"VERCETTI'S HOUSE"
" CAMILLA'S ROOM"
The morning sun slipped through the thin curtains, its golden rays spilling across Camilla's face.
She stirred, her lashes fluttering before her eyes reluctantly flickered open.
A soft groan escaped her lips as she rolled onto her side, her hand sliding beneath the pillow until her fingers brushed against the cool surface of her phone.
She pulled it out, blinking against the brightness of the screen as she checked the time.
A sigh left her when she realized morning had come far too quickly.
For a brief moment, she considered pulling the covers over her head and stealing a few more minutes of sleep.
But the thought shattered in an instant.
A sudden, violent banging on her door rattled the silence of the room, making her jolt upright.
Her heart skipped a beat as the sound echoed again, louder this time, as though whoever stood outside was ready to break the door down.
Camilla's phone nearly slipped from her trembling hand, her pulse quickening as unease settled in her chest.
Camilla quickened her pace toward the door, her steps echoing softly across the floor.
The moment she reached it, she swung it open—only for Caroline to barge inside without hesitation.
Before Camilla could react, a sharp sting seared across her cheek. She gasped, her hand instinctively flying up to cradle the burning flesh where Caroline's palm had struck with a resounding slap.
"What the hell did I tell you about always leaving the door unlocked?" Caroline snapped, her voice sharp and laced with authority.
Her eyes narrowed coldly as she leaned in. "This isn't your parents' house anymore, Camilla. Don't forget that."
"You don't get to do whatever you want," Caroline snapped, her tone sharp and unforgiving.
"And why are you still in bed at this hour? Do you think sleeping all day will pay your brother's college fees—or cover the family's endless expenses?" Her words cut like knives.
Camilla bit down on her lip, forcing back the sting of anger. Family? she scoffed inwardly. More like you and your drunken husband.
Caroline gave her a final glare before straightening. "Hurry up and freshen yourself.
A guest is waiting for you downstairs." With that, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room, leaving the door ajar.
☆
Camilla descended from her room after freshening up, dressed in a simple black gown that clung elegantly to her frame.
The soft fabric whispered against her skin as she moved, her hair still damp from the quick rinse she had taken.
She had left it loose, cascading over her shoulders, framing a face that still carried the faint redness of Caroline's earlier slap.
Her steps down the staircase were cautious, each one echoing faintly in the hollow silence of the house.
A knot of unease tightened in her chest. Caroline's words repeated in her mind—a guest is waiting for you downstairs.
But Caroline's definition of a "guest" rarely meant something good.
At the bottom of the stairs, the familiar scent of polished wood and faint smoke drifted into her senses.
She tightened her grip on the railing for a moment, steadying herself, before finally stepping into the living room.
When she reached the bottom stairs , her eyes fell on the elderly man seated in the living room.
He looks in his late 60's .
his hair streaked with gray, his posture stiff yet dignified.
A pair of thick glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and the faint smell of cologne mixed with tobacco clung to him.
Camilla's breath caught in her throat. She knew that face.
Her heart sank as recognition hit her—Mr. Giordano, her boss at the bar.
"Ah, there she is," he said, his voice rough but steady, carrying the tone of someone accustomed to being listened to.
Caroline's lips curled into a smug smile. "You see? I told you she wouldn't keep you waiting too long."
Camilla forced her trembling hands to remain at her sides. Her boss's presence in her living room was no coincidence.
Something about this meeting felt wrong, and the look in Caroline's eyes only confirmed it.
Her throat tightened as she whispered, "Mr. Giordano… what are you doing here?"
Mr. Giordano opened his mouth to reply, but Caroline cut him off sharply.
"He's here because he's arranging a marriage for you… with his son. Tonight."
Camilla's eyes widened in disbelief. Her mind reeled, her thoughts bitter and frantic. His son? He doesn't have a son. He doesn't even have a wife. He's just a lonely old man.
Finding her voice, she snapped, "He doesn't have a son, Caroline!"
Caroline's smirk only deepened. "Yes, he does," she shot back coldly.
Mr. Giordano rose slowly from the couch, his movements deliberate.
Straightening his suit jacket, he stepped toward Camilla, his looming presence making the air feel heavier.
His gaze lingered on her, unsettling in its calmness, before his lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
"We meet again tonight," he said, his tone carrying a weight that made Camilla's stomach twist.
Without waiting for her response, he turned his attention back to Caroline, offering her a polite smile—a gesture that felt far too rehearsed, too practiced—before walking out of the house, leaving behind an oppressive silence.
