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KISS ME KILL ME;HIS ENEMY HIS OBSESSION  Novel Cover

KISS ME KILL ME;HIS ENEMY HIS OBSESSION

You're dead." Elira Moretti whispers through bloodied lips, chained in a glass cage, staring into the camera that’s broadcasting her humiliation across the criminal underworld. And she means every word. Once the beloved daughter of mafia legend Marco Moretti, Elira was never trained to inherit power as her father never wanted her in that world but never expected to seize it in blood. When her father is murdered and her home turned into a crime scene, Elira rises from the ashes, becoming the youngest and coldest Don in the criminal world. Until him. Aiden Calderone enters her life as a bodyguard. He doesn't seem fazed by her rage or her bullets. But behind the tailored suits and unreadable eyes lies a devastating truth, Aiden isn't there to protect her. He’s there to ruin her. Because he believes she’s the daughter of the man who murdered his family. And he’s going to make her pay. But vengeance gets complicated when obsession cuts deeper than bullets. What begins as a trap turns into a twisted affair of lust, betrayal, and blurred lines. Elira doesn't trust him, but she can't stop touching him. Aiden wants to destroy her, but he can’t stop needing her. When secrets are revealed, a baby is born, and a memory is lost, everything explodes. Now she wants him dead. And he just wants her to remember. Elira’s Revenge is a dark, addictive enemies-to-lovers mafia romance about power, pain, and the dangerous game between love and war. Trigger warnings apply: this story contains graphic violence, betrayal, manipulation, toxic obsession, and morally gray choices that will leave you thirsting for more. In this world, love doesn’t save you. It ruins you. And sometimes, the most dangerous thing you can do… is fall.
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Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Who are you?

Elira's POV

The entire room went silent. The men who surrounded me didn't say anything as the timer rang.

Two minutes over.

“Damnit, I bet on that one.” one of the men on the screen said, frowning at his loss.

Two men from the men surrounding me came forward and dragged the man away by his hands and out of the room. As another came to my front.

He had a mask on like the other man but I couldn't recognise him from his eyes.

He looked like an Asian, even though I haven't had a physical run-in with any Asian.

“You sold my sister,” he said in a low tone, and I just looked at him, shocked.

“Excuse me?” I asked, and he jumped high, kicking me in the face, and I flew across the room, hitting the glass wall with a loud thud.

My head spun as the voices from the TV erupted into cheers.

“I'm glad I bet on this one. Asians sure know how to fight.” A haughty female voice came from the screen as she annoyingly giggled.

I tried to get up, pushing myself up but my head hurt a whole lot that I couldn't see.

I tried again but failed miserably.

I felt someone pull my hair, dragging me back to the circle.

I tried to open my eyes to see who it was, and it was the Asian who accused me of selling his sister.

“I will take your life,” he said.

He didn't seem to know proper English as his sentences were short. He must have illegally come here for work and ended up on the wrong side, which took his sister as collateral for debt.

But how did Tha have anything to do with me?

I could tell from the pain in his eyes, but no records went through me of a girl being sold. I never dabbled in child or human trafficking.

“I didn't sell–” I tried to explain myself but he punched me in the face, making my head ache the most.

I felt like my head would split in two as I held it between my palms.

He yelled as he lunged at me for the third time but this time I rolled over and he kicked the air.

He was getting restless. He wanted to end this quickly.

That was the first mistake he made.

He came up to me and I jumped up to my feet, startling him, so he stepped back. He then stood staring at me for a while, rethinking his next line of action, but he still seemed so restless and that was his second mistake.

When you take time to regroup, you do it to regroup your mental state. He just did nothing at this point but took a step back without reasoning.

He charged at me again and this time, he wasn't cautious.

I stood my ground even though I felt like I would die any moment from exhaustion and grabbed the arm he stretched out in a fist to hit me. I stared him in the eye for a second, then smiled sweetly as I twisted it behind his back and heard his bones crack.

He held in the pain, but I made it worse by stomping hard on the back of his thigh, and that was when he finally let it all out.

