut the door.

Giuliana’s POV

I was five when I first held a gun.  

Six when I saw a man shot between the eyes.  

Eleven when I watched my mother die.  

She collapsed in front of me, a black hole in the back of her skull, her blood spilling onto the dinner table. Into my soup. The scent of copper drowned out everything else.  

I remember staring at my white top—no longer white. A single tear slipped down my cheek.  

"Maria!" My father’s broken voice echoed as he clutched her body.  

I reached for her hand, my small fingers rubbing against her cold skin. "Mama, open your eyes. The bad guys are gone now."  

She didn’t.  

"They won’t hurt you anymore. Papa will protect you."  

But when I looked up at him, all I saw was grief. And guilt.  

That night, I realized something. My father—Donatello Morano—hadn’t pulled the trigger. But he hadn’t stopped it either.  

Since then, I secretly hated him.  

I grew up surrounded by death. My father’s men never used silencers around me. He wanted me to hear the gunshots, to understand that this was my world.  

"Stay away from love," he told me once. "It’s just a fairy tale meant for weak princesses."  

Yet the night my mother died, he whispered into her hair, "Ti amo più della mia stessa respirazione." I love you more than my breath.  

But love didn’t save her. It killed her.  

I tried to tell him that once. I stood beside him while he scrubbed blood from his hands, my voice steady. "This is my life now. I won’t run from it." 

He sighed. "You are my princess, not my soldier. Stick to your role."  

"Like Mama did?" My voice was bitter. "You caged her. You made her believe she was safe. But you left her defenseless."  

He said nothing.  

I thought I had earned his respect.  

I didn’t realize I had just started counting my days under his roof.  

I am Giuliana Morano, the only daughter of Donatello Morano—heir to the second most powerful Italian mafia family in Colombia.  

****

Years Later – The Gala  

The Morano gala was always the same.  

Elegant. Extravagant. Suffocating.  

I played my role well. The perfect mafia princess—poised, untouchable, silent. But tonight, I felt restless. The air in the ballroom was thick, the music too loud, the people too fake.  

So I left.  

My silk gown trailed behind me as I stepped into the quiet hallway, inhaling deeply.  

Then I saw it.

A single red flower in a glass vase by the window.

It was nothing—just decor, placed there to brighten the cold corridors. But the sight of it made my stomach tighten.

Because red had never meant beauty to me.

It meant blood.

And just like that, a memory came crashing back.

I was seven. I should have listened.

Mama had always told me to stay where it was safe, to never question things that weren’t meant for me. But that night, I had wanted to prove something—I had wanted to show I wasn’t afraid.

So I followed her.

She had been tense all evening, her hands gripping the pearls around her neck, her eyes flicking toward the clock. I had never seen her like that before.

I snuck behind her as she walked toward the private wing of the house, my tiny feet silent against the cold marble floors.

She met with a man I didn’t recognize.

He wasn’t one of Papa’s men. He was too calm, too sure of himself.

"You shouldn't have come," she whispered urgently.

"Maria," the man sighed. "It's done. You need to leave before he finds out."

Leave? Leave what?

Then Mama’s body went rigid.

She turned sharply—her gaze locking onto me.

My heart stopped.

"Giuliana." Her voice was cold, warning. "Go back to your room. Now."

But I didn’t move.

The man beside her frowned. "Who is—"

"Leave!" she hissed at him, panic flashing in her eyes.

I didn’t understand what was happening, but something in her face made my chest tighten.

And then—

Then I collided with something solid, the earlier memory vanishing from my head.

No, it wasn't something. It was someone.

A hand shot out, gripping my arm to steady me before shoving me back just as fast.  

"It wouldn’t kill you to watch where you’re going, principessa," a low voice muttered.  

The accent was not unfamiliar—Italian, but rougher, colder.  

I steadied myself, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"  

He stood there, tall and composed, like he owned the space he occupied. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his icy blue eyes cutting through me like a blade. I had been surrounded by dangerous men my entire life, but something about him felt different.  

No. Worse.

His presence sent a slow shiver down my spine, an instinctual warning I refused to acknowledge.  

"What the hell is your problem?" I snapped, adjusting the sleeve of my gown.  

"You ran into me," he said simply.  

I scoffed. "Maybe if you paid attention, jerk."  

His lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. Something dangerous lived there, something meant to unsettle.  

"Be careful," he murmured. "Not everyone will care that you’re Daddy’s little princess."  

I clenched my fists.  

"Who are you?" I demanded.  

"Emiliano," he said. No last name. No explanation.  

Something about him felt off. He didn’t look like my father’s usual business partners, nor one of his soldiers.  

"Are you one of my father’s men, or just another stray dog?" I taunted, my voice dripping with condescension.  

His expression didn’t change, but I saw the shift. The way his body stilled. The way his fingers flexed, as if restraining the urge to react.  

The surrounding air thickened, charged with something both volatile and magnetic.  

Most men flinched when I spoke with such defiance. But Emiliano?  

