★★Mariella's POV★★



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I checked my watch again—thirteenth time. Maybe fourteenth. I'd lost count between rolling my eyes and shifting my weight from one heel to the other. The slow, sharp tap of my stilettos echoed through the empty hallway as I stood there, waiting. Impatient. Bored. Irritated.

This is the first and last time I'll ever wait for a man to finish something.

Actually... I shouldn't have thought of that.

I pushed the thought aside as footsteps approached. Slow, deliberate, annoyingly unhurried. Leon. Hands in his pockets, looking like he owned the world—or at least had every intention of ruining mine.

He didn't even glance at me as he passed.

Oh, so we're playing that game?

My heels clicked as I fell into step beside him, annoyance curling in my chest. "So, wanna tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to crash my meeting?"

Silence.

He reached out and pressed the elevator button, his expression unreadable.

I scoffed. "Oh, I see how it is. Did big numbers and big-people meetings suddenly make you deaf?"

Still nothing.

My nails dug into my palm. That infuriating, silent confidence—like he didn't need to acknowledge me because he already knew exactly how deep he was under my skin.

The elevator doors slid open, and we both stepped inside.

The second the door closed, I barely had time to say his name before my back hit the wall, the impact stealing the breath from my lungs

One of his hands pinned me in place by the throat, the other braced against the elevator wall beside my head. My pulse thundered beneath his grip, but I refused to show anything but amusement.

The pressure against my throat was firm, calculated—just enough to remind me that he could take my breath away if he wanted to.

His voice was low, a rasp of amusement and warning. "What was it you said?" He tilted his head, pressing just a little harder. "That you wouldn't beg me for air if you were drowning?"

My stomach flipped. The anticipation. The adrenaline. The fucking nerve of this man.

His lips curled into a smirk. "Huh, little princess?"

I should've been angry. I should've pushed him off, slapped him across the face. But all I could feel was heat licking up my spine, curling around my core.

I loved when men were rough with me. Loved testing them. Pushing. Prodding. Seeing how far I could go before they snapped.

Leon, though? He never snapped. He played.

And God, did I love playing.

I stared up at him, lips parting slightly, my breath shallow—not just from his grip, but from the way his blue eyes drank me in like I was something to be devoured.

Then I smiled.

His smirk faltered, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.

He thought he had the upper hand.

I forced a breath past my lips, my voice coming out strained but teasing. "Am I begging?"

Leon let out a dark chuckle, his fingers tightening just enough to make my vision blur for a split second.

Okay—now I actually couldn't breathe.

I should've panicked. Should've been scared.

But I knew he wouldn't kill me.

...Would he?

His eyes flickered to my lips, and his grip loosened—only to shift. His mouth brushed against my jaw, his lips warm, soft, taunting. Then they trailed lower, dragging a slow, open-mouthed kiss down my throat.

I swallowed hard, my pulse jumping beneath his lips.

Heat bloomed in my core, spreading like wildfire, pooling low in my stomach.

Fucking hell.

He hovered there, his breath hot against my skin. "Come on, little princess," he murmured. "Beg for me."

Bastard.

I clenched my jaw. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Wouldn't let him win.

...But my pride wasn't worth suffocating for.

I exhaled, voice barely above a whisper. "P-please."

The second the word left my lips, his hand was gone.

Air rushed into my lungs, my body sagging slightly against the elevator wall. I coughed, pressing my fingers to my throat, glaring up at him.

The elevator dinged.

Leon smoothed out his jacket like nothing had happened, then stepped out into the hallway. He turned back slightly, that infuriating smirk back on his face.

Leon smirked, stepping out of the elevator before turning back to me, eyes dark with amusement.

"You know, princess," he murmured, voice dripping with something dangerously smooth, "I could get used to seeing you like that—breathless, needy... and all for me."

Then he winked. "Makes me wonder how pretty you'd sound if you really meant it."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me seething, breathless, and hating how much I liked it.

My blood boiled, my body still thrumming with adrenaline and something I refused to name.