"You don't get to decide who I marry," Camilla said firmly, her voice steady despite the unease in her chest.
Caroline shook her head, her tone sharp and commanding. "Your fiancé already left you. Which man would willingly take care of an orphan? I'm doing you a favor, and you should be grateful.
"I don't need your favor… and I don't need you planning my future," Camilla said, her voice steady but tinged with anger.
Caroline didn't even glance back as she passed by, her steps deliberate and unyielding. "Whether you like it or not, you're still getting married tonight," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
☆☆
"THE RUSSO MANOR "
The Russo Manor stood like a dark crown at the edge of the city.
Tall iron gates blocked the entrance, their black bars shaped with golden snakes and roses.
Past the gates lay a cobblestone road, with lanterns glowing softly in the night.
The manor rose with an intimidating elegance: towering stone walls, arched windows draped in velvet, and balconies carved with intricate Italian motifs.
Inside, it was no less a fortress. Chandeliers glimmered above polished marble floors.
The Russo family isn't just Italy's most feared crime dynasty—they reign as the undisputed lords of the underworld.
Their legacy began with Lord Antonio Russo, Dominic's formidable grandfather.
But instead of passing the empire to his first son, Metto, the power was entrusted to his second son, Lord Salvatore Russo.
That single decision shattered the bond between the two brothers.
Years later, the empire was passed down to Dominic Russo, the first son of Lord Antonio—marking the rise of a new era in the underworld.
••
"TORTURE ROOM"
The screams from inside ripped through the silence, echoing down the hall with raw, broken agony.
Inside the room, the air was thick, heavy with smoke from half-burned cigars that lingered like a curse.
The walls were bare concrete, stained dark from years of use.
A single bulb swung from the ceiling, its weak light casting shadows that seemed to move with every scream.
Chains clinked against iron hooks, and the floor, damp and cold, carried the coppery smell of old blood.
This isn't a room—but a chamber built for suffering.
Three men were tied to chairs, their faces beaten and twisted beyond recognition, blood covering them from brow to chin.
Only two figures remained standing in the room—Wesley and Maddox.
Lord Antonio's second and third sons leaned against the wall, watching with merciless eyes, their silence colder than the screams that had filled the chamber moments before.
Maddox stepped forward, his boots echoing against the cold floor.
From his pocket, he pulled a cigarette and a lighter.
With a flick, the flame hissed to life.
He lit the cigarette, but instead of raising it to his lips, he pressed the burning tip against the middle man's palm—who's barely conscious—while the other two lay unconscious
The man's muffled scream tore through the chamber.
"I'll ask one last time," Maddox growled, his voice thick with rage. "Who the bloody hell is the mother fucker that sent you?"
Hours ago, This three men disguised themselves as guards and tried to slip into the Russo manor—but unlucky for them, they were caught the very moment they stepped inside."
Maddox kept the cigarette searing into the man's palm, the stench of burning flesh thick in the air.
Wesley stepped closer, leaning into the middle man's ear.
'If you don't want Dominic to be the one interrogating you,' Wesley murmured darkly, 'I suggest you start talking.'
Maddox smiled at Wesley's comment, fully aware that Dominic wasn't even in the building.
This was just another mind game.
The man's body convulsed, sweat dripping down his blood-streaked face.
His lips trembled, a strangled whimper escaping him as his eyes darted frantically between Maddox and Wesley.
The mere mention of Dominic's name was enough to break him—terror carved itself into every line of his face.
"Ghost," the man rasped, his voice cracking.
Wesley and Maddox exchanged smirks.
"That motherfucking coward… who only knows how to hide behind a mask," Maddox cursed under his breath.
"Are you gonna spare my life now that I've told you what you wanted to know?" the man gasped.
Wesley's smirk widened, dark and unsettling.
"No… aren't," Wesley replied.
He bent down, picked up a knife from the floor, and drove it straight into the man's heart.
Blood spattered across his face.
The scream that followed echoed violently through the room.
☆
" SELENA AND CELENA "
Selena and Celena—two identical twins, the only daughters of Lord Antonio.
They are both 21 and still in college.
Just like their brothers, they carried a streak of madness in their veins.
There room is completely giving difcrent vibe.
Selena's side of the room is drenched in the color of midnight.
The walls were painted a deep, suffocating black, swallowing the faint light that dared to flicker across them.
Heavy chains and sharp tools hung like decorations, glinting faintly.
