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d my crippled mafia bos
his throne, he brought home
d ordered me to the kitchens to
I had raised since she was a toddler, st
Rosalie. She dresses like a peasant
to frame me, my own daughter looked Vincenzo
ainting spell at the to
er, letting me tumble violent
d, miscarrying our unborn child, he carried
't und
ath, washed his wasted body, and car
absolute devotion treated
g news about my baby, the last ember
hout asking for a single cent, an
pte
ena
r. From that rooted spot, I watched the syndicate soldiers snap
d faded, my phone vibrated, a low hum agai
ds Dad bought for you. Do not come
of the screen as Vincenzo wrapped his custom
ss man in the city, a man who commanded thousands of sold
d brother, Bastian, had crippled him to steal his territory. I had found Vincenzo on the
key glass he had hurled at the wall when the pain made him feral, and carv
as the ki
reminders of the days t
he had arrived three weeks ago, claiming she needed sanct
guest suite. He gave her his tim
e upper floor, taking the sweepin
m. The pale pink dress I had spent three weeks sewing for her lay in sh
e lifted her chin, mimicking the haughty look Rosalie always wore. "Aunt Rosal
f my throat. I swallowed, and the high collar of myI had rocked her to sleep when the sound of
t me like I was d
enzo's frame filled the doorway. His dark eyes swept ov
the unassailable authority of the Don. "Go to the kitchens. Prepare
of his footsteps on the m
, a tremor starting in my h
al dumpster near the outdoor fire pit. They did not grant it the dignity of flame, treating my years o
e house. A maid answered it and handed it
s Vin
aid. His tone was softer than it had been in mo
before I
broke free and clogged the drain. I did not retrieve it, merel
the maid next to me whispered.
pped
aff knew the interloper's
drew me from the kitchen. I
polished marble. Vincenzo caught her by the wai
ghed softly, her fingers splayed against t
swered, his attention rem
he bone-deep weariness of those five years. H
so tired o
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