XANDER VITTORIO LOVE STORY
He's a Mafia Boss's son. He's handsome and courageous. She's a Billionaire's daughter. She's finely educated, beautiful, and innocent.
They fall in love in close proximity inside the Bratva cage as prisoners. They were tortured physically and emotionally.
But, love prevails between them in another place and at another time.
Love is unconditional...Love is everything....
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Chapter 3
Xander Vittorio POV
Papa pointed out Olga as she entered the club, and I memorized her outfit because I didn't get a good look at her face. It all happened a little too fast.
Sitting in a car that's parked by the side of the building, I watch as Marc Vincent lights a cigarette.
"Mama's going to lose her shit when we come home with the girl," I state the obvious.
"Luckily, that's not my problem," my brother mutters. "I'm going back to Puerto Prinsesa, Palawan Island's as soon as we're done with this job."
I let out a sigh while scanning our surroundings. "I wish I could go with you."
Princess Coastal Entertainment is a training school slash resort in Palawan for anyone in the criminal world. It's the only neutral ground on the planet where we're taught how to be assassins, smugglers, and anything else crime-related. Marc Vincent is learning everything regarding torturing, fighting, and shooting. I'll go through the same course as him once I turn twenty-one.
"Just one more year." Exhaling a puff of smoke, he glances at me. "The training is tough."
"If you can do it, so can I."
He nods while his eyes flit back to the nightclub's entrance.
Silence falls between us, and we watch as people enter and exit the building.
Even though I'm not happy about kidnapping a girl, there's nothing I can do about it. I was born into the Demonyo Gang. It's been my entire life, and I always knew I'd fill some role in the organization as soon as I became an adult. It helps that I'm going through the training to be a Gang enforcer with Maryo.
Suddenly I'm ripped out of my thoughts when a girl matching Olga's description comes darting out of the nightclub, heading straight for us.
"Shit," Marc Vincent exclaims. "Grab her."
I shove the car door open and run after her. The high heels she's wearing slow her down, and I'm able to catch her before she can disappear around the side of the building.
Nervously, I keep looking around us for the guards while my arms lock around her. As I lift Olga off her feet, she cries, "I'm sorry. It was her idea."
Hearing her speak in an English accent makes a frown form on my forehead, but having a job to do, I haul her to the car. Marc Vincent opens the backdoor, and I shove Olga inside.
"Jesus," she hisses, shooting a glare my way.
After I slide in beside Olga, Marc Vincent starts the engine, and seconds later, we're speeding away from the nightclub where Papa and Maryo will take care of the guards should they try to come after us.
I turn in the seat to glance out the back window to make sure we're not being followed before I let out a breath of relief.
"That was easier than I thought," I voice my thoughts to Marc Vincent, then my eyes lock on Olga.
Holy. Fucking. Christ.
The woman sitting next to me is so fucking beautiful, I can only stare at her for a solid minute. She has wavy light brown hair, and her eyes are a mixture of brown and green. Her features are delicate and innocent.
"Do you understand English?" she asks.
Olga is half-Russian, half-American. Born and bred.
This woman has a full English accent.
Fuck.
"What's your name?" I ask, praying to all that's holy I didn't grab the wrong girl.
"Oh, thank God you speak English," she lets out a relieved chuckle. "I'm Anya de Luna. Are you Olga's guards?" She glances out the windows, then nervously brings her eyes back to me.
"What the fuck," Marc Vincent snaps from behind the steering wheel.
Apprehension tightens the girl's features. "This was her idea. She left the nightclub with her friends." She glances out the window again. "You can drop me off right here."
"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter while quickly pulling my phone from my pocket. In Tagalog, I tell Marc Vincent, "Papatayin tayo ni Papa."
"What are you doing?" Marc Vincent shakes his head as he turns the vehicle left up a random street. "Don't call Papa. Let's think of a plan."
"Can you stop the car?" The girl...Anya is looking more anxious by the second.
I feel a twinge of panic because I wasn't lying when I said Papa would kill us for the mistake. We had one job, and we fucked up.
My eyes snap to the girl's face as I ask, "Where is Olga?"
She shrugs while gripping a backpack to her chest. "I don't know. She left the club ten minutes before me."
Suddenly there's a crash of metal, our bodies are jarred, and the car spins to the side.
"Fucking Christ!," Marc Vincent curses, trying to regain control of the vehicle.
Shock vibrates through me, and the air in my lungs bursts from my lips. Instinctively, I grab hold of Anya, who's too stunned to make a sound. I'm slammed against the door, and as the car flips, there's nothing I can do to stop us from being tossed around.
A faint peeping sound comes from Anya, and I feel her hands claw at my shirt. Pain rips through my left arm, and a moment later, everything stops. I hear the groaning of metal and something dripping.
What the fuck?
Letting out a groan, I shake my head before pushing myself up from where I'm laying partially over Anya.
