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 6
Anya Santini de Luna POV
My body aches from all the anxiety and terror I'm feeling.
At least my bladder's no longer going to burst, but standing in the room with our captors, my relief is quickly forgotten.
Are they going to kill one of us?
All of us?
My eyes land on the tooth near Marc Vincent, and I feel the ache in my jaw.
God.
This is horror. Pure freaking horror.
My gaze flits all over the room, my breaths already rushing over my lips.
How am I going to survive this?
"Uncuff Marc Vincent," the one in charge orders.
The other guy unlocks Marc Vincent's cuffs, then another order is given. "Get up, Marc Vincent."
I watch as Xander's brother climbs to his feet. He has the same emotionless expression on his beaten face as Xander.
Riccardo gestures to his guard or soldier. I'm not sure what to call him.
"Darius will shoot one of you unless..." Riccardo gets up and looks at Marc Vincent. "You have to choose who will get tortured next. If you refuse, Darius will kill one of you."
Oh, God.
No.
My eyes flit wildly between the men because I know what's coming. There's no way Marc Vincent will choose Xander. I'm a stranger to him.
Marc Vincent locks eyes with Xander, and as the seconds crawl by, my heart beats out of my chest.
"The girl," he mutters.
No. Oh, God. No!
"That was an easy choice," Riccardo chuckles. "I'm surprised, though. If she's dating your brother, he's going to be pissed off with you torturing his girl."
Marc Vincent doesn't know about the lie!
Marc Vincent's eyes flick between Xander and me, but he doesn't say anything.
Riccardo takes a seat again, then snaps, "You heard me, Marc Vincent. Torture the girl."
Marc Vincent's hands fist at his side, and when he steps toward me, I take one backward.
There's no doubt in my mind he'll kill me to save Xander.
The man, who I now know is Darius, points his gun at Xander.
"You have three seconds before Darius kills Xander," Riccardo mutters as if he's bored with us.
My eyes are still wildly flitting around when Marc Vincent darts forward. His fist connects with my cheek, and as unbearable pain radiates through my entire skull, I go down like a sack of potatoes.
Instinctively, I curl into a fetal position and cover my head with my arms.
"I didn't say beat. I said torture," Riccardo snaps.
I don't even dare to peek around me and keep my eyes squeezed shut.
The next moment Marc Vincent grabs my right hand and pries my fist open. My eyes fly open, and horrified I watch as he brings a set of pliers closer to my hand.
"NoNoNoNo!" I scream, and when I try to push him away from me with my left hand, he uses his body to block me, grips my pinky finger, and rips the nail off.
Between my wails of pain, I hear Riccardo sneer, "I thought you were in a relationship with the girl."
There's no emotion in Xander's voice as he replies, "Would it help if I lost my shit?" I hear him let out a sigh. "It won't stop you from torturing her."
"Take the girl and Marc Vincent back to their rooms," Riccardo shouts.
Is it over?
I'm yanked to my feet and shoved toward the doorway. I only get a glimpse of Xander, who's staring at Riccardo, unfeeling as ever.
I cradle my right hand against my shirt, my blood seeping into the fabric.
Marc Vincent is locked in the room opposite ours before I'm shoved into the four walls that have become my prison.
I hurry to the corner where I sit down, and pressing my face into my knees, I try to process what just happened.
The pain burns from my pinky up to my wrist as if the digit has been set on fire. There's a throbbing ache in my jaw, and my chaotic emotions threaten to make me lose my sanity.
I had a perfect life before my parents died.
How did it come to this? I, an orphan who's going to be tortured and killed by criminals.
What did I do to deserve this?
I wish I could be like Xander and just not care.
Xander.
I lift my head and stare at the locked door.
Are they going to kill him?
God, I hope not. I don't want to be alone in this room.
I've only known him a day, and already I'm attached to him. I think it's because of the harrowing situation we find ourselves in. He's the only person I can connect with. Just having him here with me helps.
It has nothing to do with the attraction I felt when I saw how good-looking he was but pure survival. The odds of me getting out of this hell alive are better with Xander by my side.
If he dies, they'll probably kill me shortly after.
I haven't prayed since I lost my parents. I've been too angry with God. But with Xander's life hanging in the balance, I start to whisper, "Dear, God, don't let them kill Xander. Or Me. Or Marc Vincent. Please send an angel to watch over us. I don't want to die, and I'm so scared. Please help us."
As the prayer leaves my lips, I don't feel any better.
