The Baron's Pet

The Baron's Pet

Princess Elizaa

5.0
Comment(s)
4
View
16
Chapters

I fell in love with a murderer. And not just that. He was the most notorious crime lord in the whole country - a kidnapper, robber, con artist. Donovan Valerio Barone was that, and more. He smiled when he caused me pain, but killed whoever looked at me twice. I was his captive, but in many ways than one, I was enslaved by my desires, and by the circumstances that surrounded our meeting. Everyone in the city knew The Baron was as handsome as he was vicious and ruthless. No one crossed him and lived to tell of it. No one but me. And in return, he owned me, body and soul. I had thought my life would be like a puppet's, but when Donovan smiled, in his eyes was the promise to burn the world down for me, and hold me in his arms while doing it.

Chapter 1 1

DAMIEN'S POV, AGE 19.

"What a mess," I mutter as I stare down at the blood on my knuckles.

It isn't mine, but it's fresh. Still wet. Still warm.

It smears across the leather steering wheel as I grip it tighter and cut the engine in the back lot behind the Cirelli's club.

The job went clean. Fast. The guy begged, of course; they always do. It didn't matter. He owed. He talked. He died. I am not the one to decide justice.

I am just the hand that delivers it.

I park behind a Bentley that costs more than most people make in a year. Gold trim. Shiny as hell. Enzo is, probably, Cirelli's heir. Or maybe Rinaldo, the Don, is in town.

My pulse ticks up. If the Don's here, something's brewing.

The hallway stinks of smoke and aftershave, cheap cologne on expensive suits. I nod at Nico by the side door. He doesn't say a word.

He just steps aside like he always does. I'm the Consigliere's golden boy.

Been that way since I was sixteen. Rinaldo's errand dog had a silver leash.

They love me when I spill blood in their name. That's the part that gets me later.

I'm about to push open my father's office door. His real name is Stefano Plazo, but he has never earned the title of "father."

They just raised me under the Cirelli crest like a damn stray they took pity on, but that is when I hear my name.

"...Damien's too close to Enzo now," someone says behind the door.

Pause. Shuffle of papers. The clink of a glass.

"He is a weapon, not a son," comes Rinaldo's voice, low and smooth like poison in wine. "We took him for a reason. Don't forget that."

I freeze. Not breath-freeze. My hand is still on the doorknob. My heart drops like it's made of lead.

Took me?

My chest goes cold. Skin prickling. I press closer. It's quiet for a second, and then Stefano speaks. Sounds tired.

"I know. He still believes the sob story. That we found him, gave him a home-"

"That was the plan. Make him loyal. Mould him. And it worked," Rinaldo says, amused. "He was a Bartello. Now he is ours. Why is it bothering you now, Stefan?"

My ears ring.

Bartello?

No.

No, no, no.

The Bartellos are scum. Rivals. Enemies. I've heard that name all my life with disgust. I've put bullets in men for wearing their crests. And now, I am one of them?

I step back before I can stop myself. Wood creaks under my boot. I flinch, but no one comes out.

I'm gone before anyone notices. Out the back, across the alley, into the driver's seat with my mind in shards. I sit there, fists clenched on my lap, breathing like I just ran ten miles.

My reflection in the rearview mirror looks calm. Dead calm. That version of me is already broken.

Two days later, I'm standing in the shadows of a parking garage in Midtown. Private level. High surveillance, low traffic.

Perfect for secret meetings with the man I share blood with.

Antonio Bartello doesn't look like I expected.

He looks like me.

Older, sure, with silver streaks in his black hair and a long scar down his jaw. He is bigger. Harsher.

Eyes like steel and storm. But the face? The bone structure? It's mine. Or I guess, his. He sizes me up like I might be packing C4 under my coat.

"Is this a trap?" he says. A voice like gravel. "Did the Cirellis send you to play mind games?"

I don't flinch. "I am here because I heard the truth."

"From whom?"

"Does it matter?" I hold up the small case in my hand. DNA kit. Quick swab. Third-party lab. No one connected to Cirelli or Bartello. No games.

He hesitates. Then steps closer.

"If this is a trick," he says. "I will find out, and I will kill you."

"For my sake, I hope it is all just a misunderstanding. That I just misheard."

We do the test. No drama. No handshake. No hug. He walks away without another word.

I didn't sleep that night.

And for the days that pass, I play my part. Meetings, cleanups, and on and on.

But when the results came in later that week, they hit like a sledgehammer.

99.99% match.

Antonio calls me the second he sees them. I don't pick up. I drive instead. Late-night back roads. Windows down.

Wind screaming in my ears while my whole world rearranges itself around me.

The next evening, we met again.

Same place. No words for the first minute. Just heavy silence between two men who should have had nineteen years of it and don't know where to start.

"You are my son," Antonio says finally. It sounds like it costs him everything to say it.

I nod. "And you are the reason I was taken?"

His jaw tightens. "No. I spent a decade tearing this city apart looking for you. We were ambushed. You were two. The cops sent me proof later, saying you were gone. We thought you were dead."

I believe him. I don't know why, but I do.

"So, what now?" I say. "What do you want? For me to come back?"

He nods. "You should. You belong with us. I'll protect you."

But that is the thing. I don't want protection. I want payback.

"I'm not leaving," I say. "Not yet."

His face goes hard. "Why? You are not one of them. You are a Bartello; they took you from us. Why-"

"Because I am close. They trust me. Rinaldo put a gun in my hand when I was fifteen. I've bled for that family. If I walk away now, it's over. But if I stay-"

"You want revenge. You want to remain there so you can burn them down from the inside."

My smile is thin. Cold. "Exactly."

Antonio looks at me for a long time. Then he nods once. Slow. Respectful.

We don't hug.

We don't say we love each other. But we understand each other. That's enough.

That's the night the boy they raised dies, and I become something else entirely.

No more blind loyalty. No more playing soldier.

From this moment on, I'm a Bartello.

And I'm going to make the Cirelli's pay for every lie they ever fed me.

Continue Reading

You'll also like

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
4.3

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.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book