I swear to God, I'm going to kill him.

I storm out of the building, heels clicking furiously against the pavement, my whole body humming with frustration. I just want to scream—maybe throw something, preferably at him. The audacity. The nerve. The fucking gall of that man.

As soon as I step outside, Alfonzo and Gio are standing by the car, waiting for me. The moment they see my face, they exchange a look—half worried, half terrified. Smart men. They should be scared.

Alfonzo quickly slides into the driver's seat, and Gio hesitates before opening the passenger door for me. "Mariella, are you—" he starts to ask, but I cut him off with a glare so sharp it could cut glass.

I narrow my eyes and fix him with that look—the one that makes grown men shut the hell up. "Don't," I snap, before I slide into the car, slamming the door shut behind me. Gio hesitates for a second, then gets in the front seat, looking just as uncomfortable as I feel.

Alfonzo starts the car, pulling away, but I can't shake the irritation gnawing at my insides. My fingers dig into the seat, my neck sore from that goddamn bastard's grip, but worse, the way he made me feel. I groan and rub my neck again, my frustration bubbling over.

"Men," I mutter to myself, "God, the world would be better without them. Seriously. They're all the same—arrogant, controlling, and damn good at getting under your skin. They think they own everything, like it's their fucking world and we're just supposed to bow down—"

I stop mid-rant, realizing who I'm talking to. I glance over at Gio and Alfonzo, their expressions a mix of confusion and mild panic.

I sigh, rolling my eyes at myself. "...Shit, sorry. I didn't mean you two. You're, like, the only decent men I know," I say, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to sound less... bitter.

Gio flashes a quick, nervous smile. "We try," he says, while Alfonzo focuses on the road, doing his best to keep his face neutral.

I huff, leaning back in my seat, trying to shake off the sting of what happened earlier. "But seriously, though, men need to get their egos in check. Especially that little prick, Leon." I mumble, more to myself than anyone else, the thought of him stirring up a fresh wave of frustration.

Alfonzo glances at me through the rearview mirror. "You wanna talk about it?"

I pause, then shake my head. "No," I snap, "I don't need to talk about it. I need him to suffer next time I see him."

Gio raises an eyebrow. "So... you're saying, what? You're gonna fight him?"

I smirk, my anger twisting into something darker. "Something like that."

The rest of the ride is silent, save for the hum of the engine. My mind's racing, but I can't help but feel a little satisfied at the thought of making Leon regret even thinking he could get under my skin.

I glance out the window, the city lights blurring past, and a small, twisted smile tugs at the corner of my lips. "Next time, Leon. Next time..."

As we pulled up to the house, I immediately noticed something was off. The gates were already open. That never happened. I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing.

"Why the hell are the gates open?" I asked Gio, suspicion creeping into my voice.

He shifted in his seat, glancing out the window. "I don't know..." he murmured.

Alfonzo pulled to a stop in front of the guard station, rolling down the window. "Bruce, cosa sta succedendo, (Bruce, what's going on)?" he asked.

Bruce's eyes flicked to me before responding. "Buonasera, signorina. Ci sono ospiti. Suo padre vorrebbe che si preparasse per la cena. (Good evening, Miss. We have guests. Your father would like you to get ready for dinner.)"

I frowned. "Va bene, grazie Bruce. (Alright, thanks Bruce.)"

As we drove forward, I let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the seat. "I can't catch a break nowadays."

Gio chuckled under his breath.

I shot him a glare before kicking his seat. "What's so funny?"

Still grinning, he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Nothing, nothing. I'll shut up."

I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to the house. Who the hell was here? And why the sudden dinner event?

Alfonzo pulled up in front of the entrance. "Enjoy dinner, signorina,(Miss)" he said, his voice laced with amusement.

I stepped out, Gio holding the door for me as we made our way inside. The second we walked in, the sound of laughter and conversation filled the air. But one voice—one particular voice—stood out.

A voice I was all too familiar with.

I walked into the dining room, and before I could even register what was happening, I heard it—smooth, confident, and infuriatingly smug.

