The sun bled soft gold over Melbourne, sliding across rooftops and gum trees, making everything look warmer than it felt. Arizona Morales curled into the corner of the sofa, a book in her lap she hadn't been reading. Her mother had been pacing for the last ten minutes, her apron twisted in her hands, her lips pinched tight.
Something was wrong.
"Mom?" Arizona asked softly, her hazel eyes narrowing. "You're making me nervous."
Rita Morales stopped in her tracks. She drew a long, uneven breath, then sat beside her daughter, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Her hands reached out, catching Arizona's fingers. "Cariño… there's something you need to know."
Arizona's heart dropped. "What is it?"
Her mother hesitated, eyes glistening, then said it: "You're going to Italy. To live with your father."
For a moment, Arizona just stared, the words refusing to make sense. Then her breath caught. "What?"
"Your father has written. He—" Rita's voice faltered before she tried again. "He wants you to join him there. He has a house, a business… a family. A wife. Children. He says he's ready for you to be part of it now."
Arizona's chest tightened as if all the air had been sucked from the room. A family. His family. Not hers.
"So, let me get this straight." Her voice trembled. "He leaves us behind. Builds his perfect little life in Italy. And now, years later, he just decides I get to be part of it?"
"Arizona…" Rita's hand reached for her cheek, but she turned away, eyes burning.
"He left us, Mom. He left you. And now he wants to play father of the year?"
Rita's voice cracked, heavy with exhaustion. "He's offering you opportunities we can't give you here. He runs a business, he has wealth, connections—"
"I don't care about his money!" Arizona shot back, her voice rising before breaking into a whisper. "I just… I don't want to go."
Her mother's face softened with sorrow. She leaned forward, cupping Arizona's face despite her resistance. "I know, cariño. I know this hurts. But you're sixteen now. This is your chance to see the world beyond this street, beyond this small house. You'll be safe there. You'll be cared for."
Arizona's throat closed around the words she wanted to say. That this house, these streets, her friends, this life—was enough for her. That she didn't want Italy, or him, or the strangers he called family.
But instead, she whispered, "What if I don't belong?"
Rita pressed her forehead gently to her daughter's. "Then you remember this—you belong to yourself. You are my daughter. You are strong. And no matter where you go, that will never change."
Arizona closed her eyes, clinging to the warmth of her mother's embrace. She didn't see the tears slipping down Rita's face, or the fear hidden in her eyes.
Because while Viktor Morales might be a respected businessman in Italy, his world was still one of wealth, pressure, and expectations. And once Arizona stepped into it, she would never be able to go back to this quiet little home in Melbourne.
---
The beach was alive with the hum of crickets, the crash of waves, and the sound of three girls laughing until their stomachs hurt. Arizona kicked off her sandals, the sand still warm beneath her bare feet, and ran toward the shoreline with Britney chasing after her.
"You can't catch me!" Arizona shouted, her braid swinging behind her.
"Oh, watch me!" Britney lunged, but missed by inches, stumbling into the foamy surf. Her shriek sent both Arizona and Nixie into fits of laughter.
"Girls, you're going to kill yourselves before she even gets on the plane," Lily called from the blanket they'd spread across the sand. She held up a bottle of soda like it was champagne. "To Arizona Morales, leaving us for pizza, gelato, and boys with accents!"
Nixie groaned dramatically as she flopped beside Lily. "Don't remind me. She's abandoning us for Italian sunsets while we rot in math class."
Arizona dropped onto the blanket too, still breathless from running, her cheeks glowing pink. "I'm not abandoning you! I don't even want to go."
"Yeah, yeah," Britney teased, wringing seawater from her shirt. "You'll change your mind the second some tall, dark stranger looks at you."
Arizona rolled her eyes, but her heart twisted. Her friends didn't know the truth—that she wasn't just nervous, she was scared. Scared of walking into her father's world, of facing his new wife, his other kids, of being nothing more than the extra daughter.
Still, tonight wasn't about fear. Tonight was about them.
So she forced a grin, grabbed the soda, and lifted it high. "To us. No matter where I go, you're still stuck with me."
"To us!" they echoed, their voices carrying into the night.
Later, the four of them lay shoulder-to-shoulder on the blanket, watching stars scatter across the sky. Britney hummed quietly, Lily scrolled through her phone, and Nixie whispered her usual dramatic theories about which constellation meant doom and which meant destiny.
Arizona stayed quiet, memorizing everything—the salt in the air, the comfort of her friends, the feeling of belonging. She hugged them tighter before the night ended, laughing through the tears none of them admitted were there.
Tomorrow, she'd board a plane. Tomorrow, she'd meet the family her father built without her.
But tonight… tonight she was just Arizona.
