Follow
Chapters
Share
Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse Novel Cover

Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse

For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York. I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him. But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash. In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress. He forced me to watch him court her. At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her. He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain. He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life. I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god. I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole. He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps. So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother. I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars. I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia. By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost.
Chapters
Share

Chapter 8

I had returned for one reason only: my passport.

It was locked in the safe at the Estate, tucked away in the small, modest room I used to occupy near the kitchen.

I had assumed the house would be empty at this hour.

I was wrong.

I slipped through the side entrance, shaking the heavy rain from my coat, shivering as the damp cold clung to my skin.

Laughter drifted down the hallway, light and carefree.

It was coming from the music room.

I should have turned around right then.

But my feet moved on their own, drawn by a force I couldn't resist.

I walked to the open double doors and froze.

Dante sat at the grand piano, his posture rigid yet elegant.

He was playing *Liebestraum*. A dream of love.

It was the song he had written when he was blind, composed in the darkness that had once consumed him.

He used to play it for me at 3:00 AM, in the quiet hours when the pain in his eyes became unbearable.

He had told me, once, that the melody was the very sound of my voice.

Now, he was playing it for her.

Sofia sat on the bench beside him, too close.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her fingers trailing playfully over the keys, pretending to play along in a mockery of intimacy.

She looked up, her gaze landing on me standing in the doorway.

Her eyes lit up with pure malice.

"Oh, look, Dante," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "The help is back."

Dante's hands faltered on the keys.

The music died abruptly.

He turned.

His eyes found mine across the room.

"Elena," he said, his voice low and guarded. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting my things," I replied.

My voice sounded hollow, like wind whistling through an abandoned house.

"Don't be rude, Dante," Sofia scolded lightly, placing a possessive hand on his chest. "Play the rest. I love this song. You wrote it for me, didn't you?"

Dante looked at me.

He knew.

He knew that I knew.

But he didn't correct her.

"Yeah," he said, his dark eyes never leaving mine, cold and unyielding. "I wrote it for you, Sofia."

Something inside me snapped.

A final, vital cord severed.

Sofia smiled, victorious.

She leaned in.

She pressed her lips to his.

It wasn't a quick peck; it was a claim of ownership.

Dante didn't push her away.

He didn't pull back.

He simply closed his eyes and let her kiss him.

I stood there and watched them.

I watched the man I had bathed, the man I had fed, the man I had saved from the brink of despair, kiss the woman who had left him to rot.

I didn't scream.

I simply turned around.

I walked out the front door.

It was pouring now, the rain transforming into a thunderstorm.

I didn't run for cover.

I walked straight into the deluge.

The water mixed with the tears on my face, making them indistinguishable.

I was free.

I had nothing left to lose, because he had just taken the last thing I truly owned.

My memories.

