Chapter one



Dylan DiMaggio

Age- 22

Height- 6 feet

Parents- mom dead, dad- Angelo DiMaggio



Hunter Hendrix

Age- 29

Height- 6'4

Mafia leader of Hendrix group

Parents- dead

Francesco Fiorello

Age- 30

Height- 6'5

Parents - dead

Head of Fiorello group (Mafia)



Eda Blanco

Age- 24

Mafia princess

Francesco's fiance

WARNING

This is a fantasy, gay, dark romance story and kindly try not to relate things in this story with real life.

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Dylan's pov

The first thing I felt was cold silk against my skin. I woke up naked, as always, sex toys scattered across the bed like silent witnesses. Hunter never let me sleep fully dressed — though we had never gone all the way. That was my choice.

Everyone has their own perspective about sex. I have mine. I won’t give myself to anyone before marriage.

And that’s exactly why Hunter is so desperate for my father’s death. Sometimes I even wonder if he’s planning it. We’ve never had sex, but I can tell — Hunter is a beast. When it happens, I’ll probably be unable to walk for a week.

The waterbed shifted beneath me as I stood, wrapping myself in a silk bathrobe. The air in my room smelled faintly of roses — fresh arrangements delivered daily — and the faint hum of the central fountain in the hall reached my ears.

A knock came at the heavy mahogany door. Breakfast time — the butler.

I opened it to see him standing stiffly, silver tray in hand. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, as always. But as I reached for the plate, my foot slipped on the glossy marble. I shut my eyes, bracing for the impact — only to feel strong hands catch me.

I opened them slowly to see the butler’s pale, startled face.

“Who the fuck dared to touch what’s mine?!”

The voice behind me made my blood run cold.

Hunter’s footsteps were like gunshots against the marble as he approached. The butler froze. My heart dropped. What is he doing here?

Hunter’s tall frame filled the doorway, his tailored black suit as sharp as his glare. He grabbed the butler by the throat, lifting him effortlessly.

“With whose permission did you touch him?”

“I–I’m s-sorry,” the butler stammered, choking.

“It’s not what you think!” I blurted. “I slipped, and he just—”

Hunter’s ice-cold stare silenced me instantly.

“You’d better not say another word. David! Take him to the basement.”

David, his right-hand man, stepped out of the shadows and dragged the struggling butler away.

Hunter seized my wrist, shoving me back into the room before slamming the door with a sound that echoed off the high ceilings.

I stepped back as he stripped off his coat, rolling up his sleeves slowly, like a predator drawing out the kill.

“Tell me, Dylan… am I not enough for you? Is that why you’re trying to get fucked by the butler?”

“It’s not like that! I really—”

“You were clearly seducing him. Look at you — half your chest and legs on display.”

My calves hit the edge of the bed and I fell back into the soft mattress. Hunter loomed over me, pinning my wrists above my head. In one sharp motion, he pulled open my bathrobe and crushed his lips to mine, stealing my breath.

“You’re only allowed to look at me. Every part of you belongs to me,” he growled into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “From today onwards, you’ll only eat with me.”

His teeth and lips marked my skin — harsh bites, lingering sucks — each one a reminder of his ownership.

An hour later, David’s call for work pulled him away.

I showered, then sat by the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the estate stretched endlessly — manicured gardens, marble fountains, and armed guards patrolling the gates. Beyond that, I could see nothing of the world I longed for.

My life was luxurious — a grand piano, polished violins, a library of first editions, private theaters and gaming rooms. My room was a palace.

But I wanted more. I wanted friends. I wanted to feel sunlight on my face, wind across my chest, grass beneath my feet. I wanted freedom.

At some point, I drifted off to sleep.

A shotgun blast jolted me awake. Through the window, I saw bodyguards sprinting toward the sound. None remained below my balcony.

This is my chance.

I grabbed the rope and bag I’d been hiding for months — cash, just enough to disappear. I tossed the rope over the edge and slid into the cool night air, landing softly on the grass before running until the mansion vanished from sight.

I boarded a bus with my cap low, mask on, and bare feet. No one looked twice. I bought my ticket, retreating to a seat by the window.

The city beyond Hunter’s walls was alive — neon signs glowing, strangers laughing, the smell of roasted chestnuts and gasoline mixing in the air. The wind through the window felt like freedom itself.

I didn’t notice the final stop until the conductor tapped me.

“End of the line.”

The street I stepped onto was the opposite of the last — dark, silent, and cold. A flickering streetlamp buzzed above me.

Then I saw the sign. Fiorello territory.

A sleek black Porsche idled at the corner. Beside it, a tall man in a long coat smoked lazily, each drag of his cigarette sending smoke curling into the night air. His bodyguards stood like statues.

Francesco Fiorello.

“He won’t recognize me,” I told myself.

Then he flicked the cigarette away and started toward me.

I ran.

“Wait!” His voice cut through the night.

I ran faster.

“Wait!” Again, closer now.

I’m dead.

Suddenly, my feet left the ground. He’d lifted me effortlessly. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the worst — and landed on something soft.

I looked down. Shoes — his shoes — now covered my feet. His coat draped over my shoulders, its scent rich and unfamiliar.

“Mr. Dylan DiMaggio,” a calm voice said. “Let me take you home.”

Francesco was already walking to the car. One of his men stood waiting.

Confusion tangled in my chest. Why would he help me? Why give me his coat and shoes?

“Follow me,” the man said.

And I did.

The ride was silent — except for the pounding in my head.

When we pulled into the driveway, Hunter was already there, stalking toward us like a storm.

“How does he know I’m coming?” I muttered.

He ripped the coat from my shoulders without a word, leaving the shoes behind, and carried me inside.

In the bedroom, he threw me onto the waterbed.

“Why, Dylan? Why?” His voice was low, trembling with restrained fury.

“You didn’t want sex before marriage, so I’ve been holding back. I’ve done everything for you — and still you ran.”

He loomed over me.

“Why don’t you admit it? You’re only safe with me.”

He tore my shirt open, lips crushing mine in a kiss that stole the air from my lungs.

“Mmh—” I gasped before he gripped my face hard.

“You can never escape me, Dylan. You were always mine. The day we get married… I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t even think about another man.”

His mouth marked my chest.

“Tell me, Dylan… who do you belong to?”

“You,” I whispered.

“And who’s in your heart?”

“You,” I repeated.

A dangerous smile curved his lips before he kissed me again — deep, consuming.

But inside, my heart whispered:

You were in my heart the whole time… and now you’ve destroyed it.

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