He simply stared. A silent battle waged between us—one I wasn’t sure I wanted to win.  

Then, finally, his lips parted.  

"Dog, it is," I chuckled.  

I turned to leave, expecting him to let me go.  

Instead, his hand shot out, fingers curling around my wrist. Not tight, not painful. But firm. Commanding.

I inhaled sharply, my pulse betraying me.  

"You should be more careful with your words, Giuliana," he murmured, using my name like it was a secret only he was meant to know.  

I forced myself to meet his gaze. "And you should learn when to let go."  

For a second, neither of us moved. The tension coiled, a silent game of power and defiance.  

Then he released me, taking a single step back.  

A knowing smile ghosted his lips. "Enjoy your evening, principessa."  

And just like that, he was gone.  

Leaving me standing there, my skin still burning where he touched me.  

I didn’t know then that I had just met the man who would ruin me.  

Giuliana's POV

I knew I was unshakable.  

‘Steel,’ I would tell myself whenever I saw something that other girls my age would run from.  

I had seen strong men cry for their lives, before being eaten by my father's dogs. I had seen severed human parts scattered at Papa's gory house. I had even stepped on a fresh rotten skull, but I never flinched. Death was served as dinner in Morano's mansion. A side of torture, every hour.  

But this?  

This made my blood run cold.  

I hadn't meant to see him push his tongue down her throat like he was searching for something he personally kept there…but I couldn't just will myself to move.  

My hand clenched on the steel pillar as I watched them scavenge each other's bodies.  

“Emiliano,” she moaned as he grabbed her boobs, his hands kneading them with reckless desperation. In return, she held onto his neck, strongly for balance.  

Bianca Conti, a woman of status, cried in pleasure like a common wh*re for an ordinary man.  

“You're going to kill me,” she moaned into his mouth, her hands struggling to unfasten his belt.  

I continued to watch, disgust seeping in, but strangely… I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The scene twisted something in me, pulling up memories I didn't want to face.

I felt my chest tighten, as the memory slammed into me with full force.  

I was just a little girl then. My mother was always so graceful, so full of elegance. I had always seen her as the perfect woman — a queen beside my father.  

But that evening, everything changed.  

I had stumbled into the hallway, clutching a drawing I had made for her birthday, only to freeze at the sight of her. She was standing close to a man, someone I had never seen before. His hands were on her waist, his face dangerously close to hers.  

The sight was wrong. My heart thudded in my chest. I could feel the anger rising even then, hot and burning. How could she? How could she betray Papa?  

I remembered how the man smiled, how my mother’s eyes darted nervously, trying to pull away from him. But it was too late. I had already seen everything. I had witnessed my mother, the woman I had always revered, in an intimate embrace with another man.  

I hated that man. I hated him for making my mother cheat on my father, the man who loved her with his whole heart. And just like that, my world seemed to shatter.  

As I stood there frozen, a sickening realization took hold of me. My mother, the woman I thought was beyond reproach, was capable of hurting Papa, of destroying everything we had built. And it was all because of that man.  

Now, as I stood in the shadows, watching Emiliano do the same thing, that same fury burned through me again. He had made Bianca cheat on her husband — just like the man had made my mother betray my father.  

I could feel the anger bubbling inside me, the same hatred I had buried for years now surging to the surface. I clenched my fist around the steel pillar, as I watched them—my blood boiling.  

“Emiliano,” she moaned again, pulling me back to the present moment, as he roughly pulled her closer.  

My eyes flicked over to him, the man who was now at the center of my rage. He had done it. He had taken a woman and made her forget loyalty, just like the man from my past had done to my mother.  

“You’re going to kill me,” Bianca moaned, lost in her lustful haze, while Emiliano’s smirk grew.  

My eyes narrowed as I felt my body tense.  

I hated him.  

Just as I turned to leave, wishing to rid myself of the anger and disgust, his eyes locked onto mine. A smirk spread across his lips.  

“Enjoying the show, Principessa?” he taunted.  

My stomach dropped. I would rather not face the woman who had just been cheating on a mafia lord with an ordinary made man. Neither did I want to be confronted by the said man.  

“Giuliana…” my thoughts were cut short when I heard her call my name. She stared at me with guilt-stricken eyes. “Wh-what are you doing here?” Her voice was so soft, I barely heard her.  

“Fresh air,” I replied without much thought, my voice clipped as I tried to avoid looking at Emiliano.  

“You don’t have to explain it to me... It's none of my business,” I added, trying to mask the rage churning inside me.  

She quickly adjusted herself before walking out onto the balcony, not sparing Emiliano or I another glance.  

I watched her leave, her hips swaying seductively, as I felt a strange mixture of bitterness and jealousy coil inside me. She was beautiful, in the way only someone who had been adored and worshiped could be.  

“Looks like someone’s ready to spill blood,” Emiliano’s voice broke through my thoughts.  

I turned back to him, my gaze as cold as ice.  

