The Mafia Kings Forbidden Desire

My home was beautiful, but it never felt like mine. The red door, polished floors, and staircase looked perfect, but I often felt like they were part of someone else’s story. A chandelier hung above the entry, catching the light in a way that made the shadows feel alive. I used to joke that if the walls could talk, they’d scream.

The sound of the TV in the kitchen brought me back to reality. I wasn’t paying attention until the word murder caught my ear. My chest tightened as I twisted the ring on my finger—a nervous habit I couldn’t break.

This house, my life, all of it was built on secrets and lies. For years, I told myself I wasn’t involved. That I wasn’t part of the damage. But that changed months ago. Now, the guilt haunted me, and the weight of my choices followed me everywhere.

Voices echoed from the front hallway, laughter mingling with the clink of glasses. Guests had arrived for lunch, and I stayed in the kitchen, not ready to face them.

“Why the long face, darling?” My mother’s voice broke through the noise as she entered, her heels clicking on the tiles. Her smile was bright, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

I shook my head. “No reason.”

She stirred the pot on the stove, the rich scent of sauce filling the room. “You’re too young to look so worried all the time. I know you're sad because of how your Father grounded you but he's only doing that because he loves you but right now he isn’t happy with you,” she said suddenly, her tone sharper.

“What did I do now?”

She sighed, turning to face me. “You didn’t greet Salvatore this morning after church or at the party last week like he was expecting you to .”

I tensed at the name. “I didn’t want to meet him,” I admitted. “He’s not someone I want to know.”

“You don’t even know him,” she said, her voice rising. “He’s your sister’s fiancé, Milene. Show some respect.”

I bit my lip, holding back the retort I wanted to make. Respect? For someone like him? Salvatore Russo wasn’t the type of man who deserved respect.

Since his father’s death, Salvatore had built a reputation as a ruthless leader in the underworld. People feared him, and for good reason. Stories of his vengeance weren’t just rumors—they were warnings.

“Why is Adriana marrying him?” I asked, unable to hide my frustration.

“It’s what’s best for the family,” my mother said simply.

“For the family,” I repeated bitterly. I knew what that meant. This wasn’t about love or even Adriana’s happiness. It was about alliances, power, and business.

“Go check if your sister is ready,” she ordered, brushing past me.

“She said she wasn’t coming to lunch,” I replied.