~~THE LAVADORS MANSION~~
The Lavador estate was a kingdom built of excess. From the hill it ruled over Florence like a shadowed crown, iron gates coiling high as serpents, marble lions crouched at the entrance with stone fangs bared. The drive stretched long and dark, lined with black pines that whispered in the wind.
Inside, the mansion was gilded in wealth. Chandeliers spilled light over crimson carpets and polished marble floors, the glow catching on gilded mirrors and paintings of ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow intruders. The air itself was heavy—perfumed with cigars, cologne, whiskey, and faint traces of something more primal.
At the core was the living room, though it felt more like a private throne hall. Velvet couches of blood-red lined the space. A fire blazed high, painting the carved ceiling in restless shadows. On the glass table lay scattered cards, cigars still smoking, bottles of amber liquor half-drained, crystal glasses rimmed with gold.
This was their kingdom.
Kenzi sat in silence, his massive frame leaned back, whiskey glass balanced in one enormous hand. His long hair curtained his sharp face, but his eyes glowed in the firelight—calm, unreadable, always watching. His silence wasn't emptiness, it was dominance.
Hardin lounged with his boots crossed on the table, a knife spinning between his fingers with reckless ease. He smirked like he owned every breath in the room, danger disguised as charm, his laughter bubbling whenever the blade nearly kissed his skin.
Mike occupied the couch arm, cigarette burning low between his lips. He was the voice of the night—laughing, teasing, tossing crude jokes into the air as if daring someone to silence him. His smirk was contagious, infuriating, magnetic.
And Damon—
The biggest. The darkest. The most dangerous.
At 8'2, Damon Lavador didn't simply enter a room—he consumed it. Broad shoulders stretched his black shirt, tattoos twisting across his chest and arms like hieroglyphs of violence and lust. His long hair fell over his face in strands, framing eyes that were deep and merciless, the kind that promised both ruin and ecstasy.
Leaning against the fireplace, he smoked lazily, the cigarette glowing between his fingers. Every move was slow, deliberate, the kind of control that drew attention without effort. Damon didn't need words; his silence dripped hunger. When he finally did speak, it was low, rough, sensual—an edge that burned.
"They'll be here soon," Mike said with a grin, exhaling smoke toward the fire.
"They better be," Hardin replied, twirling his knife until it flashed like lightning in the firelight. "I hate waiting for what I've already paid for."
Kenzi took a long sip of whiskey, saying nothing. His quiet disapproval only made the others grin harder.
Damon dragged in smoke, then exhaled slow, his voice cutting through the haze.
"If they disappoint…" His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, more like a threat dressed as temptation. "We'll teach them better."
The brothers' laughter filled the mansion, thick and wicked, spilling into the night.
This was how they lived: indulgence, danger, and sin dressed in velvet and smoke.
The Lavador brothers were not men.
They were a religion of power, lust, and blood.
The sounds came first.
Heels on marble, quick, sharp, echoing down the endless hall. The soft rush of giggles. The rustle of silk.
Then the doors opened.
Four women entered the Lavador living room like smoke curling into flame. Tall, draped in glittering dresses that clung to curves, their perfume cut through the haze of whiskey and cigars. Painted lips curved into practiced smiles, eyes flashing as they assessed the men who had summoned them.
The air shifted immediately—heavier, hotter.
Hardin was the first to move, kicking his boots off the table and standing, his knife sliding away into his pocket. He grinned wide, like a predator welcoming prey. "Finally. Thought Florence forgot how to deliver."
One of the women laughed softly, sliding up to him. Her hand traced his chest, her lips whispering something in his ear that made his grin sharpen.
Mike rose next, cigarette still between his lips, smirk unshakable. "About time," he said, reaching for the nearest girl's waist. She giggled, letting him pull her close, his hand already wandering as though the game had begun the second she stepped inside.
Kenzie didn't move right away. He stayed seated, silent, his whiskey glass raised lazily. When one of the women approached him—tall, dark-haired, bold—he didn't smile or tease. He simply looked at her, eyes heavy, unreadable. That look alone made her falter, as though the calmest brother was also the one who might devour her whole if he chose to.
And then there was Damon.
He didn't move when they entered. Didn't reach for them. Didn't even glance up at first. He leaned against the fire, cigarette glowing, shadows wrapping around him as if even the light was wary.
When one of the women finally gathered courage to approach, her heels clicking softly as she drifted toward him, Damon lifted his eyes.
That was enough.
The weight of his stare pinned her in place. Hunger and danger gleamed there, quiet but unbearable, like a storm trapped behind glass. Slowly, deliberately, he exhaled smoke, the curve of his lips too sharp to be comfort.
She swallowed, stepping closer, though her breath caught as she reached him. Damon didn't touch her. Didn't speak. He simply watched, letting silence draw her in, forcing her to tremble under his gaze.
The fire crackled. The brothers laughed. The women leaned into their arms, their perfume mixing with smoke and whiskey, the night unraveling in velvet and heat.
