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āļžāļĩ āļˆāļĩ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• @𝟐𝟐𝐗𝐆 āļ”āļēāļ§āļ™āđŒāđ‚āļŦāļĨāļ” PG Slot āđ€āļ§āļ­āļĢāđŒāļŠāļąāđˆāļ™āļĨāđˆāļēāļŠāļļāļ” āļžāļĩāđˆ āļˆāļĩ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ§āļ­ āļĨ āđ€āļĨāđ‡ āļ•
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👈ðŸŧ āļĨāļīāļ‡āļ„āđŒāļ—āļēāļ‡āđ€āļ‚āđ‰āļē āļ—āļĩāđˆāļŦāļ™āđ‰āļēāđ‚āļ›āļĢāđ„āļŸāļĨāđŒ 👈ðŸŧ
ðŸ“ąâ€‹ 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 : @𝟐𝟐𝐗𝐆 (āļĄāļĩ @ āļ”āđ‰āļ§āļĒāļ™āļ°) ⭐ïļ

āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡āđ€āļĨāđˆāļ™āļŸāļĢāļĩ 100 āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āđ„āļĄāđˆāļĄāļĩ āļĒāļđ āļŠ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡āļ„āđ‰āļēāļĒpg āđ€āļ§āđ‡āļš āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĒāļīāļ‡ āļ›āļĨāļē āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĢāļąāļš āļ§āļ­ āļĨ āđ€āļĨāļ— āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĢāļ­āļĒāļąāļĨ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĢāļĩ āđāļĨ āļ„ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĢāļąāļš āļ§āļ­ āđ€āļĨāļ— āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļĢāļ– āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ 10 āļĢāļąāļš 100 āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡āļ—āļĢāļđāļĄāļąāļ™āļ™āļĩāđˆ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļšāļē āļ„āļē āļĢāđˆāļē āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āđ€āļ§āđ‡āļšāļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āđ€āļ§āđ‡āļšāļ•āļĢāļ‡ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āđ€āļ§āđ‡āļšāļ•āļĢāļ‡ āļŠāļĄāļąāļ„āļĢāļŸāļĢāļĩ āđ„āļ”āđ‚āļ™āđ€āļŠāļēāļĢāđŒ āļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āđ€āļ§āđ‡āļšāļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āđ€āļ§āđ‡āļšāļ•āļĢāļ‡ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āđ€āļ§āđ‡āļšāļ•āļĢāļ‡ āļŠāļĄāļąāļ„āļĢāļŸāļĢāļĩ āđ„āļ”āđ‚āļ™āđ€āļŠāļēāļĢāđŒ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĨāđˆāļēāļŠāļļāļ” āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡āļĨāļīāļ‡ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĨāļ·āđˆāļ™ āđ† āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ„ āļĒāļđ āļŠ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļĨāļēāļ§ āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āđ‚āļ™ āļĨāļī āļĄāļīāļ• āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āđ€āļāļĄ āļĨāļīāļ‡ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļ§āļ­āđ€āļĨāļ— āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ•āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļ§āļąāļ§ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļ§āļąāļ§ āđ‚āļ”āļ” āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļ§āļ­ āļĨ āđ€āļĨāđ‡ āļ• āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļ§āļēāļĒ āļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ„ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļ§āļąāļ§ āļ—āļ­āļ‡ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āđ„āļāđˆ āļ§āļīāđˆāļ‡ āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āđ€āļĨāđˆāļ™ āļ§āļ­ āđ€āļĨāļ— āļŠāļĨāđ‡āļ­āļ• āļ—āļ”āļĨāļ­āļ‡ āļĄāļĩ āļ§āļ­ āđ€āļĨāļ— āļ§āļ­āđ€āļĨāļ—
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Property Of Vittore Martinelli ✓ by NVMelissa13
89 parts Complete
When she was 14, Dalia was sold to Matteo Martinelli, the former leader of the largest Italian mafia. Flash forward with his son, Vittore Martinelli as the new leader, Dalia is given to him as a birthday present after years in spent in the "safe house". Dalia struggles to fulfill a promise she made and get her old self back as Vittore tries not to fall for the black beauty. Will they go through all the lies, jealousy, betrayal, envy, lust and murder together all in the name of love? Because at the end of it all, she is still Property Of Vittore Martinelli. * * * "Lift your hand," I said looking at how he held onto his bicep with a tight grip. "Let me take a look at the bullet wound." "No tesoro. I can do this myself," Vittore grumbled and I gave him incredulous look. "Don't start that bullshit with me Vittore. Remove your arm and let me help you or..." I trailed off, not able to say more. I was still in shock but I could do this. "Just... just let me help." "No." I glared at Vittore. "Why are you being so damn egotistic?! Let me help you! Do you know what it was like to find you like... and to..." I couldn't even get all the words out. "Let me help you. Please." Begging wasn't something I'd ever do but I just needed him to let me help him. "No-" "Why?!" I suddenly exploded. "Why won't you just let me help you?!" "Because I don't know how to handle it ok?!" Vittore suddenly exploded, his dark eyes glaring at me. "I don't know how to handle these... feelings. Fuck tesoro you drive me crazy! Don't you see that? You make me question everything I've ever known and... I can't..." I watched Vittore as his expression turned determined. "Fuck it." He leaned forward and pressed his lips on mine. * * * WARNING! Mentions of death, torture, gore, abuse and other things related to the mafia.
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Property Of Vittore Martinelli ✓

89 parts Complete

When she was 14, Dalia was sold to Matteo Martinelli, the former leader of the largest Italian mafia. Flash forward with his son, Vittore Martinelli as the new leader, Dalia is given to him as a birthday present after years in spent in the "safe house". Dalia struggles to fulfill a promise she made and get her old self back as Vittore tries not to fall for the black beauty. Will they go through all the lies, jealousy, betrayal, envy, lust and murder together all in the name of love? Because at the end of it all, she is still Property Of Vittore Martinelli. * * * "Lift your hand," I said looking at how he held onto his bicep with a tight grip. "Let me take a look at the bullet wound." "No tesoro. I can do this myself," Vittore grumbled and I gave him incredulous look. "Don't start that bullshit with me Vittore. Remove your arm and let me help you or..." I trailed off, not able to say more. I was still in shock but I could do this. "Just... just let me help." "No." I glared at Vittore. "Why are you being so damn egotistic?! Let me help you! Do you know what it was like to find you like... and to..." I couldn't even get all the words out. "Let me help you. Please." Begging wasn't something I'd ever do but I just needed him to let me help him. "No-" "Why?!" I suddenly exploded. "Why won't you just let me help you?!" "Because I don't know how to handle it ok?!" Vittore suddenly exploded, his dark eyes glaring at me. "I don't know how to handle these... feelings. Fuck tesoro you drive me crazy! Don't you see that? You make me question everything I've ever known and... I can't..." I watched Vittore as his expression turned determined. "Fuck it." He leaned forward and pressed his lips on mine. * * * WARNING! Mentions of death, torture, gore, abuse and other things related to the mafia.