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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
Serafina's POV
The footsteps lingered outside my door.
Not moving nor retreating, just waiting.
My fingers tightened around my phone until my knuckles burned. The screen was dark now, lifeless, as if it hadn't just threatened the only person in this house who made breathing easier. I didn't move. I didn't breathe.
I counted heartbeats the way I'd learned to count bullets: quick, silent, necessary.
One.
Two.
Three.
A shadow passed beneath the thin strip of light at the base of the door.
Then another.
Someone cleared their throat. "Serafina."
Luca's voice slid through the wood,smooth and unhurried.
I closed my eyes and of course it was him. I slipped the phone into my palm and forced my expression into place before unlocking the door.
When I opened it, Luca stood there alone, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, dark hair immaculate as ever.
No blood on him. No sign that he'd pulled the trigger an hour ago.
That was always the most disturbing part. He didn't look like death. He looked like control.
"You didn't answer when I called," he said mildly.
"I didn't hear my phone," I replied. Not a lie. I'd been too busy trying not to panic.
His gaze drifted past me into the room.
The vanity. The bed. Then his eyes dropped. The ring. It sat on the vanity where I'd left it.
Something sharpened behind his smile.
"Why isn't your ring on your finger?" he asked.
My pulse spiked. I forced myself not to look at it. "I took it off to wash my hands," I said. "There was blood downstairs." A pause.
Then Luca chuckled softly. "Practical. I like that." He stepped into the room without waiting for permission.
I moved aside automatically, my body already trained.
Luca crossed to the vanity, picked up the ring between his fingers, and examined it as if it were a weapon.
"This cost more than your father's house," he said. "Do you know why I chose this one?"
"No," I answered.
"Because diamonds don't break," he said, slipping it back onto my finger. His grip tightened just enough to hurt. "They survive pressure." His thumb lingered against my skin. Possessive. Claiming.
"You did well tonight," he continued. "Most women cry the first time they see a man die."
"I'm not most women," I said quietly.
"No," he agreed. "That's why I chose you."
The word chose landed wrong. Like ownership. Like fate decided without consent.
Luca's gaze lifted, suddenly sharp.
"Did Matteo say anything to you?"
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"No," I said, too quickly.
His eyes narrowed a fraction. "Think carefully."
I swallowed. "He told me to lock my door."
Luca laughed. "Always the protector." He tilted his head, studying me. "Did you like that?"
"I didn't think about it," I replied
.
"That's a lie." I held his gaze. "It didn't matter." For a moment, I thought he might strike me. Instead, he smiled again, slow and indulgent. "Be careful, Serafina," he murmured. "Men like Matteo mistake silence for permission."
He stepped back, satisfied, and turned toward the door. Just before leaving, he added, "Tomorrow, you'll attend the family dinner. Wear something red. I like to remind people what's mine."
The door closed behind him with a soft click. I sagged against it once his footsteps faded, lungs burning as if I'd been underwater.
Only then did I notice my hand trembling. I curled my fingers into a fist until the shaking stopped.
The phone vibrated again.
Unknown Number.
My stomach dropped.
You didn't deny it.
Another message followed instantly.
That was a mistake.
I backed away from the door, heart racing. My gaze flicked to the windows. Matteo's warning echoed in my mind.
Lock everything. I crossed the room, bolted the windows, then locked the bathroom door and returned to the bed. I sat on the edge, phone clutched in my hands, waiting.
Nothing came, minutes passed, then longer. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. Eventually exhaustion dragged me under, though sleep came sharp and restless, full of gunshots and shadows.
I woke to voices low urgent. My eyes snapped open. Morning light filtered through the curtains. I sat up slowly, straining to listen.
"...not supposed to be here."
A pause.
"I'll handle it."
Matteo.
I was on my feet before I thought better of it. I crossed the room and cracked the door open. Two men stood in the hallway. One was Matteo. The other I recognized immediately.
Vittorio Moretti.
Luca's consigliere. Older, silver-haired, eyes like polished glass. He smiled when he saw me, as if he'd expected this.
"Ah," he said pleasantly. "You're awake."
Matteo stiffened. "You should go back inside."
"Why?" Vittorio asked. "I was just coming to invite her to breakfast."
My gaze flicked to Matteo. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid.
"I didn't know that was your responsibility," Vittorio added lightly.
"It isn't," Matteo replied. "But Luca didn't assign you to her either."
Vittorio's smile didn't falter. "Luca assigns me to everything."
The air between them crackled. I stepped forward before Matteo could stop me.
"I'll join you," I said.
"There's no need to argue."
Matteo's eyes snapped to mine. A warning flared there.
"Serafina-"
"It's fine," I said softly.
Vittorio gestured down the hall. "After you."
We walked together, Matteo falling into step beside me, close enough that our arms nearly brushed. Nearly. The restraint was louder than touch would have been.
"Did Luca mention anything strange last night?" Vittorio asked casually.
"No," I replied.
"Interesting," he said. "Because he hardly slept."
I said nothing.
"He worries about loyalty," Vittorio continued.
"As all kings do."
The dining room was already full when we arrived. Luca sat at the head of the table, eyes lifting as we entered. His gaze flicked to Matteo, then to Vittorio, then settled on me.
"You're late," he said.
"I slept poorly," I replied.
He smiled. "So did I."
Breakfast passed in tense silence. Conversations murmured around us, but every word felt monitored. Luca watched Matteo closely. Vittorio watched everyone.
When the meal ended, Luca stood.
"Matteo," he said. "Walk with me."
Matteo rose immediately.
Luca's gaze shifted to me. "Serafina, stay."
My chest tightened. The two men left together. Vittorio lingered.
"You look pale," he observed. "Nerves?"
"Something like that."
He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Be careful, dear. Luca doesn't like surprises."
Before I could respond, he straightened and walked away. I waited until they were gone before exhaling. Minutes stretched then longer. Finally, footsteps approached.
But it wasn't Luca. It was Matteo.
Alone.
His face was hard, eyes dark, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle jumped beneath his skin.
"What happened?" I whispered.
He didn't answer immediately. He glanced down the hall, then back at me. "Pack a small bag," he said quietly. "Only essentials."
My breath caught. "Why?"
"Because Luca just ordered me to test your loyalty."
Cold flooded my veins. "How?"
Matteo stepped closer, voice barely audible."He wants me to follow you tonight. Watch who you speak to and what you do."
"And if I fail?" I asked. His eyes burned into mine.
"Then he won't kill you," Matteo said. "He'll kill me."
The world tilted.
Before I could speak, Luca's voice echoed down the hall. "Serafina." Matteo stepped back instantly, expression shuttered.
Luca approached, eyes sharp. "Come," he said. "There's something I want you to see."
He held out his hand. I took it.
As we walked away, I looked back once.
Matteo's gaze followed me, fierce and helpless.
And in that moment, I knew whatever Luca planned next, it wasn't a test. It was a trap.
You may also like
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."