CHAPTER 1 (1)
==== Four years ago, on a bone-chilling day in Port Diavoli, I found myself in the backseat of a sleek Bentley. Gideon Thompson, a man with dyed black hair and a greasy mustache, patted my knee. Every year, his touch crept higher, but this time, I wouldn't let him get away with it. I flashed him a sickly sweet smile as I firmly removed his hand and placed it back in his lap. Unlike most of my family, who believed their name alone could shield them from death, I had inherited my mother's cautious nature. She had met a tragic end, hanging herself from Inverno Bridge eight years ago, leaving behind nothing but tainted memories. As I sat in the car, my bodyguard Vincent glanced at Thompson from the passenger seat, shooting him a powerful glare. My uncle, oblivious to the silent confrontation, neglected to fasten his own seatbelt. Vincent, however, always had my back. He gave me a nod, assuring me of his support, and a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Vincent was the only guard I trusted, towering over me like a beast and possessing a marksmanship that could rival any sharpshooter. I had once begged him to teach me, but he always refused, citing my father's disapproval. Speaking of my father, he was no ordinary man. He was a mob boss, the ruler of Port Diavoli, and by extension, my life. My name was tattooed across his chest, encircled by barbed wire—a permanent reminder of my entrapment. Despite my love for him, the control he exerted over me was suffocating. Tonight, I was being dragged to a gala, where my father intended to coerce new business owners into signing away a portion of their companies. It was all a facade of glamour and excess, but in reality, it was a veiled threat. With rivals constantly seeking to undermine us, my father wanted leverage over everyone, preventing them from siding with the Wood family. To me, it was all tedious and dull, but my role was to smile and look pretty—a relic of a bygone era. However, my father's traditional mindset had its limitations. He failed to restrict my access to Netflix, and I relished in the small rebellion. Pinterest was the only social media platform I was allowed, while Instagram and Snapchat remained forbidden fruits. But amidst the suffocating control, I clung to one truth—I would soon escape this life. My father had decided to send me to study in Italy, and in just two weeks, I would be free. Vincent and the rest of my security detail would accompany me, but distance alone would weaken my father's hold over me. Adjusting my silver dress to cover my knees, I felt Thompson's gaze lingering on me. He was an outsider, married into the family, and I couldn't help but pity my aunt for his company. Not that she was much better. Her obsession with Botox and calorie counting left little room for genuine enjoyment. "The road's closed," our driver murmured, glancing at Vincent for guidance. Vincent's lips tightened, his posture rigid. Sometimes, he seemed as unyielding as stone, bending only at the hip. "Find another route," he instructed, pointing towards the diversion sign. The driver veered down a dimly lit road, where towering buildings loomed on either side, casting shadows into the alleys that separated them. Flashing lights from the trailing car full of bodyguards signaled their presence. My father's protectiveness knew no bounds. Did I truly need eight people accompanying me to a simple gala? Vincent's phone buzzed, and he sighed heavily before answering. Eddie's voice, as predictable as ever, bellowed through the line in a torrent of Italian. I rarely spoke the language unless my father insisted, viewing it as yet another means of control. After all, we lived in America, so English was the only language that mattered. "What do you want me to do, huh?" Vincent hissed, silencing Eddie. "There's no other way around. We're almost through-" A deafening crash shattered the air, and suddenly, everything spun out of control. My stomach churned as the car flipped, my world turned upside down—quite literally. Screams escaped my lips as my phone flew from my hand, striking the roof before smacking me in the face. Thompson's foot collided with my gut, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood as someone's limb crashed into my mouth. Adrenaline surged through my veins, drowning out the screech of metal against concrete. Finally, the car came to a halt, and I found myself hanging upside down, panting heavily. Thompson's lifeless eyes stared up at me, blood dripping from my nose onto his face. Another scream threatened to escape, but Vincent's commanding voice cut through the chaos, urging me to be quiet. I forced myself to obey, but inside, a storm raged.