"Only you would know when someone's ready to spill blood... after all, you've probably cut through more human skin than you have through steaks," I retorted, the bitterness in my tone clear.  

“Your father wouldn’t like it if I told you the amount of ‘proditore’ I kill every day,” he mocked, leaning in slightly, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.  

I glared at him, the mention of my father striking a nerve.  

I turned to leave.  

“You looked like you were jealous earlier,” he said, his voice smooth. “Or were you just enjoying the performance?”  

I froze, but didn’t turn around.  

I turned back to face him, ready to fire back, only to realize he had moved closer. Our bodies were now mere inches apart.  

I didn’t step back. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his proximity affected me.  

“I’ve seen a better performance from a dying, bloodied man choking on his own blood... yours doesn’t even come close,” I seethed.  

“And yet, you stood there, watching me f*ck her with my digits, your mouth almost drooling with saliva,” he taunted, his smirk turning into something much darker.  

My body trembled with anger. I didn’t understand how this man, this insufferable bastard, could make me so furious. So… flustered.  

“I don’t give a flying f*ck about what you do... you’re no more than a slave to me and my father, got it?” I growled, my eyes blazing.  

His expression remained unchanged, but the amusement in his eyes only deepened.  

“I’m not playing these dirty games with you. Go to Hell!” I snapped, turning sharply on

my heel.  

But just before I walked away, I felt his gaze searing into my back.  

F**king bastard.

****

The party was almost over, and I let out a sigh of relief.

Just then, I heard someone clink their glass, drawing everyone's attention.

Papa stood at the front of the state, his face holding no emotion as usual.

"I welcome you all to my annual ball," he started. "Today is not just for me but for someone very special to my heart...the second woman who holds the biggest space in my heart," he said, his voice sounding softer than they usually do. His eyes found mine at the back of the room.

“Bambina,” he called, smiling at me.

I smiled back at him, though I was still shocked as to why he had said he was also celebrating with me, but I still went up to him.

"Papa," I greeted softly, my eyes holding his adoringly.

"Bambina, you know how much I adore you and how your mother would want the best for you. She had always hoped you would find a man who would love and protect you the way you deserved." He touched my face softly.

"Papa, what are you talking about?" I asked as my heart beat wildly against my chest.

I prayed it wasn't what I thought.

“Your engagement has been arranged” he smiled.

My stomach twisted painfully. “I'm not ready, Papa," I whispered. "It's too early," I whispered softly, not wanting anyone else to hear me.

“It's time," he sighed. "You'll have to get married eventually,” he said softly, his eyes staring intently at mine.

This was too soon. It hadn't crossed my mind that papa would start looking for my suitor this early.

I shook my head. “Papa, you can't_”

“I can and I will. The wedding is set to happen in two weeks”.

“What?” my eyes widened, looking around at everyone in the hall. But they were all oblivious to what was happening between my father and I.

Papa held his hand up, signaling for someone to be brought.

Suddenly, the door opened to reveal the man that I would never have imagined being standing with me and my father in such a situation.

Emiliano…in all his glory.

"Papa, you can't do__you can't do this."

“Giuliana, meet your fiancé, Emiliano Giovanni,” Papa announced. “My manager.”

The room spun. My jaw hung loosely around my mouth.

“No...you can't be serious!” I cried out.

“Don't be rude, Bambina, and you'll marry him,” he scolded me, staring at the audience that now held curious faces. “He'll protect you, he's my most trusted man.” He spoke in a very quiet tone.

“Over my f*cking dead body...I'm not marrying this man,” I seethed, my voice incredibly low.

I knew we were causing a scene, but I didn't care. I won't let papa hand me over to a man-whore like Emiliano.

“You don't dare defy me. You do what I say, or you face the consequences!” Papa said, his face much closer to mine.

“And what will you do?" I scoffed. "Throw me in the gory house and skin me alive?” I briefly glanced at Emiliano before I turned my back to my dad. "Trust me, I'd rather be buried alive than take this man as my husband. No, papa!”

"Leave!" He turned to Emiliano.

Emiliano gave me a look...was he concerned? I wasn't sure.

But he left when papa glared at him, telling him not to push his boundaries.

Papa grabbed my hand, turning me to face the guests that now looked at us weirdly. I couldn't blame them. It isn't everyday you see Don Donatello almost losing his wit to his princess.

But this was my life.

"Smile," he sneered. And I did. I faked a smile, pretending this was just a normal conversation, and I was happy about my impromptu engagement.

“Your death won't be that easy, Bambina,"he breathed into my ear. "You know what I do with my traitors, right?” He said into my ear, conspicuously.

I knew well what he did with those who betrayed him, but he still went on.

“I cut off their tongues so they don't tell lies anymore."

“I broke every single bone present when they sold their souls to my enemies. You know all this,” he glared at me. “But I promise, I won't even make it that easy for you.”

“I'll destroy and spread your body, so everyone sees what happens when you defy Don Morano.”

He smiled, raising his glass up to celebrate my bee engagement. And I did the same.