You may also like

The scoundrel caused my miscarriage, and I made him pay with his life Novel Cover
7.9
In a dilapidated warehouse, my husband brutally cut open my abdomen to extract the fetus. All for the sake of obtaining bone marrow from our child to save the life of the son he had with his mistress. "Honey, I'm begging you, don't hurt the baby," I pleaded with him. "Arina, don't be afraid. It won't hurt. Just a little while, and you'll be free,". Just when I was on the verge of giving up all hope, the sound of approaching help reached my ears. I felt a glimmer of joy, thinking I was finally going to escape this nightmarish hell. But then, in an instant, there was a sharp "Puff!" It was the sound of a dagger slicing through my belly. There was a deep gash in my abdomen, and blood was gushing out profusely. "Ah! My baby!" "How could you be so cruel?" I stared in disbelief at my best friend standing before me. "Arina, you have to die today..."
Bound By His Obsession, Trapped Forever Novel Cover
9.3
My mate, Theron, was a powerful Alpha, and I, a scentless Omega, was his greatest prize. But beneath his adoring facade was a terrifying, possessive monster, revealed when he dragged me home and forced me into our bed after I was late to his challenge match. His golden eyes burned with chilling control, and he whispered a threat that turned my blood to ice. I'd been stuck on a forest road, my truck dead, racing to reach his challenge match. His mate bond panic had already frayed my nerves, but nothing prepared me for his rage. He'd publicly broken his opponent's shoulder, then stalked directly to me, ignoring the crowd. He marked my lateness with chilling precision, before dragging me away to our rooms for "punishment." Later, as he tried to force a ceremonial marking pendant on me, he promised, "If you will not accept my mark willingly, then I will wait for your Heat. I will fuck you until your body begs for it, and my wolf will hold you down while I bite." My gaze fell on his open journal, filled with frantic, scrawled words: "SHE IS MINE. PUNISH. CLAIM. MARK HER. BREED HER. MAKE HER UNDERSTAND SHE IS MINE. MINE. MINE." The man I loved, my only protection, was a captor in disguise, his devotion a gilded cage. Every gentle touch, every soft word, now felt like a brand of ownership, a tightening leash. The terrifying truth of his pathological obsession finally hit me. A fragile plan formed in the space between heartbeats: I would de-escalate, redefine, and survive, no matter the cost, before his possessive madness consumed me entirely.
Claimed by the Disguised Alpha King Novel Cover
9.4
My brother and his wife slapped the contract on the table, forcing me to marry Alpha Stone. He was a cruel monster known for breaking his mates' bones, and I was just the price for a new trade route. Right before I surrendered, the legendary Blackwood Pack arrived. But they didn't offer a glorious rescue. They claimed I was the fated mate of Kaelan, a disgraced, wolfless Omega. My family laughed in my face, eagerly taking the dowry and throwing me out like garbage. They mocked my miserable future, sending me off to a crumbling shack in the woods. When they later summoned us back to publicly demand a humiliating "tribute" to bleed us dry, they waited for me to break. "Couldn't handle life in a shack with an Omega? Come crawling back already?" my sister-in-law sneered. But I refused to let them shame him. I didn't understand why the Moon Goddess gave me an Omega, but Kaelan was kind, giving me the only bed while he slept on the cold floor. Why did my family value a cruel Alpha over a gentle soul? I declared to their faces that his loyal spirit was worth more than any title. Then, a vicious rogue wolf threatened us at the local market. My "wolfless" husband stepped in front of me and grabbed the rogue's wrist. Suddenly, a suffocating, terrifying Alpha King's aura exploded from Kaelan, bringing the rogue to his knees in pure terror. I stared at my quiet, supposedly weak mate in absolute shock. Who exactly did I marry?
HOSTILE OATH Novel Cover
8.1
Vivian bears the weight of an ancestral curse, a yoke forged in darkness, which was meant to be broken. A future ravaged by war and chaos loomed, threatening her destiny but Vivian's path was not yet set to answer to her inheritance. Ignorant of her true identity, she couldn't control the powers she possessed, losing loved ones in the process and consumed by self-guilt. Yet, from the ashes of despair, she felt the rage and determination to harness the powers consuming her in her shadow and forge a new path; maybe she could get back all she had lost in all possible ways she could. Prophecy were made, and a formidable force stirred, rising to challenge her claim. When a greater threat arose, Vivian faced a brutal reality: prepare for battle or succumb to the shadows but there was a price to pay. She was left with two options; reclaim her birthright or shatter the chains of destiny!
Tales of Universe of Temptations Novel Cover
8.6
Temptations, a world of investigation, mystery, and the supernatural, unfolds through tales set in the Lovecraft County universe, where magic and science intertwine, magical families vie for power like imperial houses, and cosmic entities observe from the veils of reality. This saga, born from intrigues of power, mystery, debauchery, and passionate bodies, is a testament to this. Tsuki, the man with red and white hair, is heir to a cursed lineage, always entangled in passionate affairs between men and women. Whenever his eyes meet, they reveal secrets that should not be seen. His heart is always divided between forbidden passions and ancestral responsibilities. Throughout his life, his dealings, intrigues, and mysteries unfold, amidst love affairs, sex, and passions, as he becomes involved with his witches, each representing aspects of desire and seduction, bringing with them mysteries, intrigues, and dangers, amidst intrigues, love affairs, passionate affairs, darkness, light, and the entanglements of bodies and their moments of passion. From masked balls to blood pacts, from living paintings to endless towers, Tsuki traverses scenarios that blend the cosmic horror of Lovecraft with the political intrigues of Dunes and space planets embroiled in political intrigue, where the magical atmosphere of magical worlds, amidst romances, is enveloped in conspiracy, each passion a prophecy, each choice a risk. Temptations is more than a saga of love and magic. It's a universe of family intrigues, secret pacts, and cosmic entities. While wandering among thrillers and detective cases, amidst the story of a man torn between temptation and destiny, between chaos and passion. In the midst of embarking on a dark, mature, and captivating epic, where each page is an invitation to the abyss-and each temptation is a choice between living and being lost. Tsuki was born under the reflection of this Mirror, his red and white hair a sign of the curse, and his eyes revealing secrets that should not be seen. Still always involved, since he was a child, he was haunted by visions of witches and shadows, and each family saw him as a threat or prophecy, among demons and supernatural beings, in the midst of dark cities, warm beds, and his passions. After traversing masked balls, blood pacts, living paintings, endless towers, and enchanted seas, Tsuki reaches the end of his journey. As he embarks on stories that show the mirror, now broken into nine fragments, revealing its truth: every witch he loved, every intrigue he faced, every temptation that consumed him, was part of the same destiny. In the final reflection, Tsuki sees himself-not as an heir, not as a lover, not as an artist, but as a bridge between worlds. At various moments, he understands that love and desire are not curses, but forces capable of challenging even forgotten gods.
The Canary Who Learned To Fly Novel Cover
8.2
I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him—my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit—watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London—an exile disguised as a severance package—I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.