CHAPTER 1 (2)
The rat-tat-tat of several gunshots cut the air apart and I fell entirely still. The rapid fire of gunshots shattered the silence, and in that instant, my entire being froze. Fear gripped my heart like icy tendrils as Vincent, my most trusted bodyguard, fought to reach me from the front seat. Smoke enveloped us, seeping into my nostrils, and my heart plummeted into a void of despair. But he couldn't reach me; the twisted metal of the roof prevented his massive shoulders from squeezing through the narrow gap. A surge of panic surged through my veins as I desperately pressed the seatbelt release button, but it remained stubbornly locked. My voice quivered violently as I stammered, "I can't get out," locking eyes with Vincent. My gaze shifted to the shattered windscreen, the gaping hole, the blood, and the empty driver's seat. "Stay calm," Vincent said, his voice too serene, as if there were no reason to panic. He leaned forward, wincing in pain from his broken arm, attempting to reach me through the front seats. A boot crunched on broken glass outside, and we both held our breath. Vincent twisted around, drawing his gun, but a thunderous blast silenced the world as a bullet struck him squarely in the chest. He jerked and fell motionless, and I fought back a scream threatening to escape my lips. "Check if they're all dead, Walter," a chilling voice echoed, and the footsteps gradually faded away. "Finish off anyone who's still twitching." Stretching as far as I could, my fingers flailed for Vincent's gun. It was still within his grasp, almost within my reach. Suppressing a whimper of fear, I strained against the thickening smoke as my fingertips brushed against the weapon. With desperate determination, I wrestled it into my trembling hands. I knew I was doomed. Death loomed over me, but I refused to go down without a fight. I would take out as many of the bastards responsible for this as I could. I had never fired a gun before, but I would figure it out. I just needed a few precious seconds. Suddenly, my seatbelt released itself, and I tumbled from the seat with a gasp of horror, landing on Thompson's lifeless body with a muffled thud. Someone yanked forcefully on the door handle, but the twisted metal obstructed its full opening. Scrambling to my feet, I raised the gun, my hands trembling violently, finger poised on the trigger. As the intruder wrenched the door open, I fell backward, my backside hitting the ground. My lungs held a breath as I aimed the gun, my hands shaking uncontrollably, my tongue tinged with the taste of blood. No flashes of my life played before my eyes, no bright light beckoned from a distant tunnel. All that occupied my thoughts was a single word: wasted. I had wasted my life. Sixteen short years in this world, and I had never truly lived. I waited for his face to come into view, ready to pull the trigger. These final moments would count. I would make him meet my gaze, show him the person who ended his life. Ava Jenkins. A girl who could have been someone if only she had stopped listening to the dictates of others. He crouched down, his gun raised, our eyes locked in a deadly stare.My finger twitched against the trigger, mirroring his own movement. In that split second, it should have been a fatal exchange. Yet, we both hesitated, locked in a tense standoff, our eyes fixed upon one another. There was something unspoken between us, but my mind failed to decipher its meaning. His eyes were like two pools of darkness, laced with silver specks. The stubble on his jaw matched the jet-black hair that swept over his head. His features were rugged, merciless, and undeniably captivating. His mouth formed a stern line, while the depths of his eyes held the promise of my demise. The worst part was that I knew exactly who he was - Walter Wood. The eldest son of Barrett Wood, the underworld kingpin and harbinger of terror. He was the inverse reflection of myself. A prince to an empire, only difference being that women were not meant to inherit. He was destined to follow in the footsteps of his ruthless father. A man who spilled the blood of our people on the streets, leaving behind a trail of fear. His family was the reason why Port Diavoli had earned the moniker "Sinners Bay." But as my final moments on this Earth approached, I refused to succumb to fear. Instead, I vowed to take down one of my most formidable enemies. "Il sole sorgerà domani," I hissed, our family's motto, while squeezing the trigger with determination. The sun will rise again. Click. Walter didn't even flinch; instead, a cold, deadly smirk crept across his face. "Safety catch, principessa. Didn't Jackson Jenkins teach his little girl how to protect herself?" he taunted, snatching the gun from my grasp. Horror consumed me as he effortlessly disarmed me. Refusing to surrender, I