I grip hold of the driver's seat and sit up. I notice blood seeping from a gash on my left forearm, then my eyes dart to my brother, who's slumped over the steering wheel. There's a cut on his forehead and blood trickling from his mouth.
"Vincent!" Even though I intended to shout, his name is nothing but a hoarse whisper.
"God," Anya whimpers, trying to sit up.
The doors are yanked open, and still dazed from the accident my reaction is delayed as I'm grabbed and hauled from the car.
When my arms are yanked behind my back, and someone starts to fasten zip ties around my wrists, I struggle, shaking my head again to rid myself of the fog left over from the accident.
This is an ambush.
I hear Anya cry.
As my eyes flick in her direction, I see men pulling her and Marc Vincent from the wreckage before a fist connects with my face, my muscles strain, but before I can do anything, another blow slams into my temple, and I lose consciousness.
Coming to it feels like I was hit by a train. My mouth is dry, and my head is heavy as I roll it to the side. There's a dull throb in the side of my face.
What the fuck happened?
It doesn't feel like a hangover, and my mind is too foggy to remember last night.
"Hey," I hear a panicked female voice. "Wake up. God. Please wake up."
My mind clears a little, and when I move my left arm, it throbs. I've had a broken arm before, so I know it's not that bad.
Lying on my side, I pry my eyes open only to see a stained wall. It looks like there's a spray of blood drops that dried ages ago.
Fuck!
"Wake up! Please," the woman begs again.
I push through the last of the grogginess and manage to move into a sitting position.
"Thank God," she whimpers before letting out a sob.
Turning my head in her direction, I stare for a moment before I recognize her, and all at once, the event of the ambush hits me. Jesus Christ. Our car was hit. Marc Vincent cursed as he tried to regain control of the spinning vehicle. We tossed around before being pulled from the wreckage.
"Fuck'," I mutter, realizing how serious this shitty situation is.
Marc Vincent!
My heartbeat speeds up, and I quickly glance around me, taking in every inch of the small, filthy room we seem to be locked in.
I try to remember the men who ambushed us but come up empty-handed.
I don't know who has us.
Maybe another Gang retaliated?
"What's your name?" Anya asks. "Do you think the other guards will look for us?"
Glancing around the empty room again, I see nothing but old blood stains. There's a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Fuck, this is bad.
"Please talk to me," Anya begs, her voice trembling.
My gaze swings back to her, and I shake my head. "Alexander." My tongue flicks out to wet my dry lips. "My name is Xander."
Anya's features tighten, and I can see tears brimming in her eyes. Her outfit is ruffled, and the high heels she wore when I grabbed her are nowhere to be seen.
"How long have we been here?" I ask.
Her frightened gaze is locked on me. "A couple of hours."
"Did you see what happened to my brother?"
"The guy driving the car?" When I nod, she shakes her head. "They put a bag over my head."
"Fuck'," I curse again. Struggling to my feet, I walk to the door and test it to see whether it's locked. The door doesn't budge, and I let out a sigh. "Ano ngayon ang mangyari sa akin?."
"I don't understand Tagalog," Anya whispers, her eyes still glued to me.
"I said fuck my life." I take a deep breath while my hand skims over the spot where my gun should be tucked behind my back.
It would be the first thing they'd take. That's why Anya doesn't have her high heels. I also noticed my belt is gone. Anything that could be used as a weapon has been taken from us.
Dropping to my ass next to Anya, I rub a hand over my face.
"Do you know what happened?" she asks.
I let out a sigh, then explained, "We were supposed to grab Olga, but she one-upped us. My guess is her father's behind the ambush."
"Ambush?"
My eyes meet the innocent girl's panicked gaze, and I wonder if she knows anything about the world I come from.
"You're American or?" I ask.
She nods. "I'm Italian but here on vacation."
I feel a twinge of pity in my chest. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you're fucked," I give it to her straight. There's no time to sugarcoat our situation.
The quicker she braces for the hell coming our way, the better for her.
Her face pales, her eyes jumping nervously over my features. "What do you mean?"
"Ever heard of the Mafia Gang or Bratva?"
She shakes her head.
"The Mafia..Bratva?"
This time her eyes widen, and panic makes her breaths come faster.
"You got caught in a war." I shake my head, and unable to lie to her, I say, "It's going to get bad, but with a little luck, my father will find out where we are and come to get us."
But that will take time, and in the meantime, we'll be tortured.
That's if they don't execute us today.
Like I said, we're fucked.
XXX
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7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
8.3
In the fifth year of Irene Shaw's marriage to Ethan Hart, he was involved in a car accident and lost his memory.
No matter how she tried to prove that they had once loved each other, Ethan still insisted on a divorce.
His reasoning was hard to refute. "If I really loved you as much as you claim, how could I forget you?"
The childhood sweetheart who had once cut him off without hesitation had now become his sole emotional anchor.
