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His eyes possessed the ability to engulf you entirely, leaving you breathless, while his voice had a way of sending shivers down my spine, filling me with a paralyzing dread. It's been said that in the heart of Sicily, there exists a man who personifies mayhem and chaos, a veritable devil who traverses the night in his impeccable Chelsea boots. This enigmatic figure is none other than Matteo Alfonso, the formidable Don of the Alfonso mafia, an empire that has held sway over Italy for centuries, dating back to the 18th century. Over the years, no force has proven mighty enough to challenge his rule. Then enters Dorathy Campbell, a fierce yet unseasoned young woman, whose path unwittingly crosses into the Don's territory. Inadvertently, she sets in motion a chain of events that would reveal his darkest secret, a secret potent enough to be exploited by his adversaries in their quest to topple his reign. Though her very presence appears delicate, igniting his instincts to protect her, the penalty for her knowledge of his malevolent truth is certain death. Would this be her fate, maybe not.
Chapter 1 Summer in Gold
Enjoying a summer vacation always came with the thrill of reuniting with friends, especially those who attended different schools. It was the perfect opportunity to spend three whole months catching up, sharing stories, and making unforgettable memories.
Walking through the vibrant streets of the city, I couldn't help but notice that many restaurants were bustling with activity. College students were frequent visitors during the summer, taking the chance to meet up and showcase their school experiences.
However, on that particular day, my visit to a restaurant had a different purpose. I stepped into the establishment, juggling three shopping bags, with the bustling ambiance of the place enveloping me. Navigating my way through the maze of tables, I inched closer to my destination. The soft strains of Giveon's "Heartbreak Anniversary" flowed through my Bluetooth earpod, instantly setting the mood, and I couldn't resist swaying to its rhythm.
Upon identifying our designated table, I made my way over to my dearest friend, Helen. Her face radiated with happiness as she noticed my approach. Adjusting her stylish gold-rimmed glasses, she welcomed me with a warm, inviting smile and beckoned me closer.
Helen was a remarkable presence, standing tall at 5'8", her svelte yet curvaceous figure drawing admiring glances wherever she went. Her verdant eyes, hidden behind her glasses, possessed a captivating depth. Her heart-shaped chestnut lips perpetually held the most enchanting smile, and her glossy, ebony, curly locks completed the portrait of her distinctive and exquisite beauty.
In contrast, I had shoulder-length auburn hair with a natural dark-red hue. Many remarked that my hazel eyes complemented my hair perfectly. Unlike Helen's curly locks, my hair had a natural wave along the edges.
Our differences weren't limited to appearances; Helen had a tall, slender frame, while I stood at a modest 5'4". Her curly hair was a stark contrast to my wavy locks, and she boasted a beautiful dark complexion compared to my lighter skin. However, these disparities did nothing to hinder our close friendship, a bond that had endured since our days in junior high.
I reached our table, pulled out a chair, and seated myself, unintentionally creating a screeching noise that drew disapproving glances from nearby diners. If glares had the power to maim, I might not have survived that moment. I quickly quieted my seat, placing the three white shopping bags on my lap, my excitement barely contained.
Helen spoke to me, but the bass thumping in my earpods made it impossible to hear her words. I watched her lips move, her hand gesturing in the air, and noticed her growing frustration. With a grin, I finally removed my earpods, granting her the attention she sought. "Were you talking to me?" I teased.
She rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her coke. Her red lipstick remained impeccable, thanks to the straw she used. I, too, chose a straw to avoid smudging my own lipstick. Helen's raised eyebrow hinted at her curiosity.
"What's the deal with the bags?" Helen inquired.
I cleared my throat, mindful of the gazes around us, and started, "Well, I wanted to get your input before we leave the mall. The saleswoman at the boutique said I could return the items I don't like." From one of the bags, I pulled out a nylon-wrapped package containing some clothes.
Helen rolled her eyes and appeared uneasy, glancing around nervously. "Don't do this here," she whispered, her smile not quite matching her now-rosy cheeks.
I couldn't help but question, "Why not? I really value your opinion." Unfurling the noisy bag, I inadvertently drew more unwanted attention to our table.
Amidst the curious glances from onlookers, Helen whispered a brief apology and offered a warm smile. As she turned her attention back to me, I had already laid out a red lace thong and its matching bra on the table, showcasing them for her inspection.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and I couldn't help but find amusement in her reaction. "What do you think of this color? Sexy enough?" I asked, examining the brand-new lingerie set.
Helen swiftly snatched the undergarments from my hand, placing them between her legs, which prompted both of us to burst into laughter. Her face was a picture of priceless shock. "This isn't funny," she protested, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.
"Oh, come on, everyone here is wearing them," I pointed out, gesturing around the restaurant. "And we both know how important this is." With that, I extracted another pair, being cautious to unwrap it discreetly to avoid any further commotion.
Helen's smile gradually faded as she surveyed the restaurant. Her reputation was of utmost importance to her, especially considering her status as a celebrated author whose book had garnered immense popularity, both at the national level and on social media. In fact, a well-known entertainment company had expressed a keen interest in adapting her story into a television series.
"Dora! I swear to God–" she began, her tone edged with exasperation, and she signaled a waiter with an impatient snap of her fingers.
"Yes, ma'am," the waiter responded promptly, although not quite promptly enough to avoid being taken aback when I held up a black lace thong and its matching bra for Helen to see.
The waiter appeared flustered, his eyes darting around the room. "It's quite lovely, miss, but I would suggest we maintain a little more decorum–"
"Thanks," I intervened, gently halting the waiter's well-intentioned but unsolicited advice.
"I can't stand this," Helen grumbled quietly to herself, her frustration plain on her face. She then turned her attention to me, her exasperation showing. "Make your food order, or I'm walking out this instant!" she declared, and once more, all eyes were drawn to our table, the center of attention.
"I think–" The waiter hesitated and cleared his throat. "I'll return later, perhaps," he stammered before making a hasty exit, leaving me with a sense of disapproval lingering in the air.
"Come on, dear," I pleaded with a pout as I carefully stowed the clothes back into the bag. "You're not making this any easier."
Helen's irritation was evident as she snapped back, "I am helping! I'm starting to believe you actually dislike me!" She gritted her teeth, leaning in closer. "This, this kind of behavior can undermine my image. Dorathy, I'm a writer, a public figure, and I'm about to be interviewed for my new book. You might not understand, but everything isn't always a joke. How do you want people to perceive me when they witness such a spectacle with my best friend?"
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