This was the Lavador way—pleasure bought, power flaunted, sin taken without apology.
The mansion came alive with it.
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The air port lights were too dark,too sterile,as though they had no patience,no emotion. But emotions we're everywhere__ clogging Arizona's throat, blurring her vision, tightening her chest with every step closer to the gate.
Her friends surrounded her like a shield. Britney's arm was looped firmly around her shoulders, Lily held her hand so tightly their fingers had gone numb, and Nixie trailed behind them, muttering under her breath about "how this whole thing was a crime against best friends."
"This is it," Britney whispered, her voice unsteady despite the brave smile she tried to wear.
"Don't say it like that," Arizona said quickly, blinking back tears. "You'll make me cry."
"You're already crying," Lily sniffled, swiping her thumb across Arizona's cheek.
Arizona gave a shaky laugh, then pulled them all in for a hug. "I'll call every night. Video. Text. Whatever it takes."
"You better," Nixie said fiercely, her own eyes glistening. "And don't you dare come back with some Italian boyfriend who makes you forget us."
Arizona smirked through the tears. "You mean if I find a tall, dark, ridiculously handsome one?"
Nixie groaned. "Exactly. I'll kill him."
The laughter that bubbled between them was fragile, breaking easily into silence as they clung tighter. For years, they had shared everything—sleepovers, secrets, heartbreaks. And now, with one boarding pass, everything was changing.
Then came her mother.
Rita stood a little apart, arms folded like she was trying to keep herself from unraveling. When Arizona turned to her, the smile on her mother's face collapsed into tears.
"Mamá…" Arizona whispered, her voice small, breaking.
"Oh, my corazón." Rita pulled her into a fierce embrace, burying her face in her daughter's hair. "I'm so proud of you. You hear me? So proud."
"I don't want to go," Arizona choked out, clinging to her. "I want to stay with you. With them. With everything I know."
Rita smoothed her braid, whispering against her ear. "I know. But this is your chance. A better life. Doors opening for you. You'll see the world in ways I couldn't give you."
Arizona's tears spilled hot and fast. "What if I don't belong there?"
Her mother pulled back, cupping her face firmly. Her own tears streamed, but her gaze was steady, fierce. "Then you remember this—you belong to yourself. And to me. No one can take that."
The final boarding call echoed over the speakers.
The friends hugged her one last time, sobbing into her hair. Her mother kissed her cheeks, whispering prayers in Spanish under her breath.
And then—Arizona turned. Step by step, she walked toward the gate, her vision blurred, her chest aching with every heartbeat. She didn't look back, because if she did, she'd never leave.
As she crossed into the terminal, the world of Australia—her friends, her mother, her home—faded behind her.
Ahead waited Italy.
°°°°°°°•••••••°°°°°°°•••••••°°°°°°°•••••••°°°°°°°
THE MORALES
The Morales estate wasn't a home—it was a monument. Marble stairs swept up toward massive carved oak doors, guarded by stone lions and glowing lanterns. Windows shimmered with golden light, spilling warmth across the courtyard fountain where crystal water leapt and danced.
Her white sundress felt out of place, almost laughable, against the wealth that dripped from every polished surface. She clutched her small bag tighter, her braid slipping forward over her shoulder.
The doors opened.
Viktor Morales stepped out first, tall and commanding in his steel-gray suit. The years had sharpened him, carved lines into his face, but his presence was undeniable. His dark eyes softened when they landed on her.
"Arizona," he said, his voice deep, carrying both weight and warmth. "Finally… you are here."
Her throat tightened. She hadn't expected tears, but they burned at her eyes anyway. "Dad…" she whispered.
Before she could reach him, another figure appeared. Isabella.
Her stepmother was elegance itself—emerald silk hugging her figure, diamonds glittering at her throat. Black hair spilled like silk down her back, and her green eyes sparkled as they studied Arizona. Her smile was flawless, polite, but too perfect to be comforting.
"Welcome, Arizona," Isabella said smoothly, her accent curling over every word. "We have been waiting for this day."
Arizona nodded quickly, offering a timid smile. Her heart thundered.
A small hand tugged at Isabella's gown. A little girl peeked out from behind her mother's figure—Ria, with wide brown eyes and perfect curls. She stared at Arizona with open curiosity, then offered the smallest, shyest smile.
Arizona's lips trembled into one of her own. Maybe here, in this little sister, she'd find something real.
But then, the air shifted. Heavy footsteps echoed from the doorway.
Two young men emerged, taller, older, their presence so thick it stole Arizona's breath.
The first was Drago. Dark hair slicked back, shirt half-unbuttoned to reveal a chest etched with ink. A slow, arrogant smirk tugged his lips as his eyes swept shamelessly over Arizona—down her braid, her dress, her legs. It wasn't a glance. It was a claim.
