Ezekiel123

the air heavy with tension. Seraphina, determined and desperate, had managed to lure Lucien outside under the pretence of needing fresh air. She walked with purpose, her heels clicking against the marble floor as Lucien followed, intrigued by her sudden change in demeanour. As they reached the secluded garden, Seraphina turned to face Lucien, her eyes filled with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "Thank you for bringing me here," she said softly. Lucien stepped closer, his gaze intense. "Why do I feel like you're up to something?" Seraphina smiled faintly. "Maybe because I am." Before Lucien could react, she swiftly moved behind him, a cloth soaked in chloroform in her hand. She pressed it against his face, and he struggled for a moment before his body went limp. Saraphina's heart pounded in her chest as she signalled to her accomplice, who emerged from the shadows to help carry Lucien to a waiting car. Lucien slowly regained consciousness, the world coming into focus in a dimly lit, unfinished building. He was tied to a chair, his head throbbing. As he lifted his gaze, he saw Saraphina standing before him, holding a gun. Her long, black hair descended over her shoulders, framing her bold, oceanic eyes that glinted with fierce determination. "Damn," Lucien thought, despite the situation. "She's beautiful. Who is she?" Saraphina's voice was steady, though her heart raced. "I need you to take me to Lucien Salvatore." Lucien smirked, hiding his surprise. "And you think this is the way to do it?" Saraphina's eyes narrowed. "I don't care what you think. You're going to help me, whether you like it or not." Lucien leaned back, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're braver than I thought. But you have no idea what you're getting into." Seraphina stepped closer, her grip on the gun tightening. "Then enlighten me." The tension in the air was palpable, their fates now intertwined in a dangerous dance of power and desire. Seraphina Devereux is the cherished yet rebellious daughter of Vincent Devereux, a man whose empire is built on fear, power, and unyielding control. Her life, ensconced in luxury and privilege, comes with a price: her freedom. When Vincent arranges her marriage to Allaire Moretti, a notorious and dangerous figure in the underworld, Seraphina's defiance reaches its breaking point. Trapped in a web of family loyalty and ruthless ambition, she knows she must escape before she becomes a pawn in a perilous game. Desperation leads her to the one man who can challenge even her father's formidable influence-Lucien Salvatore. A feared criminal mastermind from Colombia, Lucien's name is synonymous with danger, power, and a fortune built on the edge of a knife. His return to New York is driven by a personal vendetta, and his presence sends ripples of fear and fascination through the city's elite. Lucien is a man who bends the world to his will, and Saraphine sees in him the key to her salvation. Their paths cross at a masquerade ball, a glittering facade where secrets and identities are hidden behind ornate masks. Seraphine, determined and daring, approaches Lucien with a proposition: a marriage contract that would benefit them both. Lucien, intrigued by her audacity and beauty, sees an opportunity not just for power, but for a rare partnership in his relentless quest for revenge. In a world where alliances are fragile and betrayal is a constant shadow, Seraphina and Lucien must navigate a labyrinth of deceit, passion, and danger. As they delve deeper into their unholy alliance, they uncover secrets that could shatter their worlds. Seraphina's fight for autonomy clashes with Lucien's drive for vengeance, and together they face enemies on all sides-including those closest to them. Their journey is fraught with peril. Vincent, enraged by his daughter's defiance, unleashes his wrath, determined to bring her back under his control. Allaire Moretti, spurned and dangerous, seeks retribution, his ambitions entangled with violent intent. But Allaire's feelings for Seraphina are genuine, adding a tragic twist to the deadly game. He is determined to win her back, his love for her conflicting with his darker impulses. Amidst this chaos, Seraphina and Lucien's bond grows stronger, driven by mutual respect and a simmering attraction that neither can deny. Yet trust is a rare commodity in their world. As Lucien reveals the true extent of his plans, Seraphina must decide how far she is willing to go to reclaim her life. Will her alliance with Lucien be her salvation or her downfall? And can Lucien protect Seraphina from the enemies that encircle them both, while pursuing his ruthless agenda? In this electrifying tale of power, passion, and peril, Seraphine and Lucien's fates are intertwined in a deadly dance where love is a dangerous game, and freedom comes at the highest price. Will they emerge victorious against the forces that seek to destroy them, or will their ambitions and desires lead them to ruin?

