𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐧.
ꙬꙬꙬꙬ
All that Yara Morello was told all her life was that she was the shame of the family. She was a mistake that was never supposed to happen, a disgrace to be shunned and cast...
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There were two things I never derailed from.
Always stay armed, even in my own house, and always triple the punishment for anyone bold enough to cross me.
Federico Morello was very close to crossing the line for me. The attack seemed too convenient, possibly staged for his benefit.
Staging an attack in public was the perfect way to push his daughter into my space. I had anticipated he'd pull a stunt after I told him I'd rather have the wedding take place in a month instead of two weeks.
I might have underestimated that sneaky bastard for a moment. I knew he was behind this the moment his guards killed the very last assailant.
With no one left to torture and question, he sealed off every loophole that could lead back to him. He's a smart man, I'll give him that, but everyone leaves a trace, no matter how good they are at covering their tracks. Putting a bullet in his head would be much better than dealing with this fucking mess.
Unfortunately for me, he had my father wrapped around his greasy fingers. Things between my father and me were already strained; if I killed him, my mother would not be too pleased with me.
"We got all of her stuff, sir," Antonio, my senior guard, reported as he approached me.
I'd left quickly after Federico told me that his daughter would be staying with me for her safety. I didn't bother sticking around to see the look on her pretty face when she learned she'd be dispatched to spy on me sooner than expected. If I had stayed one more second in that godforsaken house, I'd have fucking shot somebody.
Preferably Federico.
"I need someone to monitor Federico's every move. I want every single detail reported back to me, even if he so much as coughs or sneezes," I ordered him.
"Yes sir." He nods.
I narrowed my eyes and looked behind him, seeing no sign of her. "Where is she?"
The memory of how soft and perfect her body felt in my arms was burned into my mind. The desire that coiled in my gut at the thought of her bothered me. It made me heated, and fuck, I hated it.
He glanced at his phone for a moment. "Luca is on his way with her."
I raised an eyebrow. "Last I checked, my fiancée could walk on her own."
"According to Luca, she downed a whole bottle of vodka with Jolina, so she's completely wasted," he said, meeting my gaze.
I leaned against the hood of my car, feeling my interest piqued at the mention of my fiancée being drunk. She always looked and acted like a stuck-up prude who'd do anything and everything her father asked. Getting drunk on her engagement party day wasn't exactly something a daddy's girl would do.
My eyes zeroed in on Luca and what was supposed to be my fiancée, dressed like a cheap hooker. His hand was wrapped around her waist, and she was slumped against him in a tight black leather dress that barely covered her ass.
