Matteo

Alessandro had barely staggered into his bedroom before I shook my head in disgust.

Of course, he would accept my offer. Who wouldn’t?

Coward.

But even as the word left my mind, my gaze snapped to Adriana’s room. Something in my chest tightened. An instinct honed from years in blood and war. The hairs on my neck stood.

Something wasn’t fucking right.

I stormed down the hall, pushed the door open.

The bed was empty,Blanket tossed and the window was left wide open.

A spark detonated in my veins, rage and panic colliding into a single inferno.

Where the fuck did my wife go?!

I turned, stalking back toward Alessandro’s room. The old drunk was standing at the window, shoulders slumped, eyes glassy with defeat. For a fleeting second, I almost felt pity for him. Almost.

But pity doesn’t change the truth; his daughter belongs to me.

“Where the fuck is my wife, old man?” My voice rasped like broken glass as I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back from the window.

“She is not your wife yet!” he spat, hatred searing through his whiskey-soaked breath. “And you know where she sleeps. Check her room. Don’t come in here threatening me—”

The back of my hand hit his head before he finished. He seemed to forget who he was talking to. I was a Capo.

“She’s not in her room,” I growled, my grip tightening. “If you don’t want your cock fed to the dogs, you’d better bring her out right now.”

His face went pale, trembling against my hold. “I don’t know, Matteo. You… you were the one who dropped her off.”

“Forget it,” I snarled, throwing him to the floor.

I stalked back into Adriana’s room, inhaled the faint trace of her perfume still hanging in the air, and dialed Marco.

He picked up on the second ring, breathing heavy. “You just interrupted me mid-stroke, Matteo. This better be good.”

“She ran,” I bit out. “Adriana’s gone. I need eyes everywhere. Track her phone, her friends, anything. Alert the men. Standby until you’ve got a location, then call me.”

“Alright but—”

“Marco,” I cut in. “This isn’t negotiable.”

Silence. Then: “Why did she run?”

“Because we’re getting married,” I said flatly. “Next week was the plan, but after tonight… it may be today. Tell our men to dress fancy. I want them to be present.”

I ended the call before his sigh of protest finished.

Behind me, Alessandro stumbled in, eyes wild. “Where is my daughter?”

“Wear a suit,” I ordered coldly. “We’re marrying her tonight. Your debts are cleared. You’re a free man.”

He nodded with his head bent, never meeting my eyes.

I leaned against the open window, staring into the night. My chest burned, not from anger, but from something deeper…an ache I couldn’t kill no matter how hard I tried.

Adriana.

I remembered the first time I saw her. Her mama’s funeral.

I’d been with half the women in this city, burned through them like cigarettes. But Adriana… She was different.

She wasn’t just beautiful—though Christ, she was. That day, she looked carved by God Himself to drive men into madness. But it wasn’t her face or her body that snared me. It was her fire.

She didn’t cry. Not once. While mourners wailed and prayed, Adriana stood like stone. No sadness. No weakness. Only anger radiated from her eyes. Eyes that never left mine.

I remember shifting under her stare, me, the man who owned half this city, feeling stripped bare in front of a girl who hadn’t yet lived half her life.

That night, I asked Alessandro for her hand. He refused. Screamed at me. Drunken rage, spittle flying.

It didn’t matter. Something had already broken loose inside me. She was in my blood.

I learned everything about her in the weeks after: the books she read, the places she wandered, the way she bit her lip when she was thinking. Obsession isn’t even the word. I drowned in her, even without her near me.

I tried therapy, if you can believe it. Me. A Capo sitting in a room talking about “letting go.” But nothing cured it. Nothing burned her out of me.

So when Alessandro’s debts mounted, I let them. I could’ve saved him. Instead, I sharpened the knife and waited for him to fall. Because when he did, I’d finally get her.

And now she thought she could run?

My phone buzzed, dragging me back. Marco’s voice was sharp this time. “She’s heading to New Jersey. With her friend Ruby. I’m sending coordinates. Some of our men already have eyes on the car.”

I scoffed. “My father’s territory. Smart girl.”

“Matteo…” Marco hesitated. “With all due respect, if you set foot there, it’s war. Colombo’s people are thick in New Jersey. You’ll blow our plan to hell.”

“She’s worth it,” I snapped, my voice cracking like thunder. “I’d burn this city to ash for her. Keep your eyes on them. I’m coming.”

Alessandro reappeared in a dark blue suit, sulking like a child.

“Your daughter’s in New Jersey,” I told him. “When we retrieve her, we marry.”

“You’ll be killed,” he whispered, chest heaving.

I grinned, the thrill pumping in my blood. “I’d like to see them try.”

Minutes later, we were flying down the highway, engines howling, my men trailing in a convoy. The city blurred past, neon bleeding into the night.

Her scent still lingered in my lungs, driving me faster.

