From Mafia Doll To Montana Queen

ainting portraits of Marcus, the Underboss. He was the man who had

fection. To secure an alli

aged a fake miscarriage and framed me f

r his "lost heir," he ordered his guards to drag me to the Ice

he water drip, realizing the man I worshiped was actually my

he girl who lov

expected me to be broken, obed

I packed a single bag and vanished into the night, escapi

truth about Isabella'

knees in the dirt and cow manure of my new home, weepin

the man who onc

lass, Marcus," I said col

pte

via

n who would likely put a bullet in my head if he knew what I was t

tic and rhythmic, like a trapped bird a

e wasn't the man whose hands were stained with the blood of our enemie

n didn't ex

ntine and linseed oil filling my lungs. This room, tucked away in the

leather was worn soft

nk bleeding slightly into the heavy paper. *On canvas, h

e charity gala. Tonight, I would try to be more th

, sat at the head of the table, his face lined wi

, pushing a wilted pea around

his Patek Philippe. "Safety is a

fet

t safety. I

designer gowns. The air smelled of expen

im imme

g the oxygen out of the room. He was talking to the Don

scanned

my dress. I snagged a glass of whiske

p to him. Ju

ther. My pulse roared i

et away when h

Marcus's hand shot to his pocket. He answered, his exp

e glass in my hand. He walked away, barking ord

holding the whi

I saw

lla.

. She was beautiful in a way that screamed danger-blood-red lips, a d

idn't come back to the ba

ing in her ear. She laughed, placing a manicured hand on his

focus. He looked at

e rose in

Marcus had appeared out of nowhere, dragging the man away by his collar. He had c

v,* he had sai

ll. That was the moment

bass of the gala still thump

my diar

meant he cared. I thought undernea

er, I tr

he main house. He was adjusting

I just wanted to say... the way you han

ed down at me, his

he said, his voice flat

e breeze from his mov

started the

e was smart. They said she was ruthless. They sa

My fantasy, the one where the beast learns

t beauty. He

a maze with no exit.

e diary to

, then I must go to a place

my mattress. My finger traced the line away from New York,

m,* I w

to my father t

cial reports. "Do we have to... stay this

ut looking up. "It's responsibility.

ear me. No

I saw them in the ga

ed polite, attentive. But I knew his f

er in his eyes. B

. He was still s

thing it always did when he was

n who looks through

tared at me. The gentle curve of the lips I had im

old the canvas. "Or you w

up a pale

d it to move. I scraped th

ra

y the kindnes

ra

d away t

cold, hard outli

ical ache, but my min

the canary