"Bellezza, you've finally made it. I hope your little errand went well."

My father smiled at me from the head of the table, but my attention snapped to the man sitting beside him.

Niko. Fucking. Zervos.

Someone drop a nuke on this house. Right now.

I plastered on the most awkward, forced smile imaginable. "Oh! Papa. Yes, everything went... smoothly," I said, my voice betraying none of the internal screaming I was doing. My eyes flicked back to Niko, who was watching me with that stupid smirk of his.

My father, completely oblivious to the tension suffocating the room, gestured toward Niko. "I tried calling you, but you were so busy. Niko mentioned your date recently and said it went very well. I thought it would be a great idea to invite him for dinner."

I blinked.

Date? DATE?! Is that what we're calling whatever the hell that was?

I forced out a laugh, though I was pretty sure it came out closer to a strangled wheeze. "Wow. Spectacular." My voice dripped with sarcasm, but my father either didn't catch it or didn't care.

Niko, however, definitely caught it. His smirk deepened, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Please excuse me while I go... freshen up for this delightful dinner," I said, barely keeping it together.

Both my father and Niko nodded, and the moment I was out of sight, I clenched my hair in frustration and silently mouthed, Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

As I stormed toward my room, I swore under my breath. This dinner was going to be absolute hell.

I barely spent ten minutes getting ready, which was a new record for me. A simple black dress, clear heels, and my hair down from the ponytail—just enough to look put together but not enough to look like I was trying. A quick touch-up on my makeup, and I was ready.

Wish me flipping luck.

I stepped into the dining room, already feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on me. The room was warm and filled with the rich scent of roasted meats and fresh bread, but it did nothing to settle the pit forming in my stomach.

At the head of the table sat my father, looking pleased as ever. To his right, Enzo and Santino, both too quiet—watching. Assessing. And on the other side...

Niko.

He sat there, legs spread wide, his arm draped lazily over the back of my only available chair. As if he owned it.

As if he owned me.

"Ah, αγάπη (love)," he drawled, his lips curling into a smirk. "Finally, you grace us with your presence."

I forced a smile, gripping the back of my chair so I wouldn't flip the entire table. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

His fingers brushed my lower back as I sat down. I tensed immediately, my body screaming at me to move, to rip his hand clean off. But I didn't. Not in front of my father.

Papa smiled warmly. "I'm so happy to see you two getting closer."

I bit my tongue.

A waiter appeared, setting down plates of pasta, seafood, and fresh bread. I grabbed my wine glass immediately. If I had to sit through this dinner, I'd at least need alcohol.

"So, Mariella," Niko started, picking up his knife and twirling it between his fingers. "I was just telling your father how much I enjoyed our date. Very intimate. I must say, you surprised me."

I set my glass down too hard, the sound making Enzo glance at me. "Is that so?" I said, my tone deceptively sweet. "I wasn't aware you could still be surprised by anything, Niko. Given your... experience in the world."

He grinned, leaning in slightly. "Ah, but you, αγάπη (love), are unlike any woman I've met."

God, I hated him. I hated the way he spoke to me like I was something to be claimed. I hated the way my father encouraged it.

"I have to admit," my papa chimed in, placing his napkin on his lap. "Niko has made quite an impression on me. He's powerful, intelligent, and he understands our world." He looked at me with that look. The one that meant I had no choice. "I think you two could be a great match."

My stomach turned. "Papa..."

He held up a hand. "I'm not saying anything has to happen immediately. But I want you to keep an open mind, Mariella. Love can be unexpected."

Unexpected? Unexpected was my mother being murdered. Unexpected was realizing the man sitting beside me had played a role in it.

And now I was supposed to smile? Play nice? Pretend?

Niko exhaled a low chuckle, completely at ease. "I couldn't agree more. I mean, after our night together, I felt a real connection."

Enzo's fork clattered against his plate, and I shot him a sharp look before turning back to Niko. "Did you?" I said, swirling my wine. "Because I asked a lot of questions, but you sure didn't answer most of them."