If miracles existed, my parents would still be alive, and I wouldn't be locked in a room.
Please come back, Xander.
XXX
Alexander Vittorio POV
While Marc Vincent and Anya are taken out of the room, Riccardo Ponti trains his gun on me. When I hear movement behind me, I keep my eyes locked on Ponti.
My arms are grabbed, and I'm yanked backward. Forced to sit down on a chair, Ponti's men strap my forearms to the armrests.
Only then does Ponti place his gun on his lap. Removing a packet of cigarettes, he lights one before he says, "I hear your father attacked Ivanov's place. He thought you were taken in retaliation for trying to kidnap Olga."
He's not holding us for information. Fuck. That means he'll kill us once he's had his fun.
"As you know, my father is against the mafia and bratva working together. For fun, we sent a ransom note to your father. We're not asking much. Just one million pesos each for you and Marc Vincent. It's a bargain."
There's no way my father will pay for our release. Ponti is playing a mind game with him.
"As an incentive, we'll send your father recordings and proof of life. For your sake, I hope he swallows his pride."
That will never happen.
Ponti takes a deep pull of his cigarette then slowly blows out the smoke. "Who is this Anya de Luna, and what is she to you?"
I'm not telling this man shit and just stare at him.
He gestures to one of the men, my hand is grabbed, and a knife is plunged through my skin and bone.
I can't keep myself from groaning as the sharp pain tears through my hand. "Tell me." A threatening chuckle escapes me. "I'm going to kill you."
"Who's the girl?" Riccardo Ponti asks again.
I clench my jaw while sucking in a deep breath of air.
This is exactly like the training I'll receive at Palawan's next year. If I can't survive a little torture, I won't make it during training.
"If she means nothing to you, she's of no use to me," Ponti threatens.
Fuck.
I should let them kill her. It will be merciful compared to what lies ahead.
I stare at Ponti, and as he gestures to one of the men to take care of Anya, I hiss, "She's my girlfriend."
What the fuck are you doing?
Ponti gives a skeptical look, then orders, "Go get the girl."
He doesn't believe the lie we've told him.
I keep my expression neutral, and when Anya is dragged back into the room, she's also shoved down on a chair, and her wrists are strapped to the armrests.
Her eyes are wide on the knife embedded into the back of my hand, and it looks like she's going to puke.
"How long have you been in a relationship?" Ponti asks.
"Just over a year," I answer so Anya doesn't fuck things up.
"Don't you like Russian pussy or Filipino sexy pussy?" he asks.
"I like my women exotic," I mutter. "If it weren't for Anya, I'd try some Italian pussy."
The knife is ripped from my hand, and a curse bursts from me, "Iisus Khristos." I shake my head and chuckle darkly because, so help me God, I will kill Riccardo Ponti.
One of Ponti's men walks to Anya, and grabbing her hair, he yanks her head back and presses the knife to her pulse. She makes a squeaking sound, her terrified gaze darting to me.
I've seen fear before but nothing like the horror in her amber eyes.
Christ, you're going to get yourself killed for a woman you don't know.
"Tell me about your girlfriend," Ponti says as he lights another cigarette.
"She's from Italy. She knows English language. She recently lost her parents, so she only has me." I hate lying, but I'm fucking good at it. "She just finished school and came to the Philippines to be with me. We're going to elope so I can keep her here with me."
Ponti tilts his head, his eyes flicking between us. "You don't look in love with her."
"No fucking shit," I mutter. "This isn't the honeymoon I envisioned for us."
"You didn't seem to mind when your brother ripped off her nail," he mentions. He gestures to his men, then says, "Choose who will take the beating from my men."
Fuck my life.
I shake my head as I let out a chuckle, "Of course, it will be me."
He nods, and a soldier comes to unstrap my forearms, and I'm pulled to a standing position. It's only then I notice the pool of blood that's formed by the leg of the chair.
If Ponti doesn't kill us, infection will. I doubt the man is going to provide us with first aid.
Another soldier comes to yank my arms behind my back, and cable ties are used to restrain me.
Anya's breathless with fear, her eyes still glued to me.
The men attack all at once, and with my wrists tied, I can't do much to defend myself. I take punch after punch and hear Anya cry, "Please stop! You're going to kill him."
I stagger a step back while a grin spreads over my face, "It will take a hell of a lot more than this to kill me, sweetheart."
The next punch to my nose drops my ass to the floor. The men start to kick, and when a boot slams into my head, everything goes black.
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.