Engaged to the Devil, Loved by His Shadow
Arranged to marry the most ruthless mafia don in the city, Serafina learns early that obedience is the price of survival.
Luca De Santis doesn't love, he owns.
And she is his most valuable possession.
Inside an empire built on blood, fear, and unbreakable loyalty, there is only one man who never looks at her like property.
Matteo De Santis.
Luca's cousin. His enforcer. His shadow.
Falling in love with him is forbidden.
Being discovered means death.
As loyalty fractures and betrayal ignites, Serafina is forced to choose: remain a silent bride to a monster or rise beside the man willing to burn the empire for her.
In a world where love is treason, survival demands rebellion.
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Chapter 1
Serafina's POV
The first gunshot echoed through the marble hall like a verdict.
I didn't flinch.
I learned long ago that flinching only amused men like him.The man on his knees collapsed forward, blood blooming across the polished floor. His body twitched once, then stilled. The smell of iron rose, thick and choking, curling into my lungs.
"Clean it," my fiancé said calmly, lowering the gun. His voice didn't change. It never did. The men moved immediately, dragging the corpse away as if it were trash. Someone wiped the blood before it could stain the rug imported from Italy.
Everything in this house was expensive. Even death had rules, I stood beside him, hands folded neatly in front of me, spine straight, chin lifted perfectly.That was my role.
Luca De Santis turned his head slightly, just enough to look at me. His dark eyes skimmed over my white dress, my bare arms, the diamond ring on my finger. Possession, not affection, flickered in his gaze.
"You're quiet tonight," he said. I forced my lips into a soft smile.
"I didn't know I was expected to speak." A few men chuckled. Luca didn't. He liked obedience. Silence. Beauty without opinions.
"Good," he said.
"A wife who knows when to listen lives longer." My stomach tightened, but I nodded.
"Yes, Luca."
That was when I felt it. Not his gaze but someone else's. I didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Matteo De Santis.
Luca's cousin, his shadow, his weapon.
He stood near the pillars, dressed in black like the rest, hands clasped behind his back, face carved from stone. Unlike the others, his eyes weren't on Luca.
They were on me, not hungrily, not possessively but as if he were memorizing something he was forbidden to touch.
Our eyes met.
For a fraction of a second, the world narrowed to that single, dangerous thread.
Then Matteo looked away. My pulse stumbled.
"Take her upstairs," Luca ordered suddenly. "I have business to finish."
My body reacted before my mind did. I turned, waiting for one of the guards.
Instead, Matteo stepped forward. "I'll escort her." The room went still.
Luca studied him, slow and assessing, like a predator deciding whether another predator was still useful.
"Very well," Luca said. "Make sure nothing happens to what belongs to me." The words landed like chains around my wrists.
Matteo inclined his head. "Of course." He didn't touch me as we walked. He never did. Not even by accident.
The hallway felt longer than usual, my heels echoing too loudly against the floor. My skin burned with awareness of the blood downstairs, of the ring on my finger, of the man walking half a step behind me.
When we reached the stairs, Matteo spoke for the first time. "You shouldn't have been there tonight."
I stopped.Slowly, I turned to face him.
"And miss my reminder of what happens to disobedient people?"
His jaw tightened. "You don't belong in rooms like that."
I laughed softly, the sound brittle. "I belong exactly where Luca puts me."
His eyes darkened. "That doesn't mean it's right."
The words shouldn't have mattered. They did. I took a step too close. I could smell gun oil and something clean beneath it.
His breath hitched, barely, but I noticed.
Danger thrummed between us, alive and electric.
"If you say things like that," I whispered, "someone will hear."
"I know," he replied.
"Then why say them?"
His gaze dropped to my ring, then lifted back to my eyes.
"Because someone should."
For the first time since my engagement was announced, something unfamiliar stirred in my chest. Hope. And just as quickly fear. Because in this house, hope was a death sentence.
And loving Matteo De Santis?That would be treason.
The silence after his words pressed heavily against my chest. Because someone should.
