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Story cover for The Mafia Princess's Stalker by billyjoels28

The Mafia Princess's Stalker

Reads 121
Votes 13
Parts 12
Time 47m

Reads 121
Votes 13
Parts 12
Time 47m

Mature

Being a stalker came with its dangers in itself, but stalking the Italian mafia's princess? It was a task that could easily be rewarded with death. 

A deadly obsession. 
A just as powerful stalker. 


How will Maria deal with the rival mafias son being completely, utterly and irrevocably obsessed with her? 

                                 .  .  . 
MARIA BIANCHI 
age 19 
Protected and sheltered her whole life, by not just her overprotective parents but also her 3 older brothers.

She always had a loving childhood but never the freedom to go out and explore. 

Homeschooled her whole life, she never got the chance to make many friends but her one best friend Isabella. 

Her mom's best friends daughter. 

What will she do when one day, when she is finally allowed to leave her house for a few hours she catches the eye of the worst man possible?

The sole male heir to the rival mafia. 

The Russian mafia. 

ALEKSANDER PETROV 
age 23 

One of the only two children of the Russian Don. 

He was raised lovingly but he never got the same care as his younger sister. 

He never resented her for it but grew to hate his father. 

The Russian Don. Feared by not just the citizens but also the government. 

Aleksander was known to be cold and heartless. 

He cared about no one and had no weak spot. Not even his dead mother who died giving birth to him. 

He was raised to be a don. He was never taught love, or kindness. Only cruelty and hate. 

So when he sees a brunette girl eating ice cream and feeding the ducks his heart doesnt know how to behave. 

And he does the only thing he's ever been taught. 

He fixates.

(NONE OF THE PICTURES ARE MINE THEY ARE ALL FROM PINTEREST)All Rights Reserved

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12 parts

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Slide 1 of 10

Beneath His Pen cover

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Their Angel cover

Twenty/Twenty cover

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Beneath His Pen

Somewhere between longing and lunacy, he found her. Not in a dream. Not in a poem. But in the corner of a café, alone with a book and the kind of silence only broken souls understand. She didn't look at him. Not even once. And maybe that's why his fingers trembled around the pen for the first time in years. Lyra Selena. He didn't know her name yet. But he would. Oh, he would. Because Lucien Vale didn't write for the world anymore. He wrote for her. About her. To her. And if the ink bled too deep-if obsession laced the edges of every verse- then so be it. The world called him a genius. She would call him something else entirely. --- "Tell me, little muse ..." "Will you run before the story ends?" ---