desperately searched for anything that could serve as a weapon. My fingers brushed against my phone, and with a surge of exertion, I slammed it against his temple. In an instant, his hand closed around my throat, forcing me down onto Thompson's lifeless body. I clawed at his arm, terror gripping my heart as he loomed over me. His sheer muscular strength pinned me beneath him, overwhelming me with panic. I was small, insignificant compared to this monstrous man. Without any means of defense, he subjected me to the same torment I had endured throughout my life - crushing me beneath his weight. I maintained unwavering eye contact with him, refusing to show any trace of fear, despite the frantic pounding in my chest. In that moment, I recalled my mother's final words to me, her only hint that she would choose her own demise: "Death is the truest freedom in the world, mio caro." "Sleep," Walter whispered, as darkness enveloped my vision, setting off alarm bells in my mind. I despised the cruel beauty of my killer, summoning the last bit of air in my lungs to curse him. Then, the devil himself plunged me into the deepest slumber I had ever known. And surely, it was death. ==== FOUR YEARS LATER I stood on the porch of the grand manor house that had been my childhood home, located on the outskirts of the city. The pristine white walls towered above me, while the pillars on either side exuded a newfound ostentation. Snowflakes gracefully descended upon the lawn, swirling and dancing in silence. The wind carried the distant calls of seagulls from the west dock on the bay, mingling with the cries of fishermen hauling in their morning catches. But those men were not just bringing in fish; they were also smuggling goods for my family.
CHAPTER 1 (3)
My little white Pomeranian, Jamie, was tucked under my arm as I stood there, hesitating. The driver placed my bags down outside the door and I dismissed him. I’d managed four years in Italy without a porter and I didn’t want to fall back into old habits. I might have had a whole crew sent with me to cater to my every need, but I’d wanted the real world experience. And as they were under my command and a thousand miles away from my father, I’d managed to get a bit more freedom than I’d hoped for. With my little white Pomeranian, Jamie, nestled under my arm, I found myself hesitating outside the door. The driver had already unloaded my bags, but I dismissed him. I had managed to navigate four years in Italy without a porter, and I didn't want to fall back into old habits. Despite having a crew at my beck and call, a thousand miles away from my father gave me some semblance of freedom. Now, for the first time in four years, I was back home. I hadn't looked back when I left this place, nor did I want to. It felt like returning to a prison, with the heavy shackles waiting to be put back on. Just yesterday, as the sun set on the balcony of my apartment, I had sobbed into the arms of my friends. Leaving them behind broke my heart. Deep down, I knew my father would eventually tighten his grip. I had what he wanted—a shiny classical degree, another gold badge to add to my collection. Still hesitating outside the door, I tried to delay the inevitable. I loved my father because he was family, but I couldn't say that I had missed him. Walking back into his life felt like willingly surrendering to his chains once more. Jamie licked my arm, wriggling to be set free. At least he wasn't afraid to be here, though he hadn't met my father yet. I had adopted the little pup from an animal shelter after volunteering there with a friend. He had been a constant companion ever since, and I was grateful to have one friend accompanying me home. Straightening my posture, lifting my chin, I held onto the words Marina had told me before I left Italy: "You are who you choose to be." So, I chose this: I am not a prisoner. I inserted my key into the lock, pushing the door wide open to reveal two bodyguards standing on either side. I greeted them, but they remained silent. I sighed, missing Vincent. Although he had driven the other car right up to my family's property to make sure I arrived safely, I had insisted he go home. The man hadn't slept in twenty-four hours, and with ten men guarding the gates, I wasn't exactly in danger once inside the Jenkins fortress. After the open-heart surgery he had undergone following the Wood attack, it was a miracle he still held his position. But deep down, I knew he felt guilty for what had happened that day. By staying, he was trying to make it up to me. I set Jamie down, and he scampered up the stairs and disappeared onto the balcony. "Just don't pee in papa's office, you little beast," I whispered playfully. "Papa?" I called out into the echoing silence as a servant rushed out to grab the rest of my bags. "I can handle it," I told the