𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚: 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧
"I can't stand you," I whispered, even though it sounded less like hate and more like I was trying to convince myself. I pulled the blanket up to my chin and shifted as far away as the narrow bed would let me.
His arms came around my waist from behind, steady and infuriatingly patient, pulling me back until I was flush against his chest.
"Let go of me Enzo," I muttered, but it came out breathless, traitorous.
He chuckled low against my hair, the sound vibrating through me.
"Not a chance, tesoro. You fight less when you're mad. It's cute."
"Cute?" I hissed, twisting in his hold just enough to glare at him over my shoulder. "I'm going to push you out of this bed."
"Mm, try." His hand found my nipple, thumb brushing slow, absent circles over the fabric like he was memorizing the shape of it. Then he whispered. "But you won't. Because even when you hate me, you don't sleep unless I'm holding you."
"That's a lie."
"Prove it." His voice dropped, softer now, almost careful. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with that infuriating gentleness. "Sleep, tesoro. Fight me in the morning."
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Andrea was discarded by the Spanish Mafia before she could even say her name. raped, cursed, unwanted. Her family taught her that love was a lie, so she became their worst nightmare a ghost, a secret assassin hiding in plain sight.
Lorenzo was born for blood. Son of the Italian Mafia and heir to become the next Don, he's been trained his entire life by his father to rule, to kill, to never show weakness. There's only one problem: he can't take the throne without a wife.
So they forced him to marry her.
She's the daughter of a crumbling Spanish Mafia family. He's the ruthless heir who needs her name to claim his power. Two enemies chained together by a contract neither of them wanted.
He doesn't know she's trained to kill men like him.
And she doesn't know that seeing him again might break the walls she built