I turned away from Matteo before my face betrayed me. I resumed walking, slower now, every step measured, as if I were afraid the wrong pace might draw Luca's attention from downstairs.
The mansion seemed to listen, walls breathing, cameras blinking, shadows stretching like spies.
Matteo followed at the same distance, respectful, controlled. Too controlled.
I reached my bedroom door and paused, fingers curling around the cold brass handle. This room was lavish silk curtains, gold accents, a bed large enough to swallow me whole but it had never felt like mine. It was another cage, just prettier than the rest.
"You should go," I said softly. "If Luca comes up and sees you here-"
"He won't," Matteo replied.
The certainty in his tone startled me.
I looked back at him. "You sound very sure."
"I know his patterns," he said. "He'll be in the study for at least another hour. Maybe two."
"And if he changes his mind?" His gaze flickered, sharp and unreadable. "Then I'll handle it."
The words were dangerous. Not because of what they promised but because of what they implied.
I swallowed and opened the door. The room greeted me with artificial warmth.
Lamps glowed softly, bathing everything in honeyed light. On the vanity sat the jewelry Luca had gifted me last week diamonds arranged like trophies.
Proof of ownership and intent. I stepped inside, and Matteo remained at the threshold.He never crossed it, that was his line. One he never stepped over.
"I didn't thank you," I said suddenly.
"For what?"
"For earlier," I replied. "For escorting me. You didn't have to."
"Yes, I did."
I turned fully now. "Why?"
The question hung between us, fragile and exposed. Matteo hesitated. In all the months I had known him, I had never seen him hesitate.
"Because," he said slowly, "this house eats people alive. And you-" He stopped himself.
"And I what?" I pressed, heart thudding.
He exhaled, jaw tightening.
"You don't belong to it."
A bitter smile curved my lips. "That's not what the ring says."
His eyes dropped again, briefly, to my hand."I know," he said. The ache in his voice was subtle, but it reached deep.
Before I could stop myself, I asked, "Why do you stay, Matteo?" The air shifted, that was not a safe question.
"Because leaving isn't always freedom," he answered quietly. "Sometimes it's just another kind of death."
I absorbed that, nodding slowly. It sounded like something learned the hard way.
Downstairs, a door slammed. Voices rose faintly. Both of us stiffened.
"That's my cue," Matteo said.
He stepped back, already retreating into the shadows. Before he disappeared, he added, "Lock your door tonight."
"I always do."
"Not just the door," he said. "Your windows. And don't drink anything you didn't pour yourself."
Fear crept up my spine. "Is something going to happen?"
His eyes held mine, intense now. Protective. "In this house," he said, "something is always happening."
Then he was gone.
I closed the door slowly and leaned my forehead against the wood, breathing hard. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, perfect hair, flawless makeup, a future written in blood-red ink. Luca's future.
But for the first time since the engagement was announced, a crack had formed in that fate. And through it, something dangerous had slipped in. Hope.
I slid the ring off my finger and placed it on the vanity. It landed with a soft clink, far too quiet for something that had sealed my fate. I stared at it, my pulse thundering in my ears.
Somewhere downstairs, Luca De Santis laughed. The sound carried through the vents, smooth and indulgent like he hadn't just ordered a man's death an hour ago.
Like he hadn't already decided mine.
My phone vibrated suddenly on the vanity.
I froze. No one contacted me directly. Ever. With shaking fingers, I picked it up.
Unknown Number.
A single message glowed on the screen.
You shouldn't have stood so close to him.
Cold rushed through my veins.
Before I could react, another message appeared.
If you want him to live, you'll remember who you belong to.
The screen went dark.
And from the hallway outside my door-
I heard footsteps stop.
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7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.
8.5
"And that is the reason why I said those words. I like your fear, not because it is a normal thing. I love it because deep down you are a monster like me, schiava. You fear me on a primal level, you can feel my power and dominance, and you know you aren't the strongest here. So you don't fear Renzo Valentino the human, you fear the monster that lurks inside."