When we hit the edge of Jersey, the streets grew darker, narrower. My father’s old hunting ground. This place chewed girls alive. It was all drugs, flesh, broken dreams.

Adriana wouldn’t last a week here. And the thought of anyone else laying a hand on her made me see red.

We slowed near a strip of cracked asphalt where Marco’s ping had landed.

Then I saw her.

Adriana stood under the faint glow of her phone, the only light on that desolate block. Her hair shimmered faintly in the dark as she looked around, suspicion flashing across her face. She slipped her phone into her pocket.

“She doesn’t even realize the danger,” Alessandro muttered.

“She’s mine,” I said. “She’ll learn.”

I signaled Lorenzo. He melted from the car into the shadows, moving low and silent. Adriana stiffened, eyes darting. She felt it. Predator and prey, instincts colliding. Then her gaze flicked to my car. Recognition.

She bolted.

“Fuck,” I growled, slamming the accelerator as she tore into the trees beyond the road. Lorenzo chased, his footsteps pounding after her.

Branches whipped her face, gravel skidded under her shoes, but she didn’t stop.

I swung the car around, tires screaming, cutting off the road where I knew she’d break out. My heart slammed against my ribs but it was not from fear of losing her, but from the wild, rabid truth. She was mine. She’d always been mine.

She burst from the woods, hair wild, chest heaving, flagging down traffic with frantic arms.

“Adriana!” I roared, stepping from the car.

A taxi screeched to a halt. Relief flickered across her face, then my blood turned cold.

The driver’s arm stretched out the window, a tattoo visible even from where I stood. A jagged ink mark every Diavoli knew too well.

The Colombo tattoo.

“No—”

She dove inside before I could stop her.

My gun was in my hand before the thought even formed. One shot cracked into the tire, another into the driver’s wrist. Chaos exploded. Screams, cars braking, people scattering.

The bastard fired back through the window, glass shattering around me, then slammed the accelerator. The cab fishtailed and sped off, with Adriana trapped inside.

Colombo traffickers. They hunted girls like wolves, circling the lost and desperate. She couldn’t have picked a worse car if she tried.

But they made one mistake.

They took my wife.

And I would raze this city to its bones before I let them keep her.

Adriana

Adriana

Gunfire shattered everywhere.

I dropped low, pressing my head down, heart thundering in my chest. The crack of bullets ricocheted off metal, and the smell of burnt rubber clawed into my lungs.

Matteo was crouched at the back of the vehicle, his hands gripping his head like a man seconds away from erupting.

The tires screeched as his bullets tore them apart. The car fishtailed, sparks spitting against the road. The man in the passenger seat howled, clutching his hand. Blood streaked down his wrist and soaked the fabric of his shirt.

For a heartbeat, instinct pushed me toward apology, to say something absurd about his hand and beg them to let me out. Then my eyes caught it.

Ink.

A tattoo that twisted across his skin, coiling into a dagger, a serpent winding tight around it.

The Colombo mark.

My breath stilled.

Suddenly I understood why Matteo had fired. Why his aim hadn’t been wild, but precise.

I dragged a hand over my face, trying to push away the tears gathering in my eyes. It was useless. The truth was crashing down too fast.

I thought running would put distance between us.That Matteo wouldn’t follow me if I left. But of course he would. I had forgotten who he was.

Matteo wasn’t some reckless man chasing after a girl. He was Capo of the Diavoli. He always got what he wanted.

And I had run into the arms of his enemies.

If Matteo could get me out of this alive, I swear that I would marry him.

The injured man groaned through clenched teeth, blood dripping from his fingers. “What the fuck is the boss’s son doing here? Has he lost his mind?”

Boss’s son. My stomach lurched at the words.

The driver’s eyes cut back to me through the mirror. His shoulders were massive, his chest stretching the seams of his shirt. Built like Lorenzo, all muscle and menace.

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

My mouth went dry. My mind screamed to stay calm. Lie. Always lie.

“Kimberly,” I answered, voice soft but steady.

The driver snorted. “Bullshit. You look Italian. Why’s that man chasing you? What the fuck is going on, woman?”

“I don’t know,” I lied, forcing my voice to shake, feigning helpless confusion. “He followed me all the way here. I needed help. Thank you for stopping, but… I think I’ll get out now.”

I grabbed the door handle, heart vaulting in my chest.

It didn’t move. Locked.

The wounded man shifted, his face pale with blood loss. He leveled a pistol at me, his good hand steady despite the crimson soaking his sleeve.

“You stepped into the wrong car.” His voice was low, dangerous.

He shoved his sleeve higher, flashing the tattoo again, the snake and dagger gleaming under the dashboard light. I squinted, pretending not to understand. His smirk deepened, like he enjoyed the performance.

The driver's name is Savio, as I’d later learn,pulled his gun from under the seat, resting it casually on his thigh, the muzzle pointed at me.