He screamed out and tried to get out of my hold but this was one of my favourites. There was no way he could get out.

He began to beg and cry, telling me to let him go.

I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I will find your sister.”

That made him still as the timer went out.

I let him go and he turned to face me. I nodded and he nodded back, nursing his broken arm.

He stepped back away from me, and in seconds, he was on the floor, face flat with blood pooling from the headshot he had received.

Where had the bullet come from?

I looked around the room with my blurry vision but I couldn't pinpoint it.

None of the men was holding a gun, so how?

I had studied this room a million times so how?!

Is this a win-or-die affair?

I'm impressed by who set this all up.

I chuckled and soon burst out laughing like a madwoman.

“I see. That's how it is? Kill her or be killed! Or is it break or be killed? Why don't you just aim the gun at me and end this? Huh? Why don't you? Cowards, bunch of lowlives gaining pleasure from my pain. I would ruin all of you. Mark my words!” I yelled, turning around to face the camera for the third time that day.

The guests on the TV started laughing at my display. The timer started again and another came forward. The Asian guy had already been dragged away.

“I'm scared,” he muttered, and I finally looked at him.

He looked young, too young to be here. In his late teens. Probably seventeen or eighteen but my question still remained. What was he doing here, and what was the criteria for taking these people?

His hands shook as he walked towards me, trying to attempt a fighting stance.

What had all these people done to deserve being brought here? Apart from that perverted bastard, how many of them didn't deserve this? So I did the only thing I could do to save him.

I stayed still as he approached me.

I took all the punches till I was crawling on the floor and wheezing. His timer went off and he didn't have a single scratch on him from me.

Most of the guests on the screen groaned at the fact that he had won. Apparently, most of them didn't bet on him winning so they didn't bother.

The boy staggered back as tears filled his eyes at how I looked.

He looked apologetic but I just gave him a small smile. Not like he could see it since my hair covered my entire face.

“One candidate, successful. Activity over,” the computerised voice said through the speakers, and the guests on the screen clapped.

The rest stepped out and I was left on the floor, writhing in pain.

The TV went off and all the lights in the room turned off too, leaving me in the dark.

My whole body ached and the pain I had been suppressing came rushing at once.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip till I bled to hold it back but I was highly unsuccessful.

I curled into a ball and let the darkness consume me as I fell unconscious.

My eyes opened slowly and I was back to being chained on the wall. My bruises were covered with bandages and there was a man with a white lab coat, injecting something inside me.

I should have fought him off but I chose not to, letting him put whatever liquid they sent him to into my system.

Once he was done and he stepped out, I was left alone.

I didn't know if it was the following day so I didn't bother to look at the camera. I just hung from the wall and hummed the tune my father used to sing to me when I was younger.

The doors opened and someone stepped in.

His scent filled my nostrils and my head snapped to him.

“You,” I muttered under my breath and he froze where he stood.

He slowly took off the gas mask he was putting on and his face right in front of me made me wish I wasn't chained. I wanted to tear him apart.

“Elira. I see you're faring well.”

“So there really was something in the air then, considering you came with a gas mask.”

He didn't reply and walked closer till he was right in front of me.

“You have three questions to answer in two minutes.”

I threw my head back and when I brought it forward again, I spat in his face.

“You do love your two-minute rule, don't you?”

He didn't say anything and brought out a napkin, wiping it off his face.

“You should really use your time wisely,” he said, looking back at me with no emotion on his face.

“I tend not to listen to jackasses. And newsflash, you're a jackass.”

He drew his fist back and punched me in the nose. I felt it crack and blood dripped from my nostrils.

“Three questions, Elira,” he repeated, and I just stared at him.

“Who are you?” I asked, he took some steps back and some people rushed in with a foldable chair, opening it as he sat down.

“Aiden, your worst nightmare,” he replied with a smirk I so wanted to wipe off by tearing it off his face.

“Nice to see your face again, you fucker.” I spat.

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