You can read this as a standalone story! Sartori #2 "I abused Diablos..." Diablos, the third-born boss of the Sartorian Mafia, was a man who could not be tamed due to his uncontrollable anger. He had to drink the bitter medicines prescribed by the family doctor to keep himself restrained. Never did he imagine that he would taste the sweetest sensation from a woman's skin, far better than bitterness. That taste became the only thing that kept him under control during his fits of rage. But because of his obsession with it, his kindness was taken advantage of.

You can read this as a standalone story! Sartori #1 "Damien... got addicted to me." Damien, the youngest boss of the Sartorian Mafia, was a man who could not be calmed. Illegal drugs were his way of coping with his anger, until he discovered a strange aroma. He never expected to experience true euphoria from a woman's natural scent, something far more intoxicating than the effects of the drugs he once relied on. . . . WARNING: This story is unedited! All chapters are in their first drafts! Thank you!

Guen is a hard-headed girl who always disobey her parents. She likes boys. She's a troubled girl and many doesn't want her... But things got changed when she was forcely enrolled by her father in a university exclusively for girls. An all-girls school. She gets mad and wants to prove her father wrong by dating all the girls in the school.

Guns are symbols of violence, power, protection, and control. They are cold, mechanical, built to cause damage - not to feel. But what if something so unfeeling, so built for war, could weep? In love, this could represent a person - perhaps someone who has shut down, armored themselves with emotional steel, someone who's been through battles, losses, betrayals. Someone who believes they no longer feel, or that love is weakness. They've become a weapon - for survival, for others, or even against themselves. But then love comes - real love - and it softens the trigger. It reaches past the gunmetal exterior and finds the trembling hands behind the weapon. And suddenly, the impossible happens: The gun cries. It weeps for what it has lost, what it has destroyed, and for all it wanted to protect but failed to. It weeps because it remembers how to feel.