Her space breathed darkness, cruelty, and control—a reflection of her twisted desires.
Celena's side, in sharp contrast, looked almost innocent.
Her walls bloomed with soft shades of pink, delicate and deceptively sweet.
A lace-draped bed sat in the corner, and porcelain dolls lined her shelves, their glassy eyes watching silently.
Frilly curtains and scattered plush toys gave her side a girlish charm.
"Oh, damn it… the screams is over ," Selena muttered laying on her bed .
"I know if Dominic were here, these screams would have lasted much longer," Selena added, a wicked grin tugging at her lips.
"I honestly can't believe he's really getting married tonight," Celena murmured, her tone a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
"A shocker, right?" Selena muttered.
☆☆
" BELLE ÈTOILE ESTATE"
" A BRIDAL BOUTIQUE; PRIVATE
FITTING ROOM "
The boutique is a sanctuary of elegance, the kind that made every bride feel like royalty the moment she stepped inside.
Soft, warm lighting bathed the space, bouncing off the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that lined the walls, reflecting the intricate lace and silk of every gown.
Plush, velvet chairs and delicate chaise lounges were scattered around.
Racks of wedding dresses, arranged by style and color, created a labyrinth of dreams—ivory, champagne, and pearl hues shimmering under the soft glow.
The air was tinged with a subtle, floral fragrance, and the gentle hum of classical music added a serene, almost magical atmosphere.
Veronica stood in front of the full-length mirror, slipping into a long, white wedding gown.
A few staff members on duty attended to her, catering to her every need as if she were a VIP client.
Veronica glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Being a little late to a wedding doesn't cancel the ceremony," she muttered to herself, remembering her dad's statement to be at the church altar by 6:00 PM. Now, it was already 6:12 PM.
Just then, the door to her private fitting room swung open, and Vito, Veronica's boyfriend and also the second son of the Adams family, stepped inside.
"When the hell were you planning on telling me… that you're actually getting married?" Vito demanded, his eyes flashing with disbelief and hurt.
His fists clenched at his sides as he took a step closer to her.
Veronica froze, unable to meet his gaze.
"Not just to anyone…" he continued, his voice rising, trembling with anger. "But to that psycho! Do you even realize what you're doing? Who he is?"
"You're marrying my dad's enemy! My enemy! How could you keep this from me? How could you stab me in the back like this?"Vito damaned"
Veronica shot the staff members a sharp glance, and they immediately hurried out of the room.
"Chill… it's not like I want to marry him," Veronica said, her voice trembling with frustration. "I don't have a choice. Do you think I'd want to marry someone my sister loves?"
Vito stepped closer, pressing himself against her back and wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Then don't get married to him," he whispered into her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine.
His fingers traced slowly down the fabric of her dress, and Veronica tensed.
"Don't get married to him"
Vito's gaze darkened as he leaned closer, his hands brushing insistently against her, his whisper laced with command.
With deliberate slowness, he slid the zipper down the back of her wedding dress, his fingers lingering against her skin as the fabric fell off.
Veronica shivered under his touch, a mix of anticipation and defiance fighting within her.
He pressed his body closer, the heat of him searing against her back, and his hands roamed with a possessive intensity, tracing the curves of her waist and the small of her back.
Her breath hitched as he leaned his head against her shoulder, brushing his lips along the sensitive skin there.
"I'm going to be late! Stop this," Veronica protested, her voice trembling between frustration and desire.
Vito tightened his hold around her waist, as if daring her to resist, his body pressing firmly against hers.
"Do you think if you married him… he could ever please you the way I do?" he murmured, his voice low and heated.
Before she could react, his hands cupped her chest over the delicate fabric of her wedding dress.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips, half protest, half involuntary moan, as his fingers pressed and squeezed with possessive intensity.
"You have to stop," she whispered, her voice caught between command and surrender, as Vito's relentless touch sent shivers racing through her.
Her resolve faltered under the force of his gaze and the heat of his hands.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips, half protest, half involuntary moan, as his fingers pressed and squeezed with possessive intensity.
"You have to stop," she whispered, her voice caught between command and surrender, as Vito's relentless touch sent shivers racing through her.
Her resolve faltered under the force of his gaze and the heat of his hands.
Vito's lips brushed the shell of her ear, his warm breath making her shiver. "I can't… I can't let you go to him," he murmured, his voice thick with need.
Before she could react, he lifted her effortlessly, pressing her against his chest.