Niko's grin never faltered. "You asked because you were curious."

I raised an eyebrow. "Or because I needed to fill the silence."

Santino snorted into his drink, but my father shot me a warning glance.

Niko didn't seem bothered. If anything, he looked amused. He reached for my hand again, but I moved to grab a piece of bread instead, making it very clear I wanted no part in whatever game he was playing.

"Mariella," my father warned lightly, a sharp edge in his tone.

I forced a smile, tearing the bread apart with unnecessary force. "Of course, Papa. I'll consider it."

Niko smirked, clearly thinking he was winning. "I have no doubt you will, αγάπη (love)."

In your damn dreams.

I took a slow sip of my wine, resisting the urge to pour it over his head.

I would rather burn this entire house to the ground before I let this bastard think he owns me.

Dinner was an absolute nightmare. Between my father's constant hints about romance and Niko's insufferable flirting, I barely made it through without stabbing something—or someone.

The second dinner was over, I was ready to escape, but just as I stood up from the table, Niko smoothly grabbed my wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. "αγάπη, a word (love)?"

I sighed through my nose but forced a smile. "Do I have a choice?"

He chuckled. "Not really."

With that, he pulled me away from the dining room, leading me down the hall toward one of the quieter areas of the house. The moment we were alone, he turned to me, his dark eyes scanning my face like he was trying to read my every thought.

"So," he started, crossing his arms. "Are you busy tomorrow night?"

I blinked at him, already annoyed. "Depends. Why?"

His smirk deepened. "There's an important casino night happening—big names, important people. It would be a shame if you missed it."

I narrowed my eyes. "And what does that have to do with me?"

He tilted his head, stepping closer. "I'd be pleased if you came as my date."

My stomach twisted in irritation. Another date? I'd rather throw myself off a bridge.

I let out a fake gasp. "Wow, Niko, that sounds so tempting, but—"

Before I could shut him down completely, he interrupted, his voice lowering. "It's not just a party, Mariella. It's business. There'll be people there that you'll want to meet. People that could be useful to you."

That caught my attention.

I studied him carefully, my irritation battling my curiosity. If there were important people attending, it might be worth going—at least to gather information.

I crossed my arms, pretending to think it over. "...Fine. I'll go."

Niko grinned, clearly pleased. "I knew you'd say yes."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself. It's strictly business."

"Of course," he said smoothly. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves."

Before I could snap back, he reached out, trailing his fingers lightly down my arm, testing the waters.

I tensed immediately. Not wanting to make a scene, I forced a laugh and quickly stepped back, pretending to check my phone. "Oh, would you look at that—I have an urgent meeting with literally anyone else."

His smirk faltered, just for a second, but he quickly recovered. "You're a hard woman to charm, Mariella."

I gave him a sickly sweet smile. "And yet, you keep trying. It's adorable."

With that, I turned on my heel and walked away before he could try anything else.

As I left, I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting.

This casino night better be worth it.

Dinner was already a nightmare, but just when I thought it couldn't get worse, dessert arrived—and with it, my father's brilliant idea to discuss my potential marriage.

I had barely taken a bite of my tiramisu when he leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. "You know, Niko, I've been thinking... you and Mariella are both smart, strong, and from powerful families. Have you ever considered something more serious?"

My fork paused midair.

Oh, hell no.

Niko, to my absolute horror, didn't even flinch. In fact, he smiled, setting down his glass. "Marriage is a sacred bond, Mr. De Angelis, and if I were lucky enough to get close to your daughter, I would treat her like a queen."

I barely contained my grimace. I wasn't sure what was worse—his words or the fact that my father looked pleased with his answer.

"I like this man," Papa said with approval. "A man who values commitment. That's rare these days."

Santino, who had been watching me the whole time, caught my expression—pure, unfiltered disgust. He smirked and hid a chuckle behind his glass.

I shot him a glare before plastering on a very unconvincing smile. "Wow, Niko, that's so... sweet. I think I might vomit from all this wholesomeness."