My life changed the night of my birthday. What started as a funny dare ended with blood and having a price on my head.
I thought Renzo was the hero who saved me that night, but he was the devil who owned me forever.
I, Misha Yakov, princess of the Russian mafia became Renzo Valentino's slave.
He broke me, tortured me, and molded me into something new, something I hated and craved at the same time.
I, Misha Yakov became my master's pet.
8.1
A slow-burn romance about love, loss, and becoming worthy of the heart you almost lost.
Julien Moreau has everything-money, charm, and women who fall for him too easily.
What he doesn't have is the ability to stay.
In Paris, he is known for loving without commitment and leaving without explanation. Hearts break behind him, and he never looks back.
Until Amélie Laurent.
She is different.
She doesn't chase him.
She doesn't beg for love.
And when she realizes Julien isn't ready to love honestly, she does the one thing no woman before her has done-
She walks away.
What follows is not a chase, but a reckoning.
As Julien is forced to face the emotional damage he has left behind, he learns that love isn't about desire or charm-it's about responsibility. And Amélie learns that loving someone should never cost her self-respect.
In a city where romance is everywhere, two hearts must decide:
Is love something you run from...
Or something you grow into?
Hearts Don't Break in Paris - They Teach is an emotional, slow-burn romance filled with self-discovery, redemption, and a love that chooses honesty over fear.
7.6
I spent fifteen years building my husband's mafia empire, coding the complex algorithms that washed his blood money clean.
But on my thirty-fifth birthday, instead of a gift, I received a photo of his hand resting on another woman's thigh.
When I confronted him, Dustin didn't apologize. He brought his pregnant mistress, Jami, into our penthouse and told me to accept the hush money.
"You have nothing except what I give you," he sneered, treating me like a slow servant rather than the mastermind behind his success.
The argument turned violent. He shoved me hard, sending me crashing into a solid oak nightstand.
As I lay on the floor, bleeding and dizzy from a split forehead, I watched the man I loved step over my body to comfort the woman wearing my mother's stolen heirloom ring.
He didn't check my pulse. He didn't call for help. He looked at me with pure disgust and turned his back.
In that moment, the wife died, and the witness was born.
He thought I was powerless because I had no assets in my name. He thought I would fade away quietly.
He forgot one crucial detail: I wasn't just the furniture in his castle. I was the architect.
Every server, every encrypted drive, every hidden account—I owned the code.
I wiped the blood from my face and walked out the door, but I didn't go to a lawyer.
I went to a hardware store and bought a ten-pound sledgehammer.
I wasn't going to just leave him.
I was going to delete him.
9.2
He killed my brother. I swore I'd make him pay. But now I'm trapped in his penthouse... and I think I'm falling for him.
As the youngest son of the Romano mafia, Luca swore vengeance on the man who killed his brother-Damian Moretti, the cold, ruthless billionaire don of the rival Moretti family.
But when a failed assassination attempt leaves Luca at Damian's mercy, he's not tortured. He's... kept.
And he says Luca belongs to him now.
8.0
For five years, my husband kept me in a dog cage because he believed I murdered his fiancée, my stepsister Kinsley.
He stripped me of my dignity, my name, and my humanity, all to avenge a woman who wasn't even dead.
When Kinsley finally returned, alive and smiling, I thought my nightmare was over.
Instead, she framed me again.
Right in front of Courtland, she pushed my little brother down the stone steps of the estate.
I held my brother's broken body in the rain, screaming for help.
But Courtland just stood there, shielding Kinsley under his umbrella, looking at me with cold indifference.
He chose the monster over his wife.
That night, I realized love wasn't enough to save me.
So, I stood on the edge of the hospital roof and let gravity take me.
I wanted him to mourn. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to burn.
Three years later, at a gala in New York, the Ice King dropped his champagne glass.
He stared at me—the woman in the red dress, the fiancée of his rival.
I looked him dead in the eye and smiled like a stranger.
He cornered me later, his voice trembling with rage and obsession.
"Death is the only divorce in my world, Anastasia. And you are still very much alive."