The Mafia's Daughter

The Mafia's Daughter

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing9m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Apr 5, 2021
After that incident 10 years ago, she completely changed into a cold person. She blamed her father that day for being a mafia that caused her mother's death. She lived independently and now 23, she became successful and built her own company. He was there when she was grieving and became her temporary bestfriend until she went to States. When she returned after 10 years, he decided to be the one by her side and protect her. Being a mafia's daughter, her safety is always at risk especially when an unexpected person has been stalking and threatening her life. Will she be able to escape these dangers and will he able to protect her? Will she be able to remember him and bring back the relationship they had 10 years ago or it will develop into a "more than bestfriend" relationship? ********** 03/30/2021 Veil_sht :>
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Pyro

Let me tell you my story, the one about how I died. Don't worry, though. I came back. They say when someone shares their story, they're sharing their burden. Seeking someone to help carry the weight that bends their shoulders, hoping their troubles will float away like helium balloons into the endless sky. Your silence becomes their sanctuary, a vacuum they fill with dust-covered memories. If you speak, do it gently - a nod, a smile, the ghost of a touch on their shoulder. But my story? It's different. It carved its path because trust becomes a luxury I could no longer afford. How could it not, when the one person who swore to never betray me did exactly that? The one who promised never to hurt me, broke me. The one who vowed to stay, walked away. So tell me, why trust anyone else when the person I trusted the most killed me in every way but physical? Until they managed that too. They say the most dangerous predators are the ones who look like prey. I learned this truth through split knuckles and shattered promises, through blood on my tongue and threats whispered against skin. Through playing weak while gathering my strength in darkness. Now I watch him, this self-proclaimed hunter in his own game. He doesn't see he's just another piece being moved across someone else's board. The mafia's golden prince, they whisper. If only they knew what lurks beneath that polished veneer. What dances behind those eyes that mirror the shadows I know so well. But shadows? They're born from fire. And somewhere out there, someone's striking matches, leaving black roses on cooling ashes, drawing closer with every corpse that falls. They call him Pyro. And when that name drops in a room. Well, let's just say I'm not the only one with secrets worth killing for. Some demons wear designer suits. Some victims wear crowns. And some fires are worth burning for. Welcome to the game. Trust no one. Not even me.

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