Vito didn't wait for her to react. With a firm hand, he guided her onto the couch.
He unhooked her bra, the sound of the clasp echoing softly in the room. Veronica's eyes widened, a mix of shock and defiance flashing across her face.
"What the f**k are you doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling but firm.
Vito ignored her question.
He leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin, and slowly spread her legs apart, coming to rest between them.
His hands lingered over her panties, teasing, exploring, before tugging the delicate fabric aside.
Veronica instinctively tried to close her legs, her heart hammering. "What the hell are you doing?!" she asked .
Vito looked up at her.
"I told you… didn't I?" he murmured, a low growl in his tone. "I can't let you go to him."He said.
Before she could protest further, he spread her legs again.
"No… my dad would fùcking kill me if I'm not at the altar," Veronica muttered, panic lacing her voice.
Vito's gaze locked onto hers, demanding surrender without a single word.
"Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "Don't worry… we'll be dying together."
Before she could fully react, he penetrated her, filling her completely.
Vito moved with controlled, relentless thrusts, each one igniting a fire she couldn't contain.
"Bastard!!" she cried out, a mix of anger and desire in her voice.
Vito leaned close, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot and rough. "Just… enjoy it," he whispered.
☆
" WEDDING HALL "
" DRESSING ROOM "
Caroline didn't give Camilla a single moment to process anything. She simply dragged her into the wedding hall, determined to marry her off to God knows who.
Camilla adjusted the delicate lace of her wedding gown in dressing room of the Villa Seraphina(Wedding hall).
the moonlight streaming through the tall, arched windows, casting a soft glow over the polished marble floors.
The scent of fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and jasmine—filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of music from the main hall.
She took a deep breath, and was about to step out when a sound froze her in place.
From the corner of the room, near the slightly ajar door to the hallway, a familiar voice reached her ears.
"He's offering us 25 million to marry her.… with that money, we could pay off half your debt, honey," Caroline announced.
"She really thinks she's marrying her boss's son, but she doesn't know she's actually being handed over to that old man."
"Good thing she's a fool, just like her mother."
Camilla sobbed uncontrollably when Caroline's voice faded into silence.
"No… this isn't the life I want," she whispered, shaking her head in despair.
"I don't want this life," she repeated, her words trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks.
She ripped off the silver necklace Caroline had given her, leaving red marks on her neck.
Staring out the window, she whispered through gritted teeth,
"I get to plan my own life… you don't get to decide who I'll be with forever."
"I am the only one who gets to make that choice for myself," she declared, not hesitating as she climbed out the window.
The wedding dress made the escape clumsy and difficult, but she didn't let it stop her.
Camilla's heart pounded as she landed awkwardly on the ground outside the window.
The hem of her wedding dress snagged on the ledge, tearing slightly.
The faint sound of Caroline's furious shouting echoed from the hall, spurring Camilla to sprint.
She burst out of the building, her heart hammering as she ran into the night.
☆☆
" A CHURCH"
Dominic stood at the altar, impeccably dressed, a well-dressed man by his side.
The priest at the altar looked visibly frustrated and impatient.
It had been over forty-five minutes since Dominic arrived, yet his supposed bride—the one he was meant to marry—was nowhere in sight.
The priest stared at Dominic in disbelief, wondering how he could maintain such a perfectly straight face the entire time.
Dominic pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
The man beside him, blake , flicked out a lighter and ignited it.
The priest's eyes widened in shock. He didn't dare stop them—only shifted back slightly, keeping his distance.
Dominic pulled the cigarette from his lips.
"Get the car ready. We're leaving now," he said to Blake, placing the cigarette back between his lips.
Blake nodded. Without another word, he strode off the altar.
The moment he stepped outside, his eyes landed on a girl in a bridal gown, pressed against the wall and panting heavily.
She matched the description of the girl Dominic was meant to marry.
Blake approached her.
"Veronica," he called instinctively.
Camilla stared at him.
"Where the hell have you been?"
"Do you have any idea how long you kept Lord Dominic waiting? You were supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago for the wedding!" Blake's voice trembled with anger.
"Lord Dominic." The words echoed in her head, playing on repeat. Everyone in Italy knew him.
Blake studied the surprise look on Camilla's face.
"Aren't you Veronica?" he asked.
"Getting married to him is far better than marrying that old man, the thought flashed through Camilla's mind.
"I am," Camilla muttered without a second thought.
"I'm Veronica