Mr. Anderson is a charismatic and arrogant billionaire widower with a five-year-old daughter, Emily. Continues to command attention with his larger-than-life personality and commanding presence. His wealth and power have always granted him the ability to get what he wants, but Chloe begins to unravel the vulnerability hidden beneath his confident exterior. As she peels back the layers, she discovers a man who is not as invincible as he seems. Meanwhile, Chloe, the kind-hearted and ambitious young woman, finds herself at a crossroads after being betrayed by both her fiancé and best friend. Their deceit shakes her to the core, leaving her heartbroken and determined to start a new life ahead. It is in this vulnerable state that she finds herself drawn to Mr. Anderson's enigmatic charm. Little does she know, their paths are destined to intertwine in ways they could never have imagined. As Chloe and Mr. Anderson's lives become entangled, they navigate a world filled with secrets, lies, and unexpected connections. The more time they spend together, the more Chloe begins to see a different side of Mr. Anderson. His wealth and success come at a price, and she must decide whether the allure of his world is worth the sacrifices it demands.

I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

I was the "Caged Canary" of the underworld, a biological asset designed to merge two crime families. My fiancé, Bryant Barnes, didn't love me. He loved the power I brought, and he loved his mistress, Kalia. The night Kalia broke into my penthouse and stomped on my hand, crushing the bones and my fashion career, Bryant didn't help me. He told the police she was my guest and warned me not to embarrass him with a cast. That was just the beginning. When Kalia lied about feeling unsafe, Bryant dangled me off a balcony. When she faked a kidnapping, he locked me in an industrial freezer for six hours until I turned blue. And when I fell into the marina, he swam right past me to save her, leaving me to drown in the freezing water. He destroyed my body and my dignity for a woman who was stealing my designs and faking a pregnancy. He thought I was just a broken obligation he could discard. But he made a fatal mistake. He didn't make sure I was dead. I dragged myself out of the water and made a call to his greatest rival. On the night of our grand merger, I walked onto the stage wearing royal blue instead of white. I rolled up my sleeve to reveal the scars he gave me, looked him dead in the eye, and grabbed the microphone. "I hereby terminate my engagement to Bryant Barnes. And I am proud to announce my betrothal to the true King of this city."

One casual visit to her father's study; an unplanned collision with the malevolent Russian Bratva mafia boss plunged her life into a downward spiral. Forced to marry him for an alliance that bordered on keeping her family's business stronger, she had no choice but to accept her fate after an unsuccessful attempt at absconding right before the wedding. But with each new discovery about him, she realized that the masked husband she despised so much had several layers that tugged at her heartstrings, giving her no choice but to fall deeply for him. However, what happens when the dreary and dark secrets from his past resurfaces and threatens to disrupt not just their blooming relationship and his position as Capo, but their existence as well?

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."

I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella. Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark. But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved. Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies. When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel. While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest. The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella. He ordered my father to punish me. I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth. That night, the love in my heart finally died. On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven. Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney. By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York. I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him. But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash. In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress. He forced me to watch him court her. At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her. He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain. He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life. I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god. I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole. He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps. So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother. I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars. I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia. By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost.

I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria. But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity. A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love. My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me. Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego. He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press. He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan. He had no idea she was a fraud. He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her. He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate. At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her. I didn't beg. I didn't cry. I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play.

On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table. Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen. "Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over." I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward. Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant. She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest. As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me. He hugged her. "It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you." The betrayal didn't stop there. When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police. When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations. He declined the call. He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife. That was the moment the chain broke. As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come. I opened the door and jumped into the dark. Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement. Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one.

For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe. On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring. Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger. Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family. When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence. "Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets." My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet. He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts. He was wrong. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use. Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed. *I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.* His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning. *The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?* I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me. I looked down and typed three letters. *Yes.*