“We’re Colombo men,” he said, voice steady as stone. “And you, sweetheart, just got yourself kidnapped.” His lips curled. “You’ll be cargo soon enough. Sold off. Shipped

Cold spread through my veins.

“Talk if you want to live,” the bleeding man rasped.

I folded my arms, trying to mask the panic that quivered inside me. “I… I worked for him. I stole money. That’s why he’s after me.”

The wounded one was Luca.He let out a dark laugh. “You must have stolen a hell of a lot. Riccardo’s going to want to see you himself.”

Riccardo.

Even the name was venom.

“Phone,” Savio ordered.

My fingers tightened around it like it was the last thread to freedom. If I gave it up, Matteo would never find me. If I didn’t, they’d kill me here.

My breath hitched. Slowly, I handed it over. Savio took it, rolled down the window, and tossed it into the night.

“Brother, you’re bleeding bad,” Savio muttered, glancing at Luca’s drenched sleeve. “We’ll stop at my girl’s before Riccardo.

The tire’s ruined anyway. That bastard shot it.” He lifted his phone. “Tell the boss his son’s here. Bring backup.”

I closed my eyes. The car reeked of blood and smoke. Despair sat heavy in my chest.

The Colombo. Everyone knew their reputation. They were the rot of Cosa Nostra. Dishonest, vile, feeding off the trade the other families despised. Flesh for profit. Girls stolen and broken.

Faces flashed in my mind.The missing girls plastered across the news, smiling in photographs. Smiles that would never return.

My throat tightened. A tear broke free, and then another. Not just for me. For them. For every girl lost to Colombo’s grip.

The car stopped. Hands grabbed me, rough and merciless. Cold cuffs snapped over my wrists and ankles. Duct tape sealed my mouth, choking me with the stench of glue and my own breath.

“Out.”

I stumbled forward, legs useless, steps jerking. My knees buckled, and I crashed to the pavement. The cuffs tore into my wrists, skin splitting as pain ripped through me. A muffled cry broke out against the tape.

“Careful,” Luca muttered weakly. “She’s worth less if she’s damaged.”

Savio grunted, then threw me over his shoulder like a sack. My ribs pressed against his back. My arms dangled, the cuffs biting deep.

I thought about swinging them into his skull, but fear pinned me down. I wouldn’t make it far. Reinforcements were already coming.

They knocked and the door creaked open.

A woman’s gasp split the silence. “Savio, oh mio Dio…”

Her lips were plump with fillers, her body curved wrong, proportions off, her surgeon did a poor job.

“Baby, get the kit,” Savio ordered, carrying me inside. He dumped me onto a couch, the cushions swallowing me whole.

She disappeared and returned quickly, eyes darting from me to Luca.

“Cosa gli è successo?” Her voice trembled as she stared at Luca’s wound.

“Matteo’s in town,” Savio said flatly.

Her face drained of color. “Why?”

“For her.” His chin jerked toward me. “She stole from him. Riccardo will decide what to do.”

Her hands shook, but she obeyed, crouching beside Luca. She dug out the bullet with steady fingers. He didn’t flinch.

I tried shifting, but the tape burned, the cuffs tore at skin already raw. Tears welled again, silent and furious. I hated myself for it….for crying, for sitting here bound and useless while men outside loaded their guns.

Riccardo’s reinforcement had come.

The woman’s gaze flicked to me. Her lips parted, pity softening her face. She reached toward me until Savio caught her wrist.

“Don’t touch her, baby.” He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then angled for her lips.

And the glass shattered.

A bullet split the air.

It hit Savio square in the skull. His body crumpled into her arms. Her scream tore through the house, wild and broken.

Luca lurched, gun shaking in his good hand. He raised it toward me

Two shots cut him down. Blood spattered the wall as he collapsed.

I slid off the couch, pressing my bound hands to the floor, dragging myself back against the wall. The woman wailed over Savio, her cries piercing, hysterical.

“He’s here!” she shrieked. “He’s come to kill us all!”

Gunfire thundered outside. Men screamed. Each shot was final.

Then the door burst open.

Matteo strode through like a storm, soldiers behind him, rifles gleaming under the dim light. His eyes locked on me and nothing else mattered.

He crossed the room in three strides, dropped to his knees, and cupped my face between his hands. His skin was warm, steady, anchoring me to the world.

And I broke. Tears flooded fast, hot, unstoppable. My chest heaved as I buried my face against him. He had come. Against all odds, he had come for me.

And something inside me shifted.

I would never be helpless again.

I would train.

Fight.

Learn.

I would rip Colombo apart from the inside. For myself. For the missing girls. For every woman who had been silenced.

I would drag Riccardo to his knees.

And if the price was marrying Matteo….then I would pay it.

“Princess,” Matteo whispered, his eyes shadowed with something raw, something almost broken.