ella
of the Heir's Wing was a suffocating display of Moretti wealth. Thick Persian rugs swallowed my footsteps, and
reached the heavy, carved oak doo
rass letter opener. I brought the heavy hilt
door; it was a death knell for their secrets. Within seconds, the shadows shifted. Soldiers stationed at the stairwell hurrieandal had been dragged into the b
. I stood in the center of the room, the picture of a wronged
ed from granite. Beside him, his wife, Elvina, the Mafia Queen, was des
forced warmth. "This is a terrible misunderstanding. Julian would never in
y the door. "Go fetch my son. Tell
ing bookshelves, his arms crossed. He was watching me, the drunken haze
looked pale, his eyes darting nervously t
io commanded, his
. Julian ordered that no one is to disturb
kept my face perfectly blank, suppressing the cold smile fighting to touch my lips. By the bookshelves, Dante's posture stiffened. He und
. He didn't shout. A Don whose word was absolute law didn't need to raise his voice. He
o Marco Moretti, Dante's
id of any paternal warmth. "Break do
t anticipation of a trap snapping shut. We heard the distant
eturned, he shoved t
lly messy, and her doe-like eyes were brimming with fresh tears. She loo
nderboss. The man who had ordere
d tightly around Sofia's waist, anchoring the *bastarda* (bastard) to his side in a blatant, possessive grip. He lifted his chi
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