Niko smirked, clearly amused by my suffering. "You're adorable when you pretend not to be flattered, bellezza. (beauty)"

I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth might crack.

Then, as if this dinner wasn't already unbearable, Niko pushed his chair back and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I need to take a call." He nodded politely before stepping out toward the garden.

My gut twisted. Something was off.

I didn't want to care what Niko was up to, but something deep inside me itched at the way he left so abruptly.

I stood as well, wiping my lips with my napkin. "Excuse me, I, uh, need to go to the bathroom. Preferably to drown myself," I said dryly.

Santino snorted. Enzo sighed, probably already exhausted by my antics.

Papa barely paid attention, still sipping his wine. "Forza tesoro (Go on, darling)."

I walked out, but the second I was out of view, I changed direction and headed toward the garden, making sure my heels didn't click too loudly against the stone pathway.

Niko was just ahead, pacing slightly as he spoke on the phone. I hid behind one of the large garden pillars, listening intently.

"...Everything must be planned for tomorrow night," he said in a low, commanding tone. "I don't want any mistakes. It has to run smoothly."

My eyes narrowed.

Tomorrow night?

Was he talking about the casino event?

I tried to lean in closer, but before I could catch more, he turned slightly, forcing me to step back into the shadows. My pulse quickened as I stayed completely still, waiting.

After a moment, he sighed. "Good. Handle it." Then he ended the call.

I stayed frozen, waiting for him to leave first. Once he turned back toward the house, I silently slipped in the opposite direction, moving quickly but carefully.

By the time I made it back inside, I smoothed my dress, fixed my expression, and walked back into the dining room as if I hadn't just been eavesdropping.

I took my seat, pretending nothing had happened.

Niko returned shortly after, looking as composed as ever. But now, I was watching him differently.

What the hell are you up to, Niko?

Dinner was finally over. Thank God.

I'd suffered through enough of Niko's smug remarks, my father's hopeful smiles, and Enzo's silent warnings to last me a lifetime. Now all I had to do was get through the goodbye and I'd be free—at least for tonight.

As we stepped outside into the crisp night air, Papa walked Niko to his car, chatting with him like they were lifelong friends. I followed behind, arms crossed, trying to keep my patience intact.

"This was wonderful," my father said warmly. "We should do it again soon. It was truly nice to have you here, Niko."

Sure, because nothing brings a family together like sitting through dinner with a murderer.

Niko, standing beside his sleek black car, gave his usual cocky smirk. "The pleasure was all mine, sir." Then, as if the night hadn't already been insufferable enough, he turned to me.

I stiffened immediately, hating the way his gaze slowly trailed over me, like he was memorizing every detail.

He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You looked absolutely marvelous tonight, Mariella."

I forced a smile, ignoring the way my stomach twisted in disgust. "Oh, how sweet," I said, placing a hand over my heart in mock gratitude. "It's almost like you have taste."

Niko chuckled, clearly entertained by my sarcasm. "I do have taste. That's why I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night."

Something big was happening there, something not good.

Before I could say anything, Niko stepped closer. Too close. My entire body tensed as he leaned in and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to my cheek.

I froze. Every muscle in my body locked up in shock, my breath caught in my throat.

As he pulled away, his smirk widened at the clear rage flashing across my face. He was enjoying this.

Too much.

"Have a great night, αγάπη (Love)," he murmured smoothly, then turned to bid farewell to the rest of my family.

I stood there, fists clenched, seething in silence. The moment he turned away, I aggressively wiped my cheek, scrubbing at my skin like it was infected.

Papa gave me a pointed look. "Mariella."

I shot him a glare so sharp it could cut glass. "Non (Don't)."

Without another word, I turned on my heel and stormed back inside, my blood boiling.

As much as I hated Niko, I couldn't ignore the way my curiosity gnawed at me. What the hell is happening tomorrow at the casino?

And more importantly... why do I have a feeling that I'm not going to like it?

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Casino night? wait isnt...

what an intense chapter

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡

*Mariella Outfit*