He looked at Irene coldly. "Since you know this is a mistake, why not end it cleanly?"
The hands that had once refused to let her go now recoiled from even her lightest touch.
Disheartened and exhausted, Irene signed her name and pushed him completely out of her life.
Not long after, Ethan stopped her in the rain, his eyes red from crying.
"Irene, don't leave me. You said I'd never lose you."
As the car window slid shut, the arm around her waist tightened instinctively, and someone spoke before she could. "Drive on. Irene said she doesn't know him."
She lowered her gaze, feeling a serene detachment, "I really don't know him."
8.5
My fiancé left me standing alone at the podium during our rehearsal dinner to rush to the side of a woman whose only illness was a desperate need for attention.
He humiliated me in front of the heads of the Five Families, abandoning our alliance to scoop his "dying" mistress off the floor.
I didn't cry. I didn't run. I walked straight to the head table, to the most terrifying man in the city—his older brother, the Don.
"The Woodward family owes me a husband," I declared calmly.
An hour later, I was married to the Capo dei Capi. But my ex-fiancé didn't accept his demotion.
He kidnapped me, strapping me to a chair in a soundproof basement.
For three days, he drained my blood pint by pint to "save" his mistress, Jaidyn, who watched me fade while she casually ate an apple.
"Take another bag," she ordered, smiling at my agony. "She still has too much fight in her."
As the cold crept up my chest and my vision blurred, I realized I was going to die for a lie, drained dry by a madman.
Then, the steel door detonated.
Through the smoke and debris walked my husband, not with a ransom, but with a serrated knife and a promise to burn them alive.
9.6
[R-18 | MATURE CONTENT]
Sasha thought saving a stranger would be the most dangerous thing she'd ever done.
She found him half-dead on the shore of her quiet island-bleeding, unconscious, and with no memory of who he was. Out of kindness, she brought him home, cared for his wounds, and gave him a place in her life.
Days turned into months.
The mysterious man with dark eyes and quiet strength slowly became her everything. In the small warmth of her seaside home, they built something that felt real-something that felt like love.
Until the morning he disappeared without a trace.
No goodbye. No explanation.
Years later, Sasha learns the truth.
The man she saved isn't a helpless stranger.
He is one of the most feared mafia bosses in Russia... and his amnesia was never real.
Now she's trapped in his world-far from the sea she calls home-and the man she once loved offers her a dangerous deal. One that ties her fate to his once again.
Was every touch just part of his plan?
Or is the ruthless mafia king hiding the same man who once held her like she was his entire world?
Sasha only knows one thing for certain.
Saving him was never the mistake.
Falling in love with him might have been.
After all... she accidentally adopted a mafia boss.
7.5
I spent five years laundering my family's wealth and buying military-grade weapons to crown my husband, Alistair, the Don of the Chicago Mafia.
But the night before his coronation, he drove an Italian stiletto into my stomach.
He sneered that a Don needed a true Mafia Queen, and that was always meant to be his "fragile" friend, Kylie.
As I bled out on the Persian rug, he revealed the sickening truth.
The night I was found in a rival Irish boss's bed two years ago wasn't a setup by our enemies. Alistair had ordered his own mother and sister to drug and frame me.
He just needed me terrified enough to sign over my merchant trust fund to prove my loyalty.
My entire marriage, my sacrifices, and my stolen wealth were just stepping stones for him and his mistress.
I had bled for him and won him the city, only to be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb so he could hand my empire to another woman.
Before the flames I started consumed us both, I swore I'd drag his entire family to hell.
Opening my eyes again, the suffocating smoke was gone, replaced by the scent of lavender and the bitter taste of chloral hydrate.
I was back on the exact night of the frame-up two years ago.
Outside the door, my sister-in-law was whispering, waiting for the Irish boss to arrive so they could ruin me.
This time, I was going to make sure she was the one in that bed.
8.4
For seven years, I have been the submissive commoner wife of Julian, the New York Mafia boss.
When he finally realized what he had ruined and stabbed himself with a dagger, begging for my forgiveness, I simply turned and walked away.
I endured his endless betrayals and cruelty for only one reason: he paid for my grandmother's life-sustaining treatment.
But while he was busy buying diamonds for his new mistress, the pressure of his emotional abuse caused me to lose our child.
His mistress broke into my grandmother's hospital room and threw explicit photos of her and Julian in my grandmother's face. My grandmother died from shock.
Julian knew nothing about this.
“Go home, Sienna. You’re pregnant. Stop making a scene, or I’ll cut off your grandmother’s medical bills tomorrow.”
When I found him, he arrogantly thought I was just throwing a tantrum.
He didn't know our child was gone.
He didn't know that my grandmother had passed away.
In front of all his men, I poured a glass of whiskey over his head, left the signed divorce papers on his table, and then boarded a one-way flight to Germany.
I will leave him forever.