The second was Gavin. Leaner, his swagger reckless. A cigarette dangled from his fingers, smoke curling around his sharp jawline. His grin was wolfish, indecent, his gaze lingering on her just a little too long. His belt hung loose, his shirt untucked, as though respect and rules were beneath him.
Arizona's face burned under their stares. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag, wishing she could disappear.
These weren't just brothers. These were strangers with eyes that saw too much, took too much.
Viktor's hand pressed lightly to her back, guiding her forward. "Come, Arizona," he said firmly. "You are home now."
Home.
Yet as Drago's smirk deepened and Gavin exhaled smoke in her direction, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just stepped into a den of wolves.
Arizona followed the sound of light footsteps up the marble staircase, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor. Ria bounced just ahead of her, her curls bobbing, her hand clutching the railing.
"You'll like it," the Ria said, glancing back with a smile. "M had it made ready for you."
Arizona forced a smile and nodded. "Thank you, Ria."
They turned down a long hallway where chandeliers glittered overhead, their light bouncing off the cream-colored walls lined with oil paintings of people Arizona didn't recognize. Men with hard eyes, women in gowns dripping with jewels — ancestors, she guessed. This house carried history, wealth, power… things she had never touched before.
At the far end, Ria stopped in front of double doors painted pale pink with golden handles. She pushed them open with effort and slipped inside.
Arizona froze.
The room was enormous — bigger than her entire living room back in Australia. The walls were painted blush pink, trimmed in white molding. A chandelier of delicate glass roses hung from the ceiling, spilling warm light over a canopy bed draped in sheer fabric the color of cotton candy. White furniture gleamed — a wardrobe, a vanity with a tall oval mirror, a desk by the window.
The curtains were lace, tied neatly back to reveal the balcony doors that opened onto the gardens below. Even the carpet was soft, a pale rose that muffled her footsteps.
It was… beautiful.
But also suffocating.
Arizona's bag felt embarrassingly small as she set it on the bed, surrounded by silk pillows embroidered with gold thread. She brushed her hand over the fabric — too soft, too perfect.
Ria climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged, watching her with curious eyes. "Do you like it?"
Arizona hesitated, then nodded. "It's… it's beautiful. Really beautiful."
Ria grinned proudly. "mom said pink is perfect for you. Because you're the new princess here."
Arizona's smile faltered. Princess. The word felt wrong, like a title she hadn't earned. She turned toward the mirror instead, catching her own reflection.
Her braid looked messy now, strands falling loose around her flushed face. Her sundress was wrinkled from the plane. She looked like a girl who didn't belong in this fairytale-pink palace.
She swallowed hard. "Thank you for showing me, Ria."
Her grin widened, innocent and sweet — the only thing tonight that had felt genuine.
But when Arizona glanced at the open door, she caught a glimpse of a shadow lingering in the hall. A tall frame. A curl of smoke.
Her chest tightened. Gavin.
Watching.
She quickly looked away, her hands trembling as she drew the curtains shut.
This was her room. Her space. Her sanctuary.
And yet, even here, she didn't feel safe.
.
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.
.
.
.
Arizona had just finished running her hands over the soft pink sheets when a knock rapped lightly against her door. She froze.
Before she could answer, the door pushed open and Drago leaned against the frame. His shirt was still unbuttoned halfway, his smirk lazy but sharp, as if he was testing her.
"So this is our new little sister," he drawled, his Italian accent curling over the words. His gaze swept the room, then landed on her—lingering too long, too slow. "Papa's hidden treasure."
Arizona stiffened. "I—I'm not—"
But another shadow filled the doorway before she could finish. Gavin slipped in, smoke trailing from the cigarette pinched between his fingers. He let it dangle by his side as his grin deepened, wolfish, dangerous.
"Treasure?" he echoed, his voice low and taunting. "No… she looks more like temptation to me."
Arizona's cheeks burned hot. She took a step back, clutching the strap of her bag. "Don't—don't talk like that. I'm your—"
"Step," Gavin cut in, his smile widening. "Not blood. Just… step." He tapped ash onto the carpet as if daring her to protest. "That makes things interesting, doesn't it?"
Drago's chuckle filled the room, smooth and menacing. He moved a step closer, his eyes drinking in her discomfort. "Relax, sorellina. We're only welcoming you." His voice dipped lower, like a secret. "You'll learn quick that in this house, nothing is ever as innocent as it looks."
Arizona's breath caught. Her heart thundered painfully in her chest as both of them lingered there, their words dripping with something she didn't want to name.
And then, as casually as they'd come, Gavin exhaled smoke and turned toward the hall. "Dinner in ten," he said, tossing her one last hungry glance.
Drago smirked, lips curling into something dangerous. "Try not to get lost, little sister."
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Arizona trembling in the candy-pink room that suddenly felt more like a gilded cage.
TBC ✍️✍️✍️✍️