"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god." "I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him. "That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion "Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you." "You'd probably burn." 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. He's a prick. An asshole. A pretentious son of a bitch. He's not perfect. He's not even decent. But he's hers. She could be a bottle labeled poison but he was an alcoholic, and he had drunk her empty. Now he was hungover. 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She's known to be the perfect good girl, with perfect grades and a perfect life with a perfect family. They didn't know that behind the gated doors of their billion dollar estate, she was strapped down to a chair every night and picked apart just to be put back together in time for supper. 𓆩♡𓆪 star-crossed; adjective (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. 'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were. So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart. 𓆩♡𓆪 ‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARN

Aubrey Wilson has the heart of an angel. As the type of person to always trust in others, she's admirable to peers. A total darling, but with a sadness that encases her heart. Anyone could shrink down in fright at the receiving end of Luke Taylor's infamous glare. Tall, muscular, dark-haired, and handsome, he's no stranger on or off the field. Not a kind stranger either. A total brooding asshole, but with a sadness that encases his heart. --- "You didn't have to hit him or anything," I lie my head on his broad, strong shoulder. "He shouldn't have touched you like that," he tucks a curl behind my ear. ~Strong Language~ ~Mild Violence~

"How do you say idiot in Italian?" "Bell'uomo." [ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛] "You're a bell'uomo." .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. Isabelle Ariti just needed someone to talk to, and Leonardo Rossi happened to be there. He was her escape and she was his. Her obsession with sunglasses and constant talking went well with his quite behavior and glares he sent to everyone else. They weren't a likely match but somehow they understood each other more than anyone else could. He was rude and blunt to everyone; everyone but her. She was extroverted and bold to all; especially him. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. Isabelle Ariti just wanted waffles and to meet someone new. She didn't expect to spark the mafias dons right hand mans interest. Leonardo Rossi just wanted to be alone and have coffee. He wasn't expecting the talkative girl that didn't know what a filter was to rope him in with her unexpected comments. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. "Do you love me?" "Endlessly." .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. The chapters get better as the story goes on/theres character development Words: 137,631k .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.