man, but he simply smiled and jogged upstairs with my carry-ons. I sighed. It seemed that I wouldn't be able to do anything for myself here. However, there was one thing I was determined to hold onto. During my time in Italy, I had developed a passion for cooking. I could create pasta from scratch, craft my own sauces and seasonings. But it was baking that had truly captured my heart—making pastries, cakes, sweet breads, and sugary treats. It was a passion I would have never discovered if I hadn't been given the freedom to explore. "Papa?" I tried again, making my way through the grand hallway with its dark wood floors and into the lounge. Two men sat by the fire, sharing a bottle of port on the coffee table. My heart quickened at the sight of them. One was my father, and the other was Paul Walker—the boy my father had adopted when I was just four years old. Paul had been the answer to all of my father's prayers, the son he had always wanted. We used to be inseparable, causing mischief in the house, teasing the guards, and spending our summers building camps in the woods and swimming in the lake. As Paul grew older, I saw less and less of him. My father had taken him under his wing, teaching him the "ways of the family" and spending more time with him than I ever received. It had caused resentment at times, but I had long forgotten those days of envy. These days, all I wanted was to distance myself from the family as much as possible. I didn't want to inherit; I wanted to be free. Papa stood, arms outstretched with a welcoming smile on his face. He had gained weight since I last saw him, and his once full head of hair was now entirely gray. The scent of smoke wafted from the cigars sitting in a dish on the table, wrinkling my nose. Paul also rose to his feet, turning to look at me, and my breath caught in my lungs. The boy I had spent my childhood with had transformed into a man. There was no trace of mischievousness or playfulness in his eyes, like all those times we had played games together in this very house. Paul had filled out, his boyish features replaced with a chiseled jaw and piercing eyes. His hair seemed darker, swept back stylishly, accentuating his sharp cheekbones. He had become my father's prodigy, a man capable of achieving what I was never allowed to—a rightful heir to the Jenkins empire. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as his gaze roamed over my attire. The leggings and sweater I wore were casual, perfect for a plane journey and completely appropriate for someone my age. But Papa's brows furrowed, and I could have sworn I heard a disapproving sound escape his lips. "Come, hug your old papa," my father beckoned, and I hurried forward to embrace him, enveloped in the familiar scents of mint and tobacco. He placed two kisses on my cheeks before turning me around to face Paul. "You remember Paul?" Papa asked. "Of course," I replied, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. How could I forget the guy you adopted and groomed to be your heir? "It's good to see you again, Ava. How was Italy?" Paul inquired, prodding me closer. "Amazing. I'd live there if I could," I responded nonchalantly, trying to ignore the way Paul's eyes lingered on me. Or the way my heart raced in response, pounding wildly within my chest. "Handsome" didn't even begin to describe him. The skinny boy who had comforted me on the day my mother died had undergone a complete transformation. He had become my knight in shining armor during the worst moment of my life, and now he had the features to match.
CHAPTER 1 (4)
“Nonsense,” Papa tsked. “Then you would miss the great life I’ve organised for you here.” Papa scoffed dismissively, his disapproval evident. "Nonsense," he tsked. "Then you would miss the great life I've organized for you here." "What life?" I asked, my tone tinged with frustration. "Perhaps Paul can explain," Papa said, his voice soft but an underlying tension creeping in. My gaze shifted to Paul, and my heart shattered as he dropped down on one knee, presenting a ring in a velvet box. The rock was so massive that it gleamed blindingly in the light. Panic gripped me as I stared at my fate. Because the worst had happened. Papa had sold me. This wasn't a choice. It was a demand. A life sentence. No. Absolutely not. "Marry me, Ava Jenkins. I'll make you happier than you can imagine," Paul promised, his gaze holding a glimmer of sincerity. But I didn't want to be tethered to a man I didn't choose for myself. I had witnessed the unhappy marriage of my parents, which had been arranged by Papa. I had hoped that such a fate wouldn't be forced upon me, that I would have the freedom to make my own choices. But now I realized how naive that dream had been. "Papa, please, can we talk?" I pleaded, my voice choked with emotion as the world seemed to tilt and crumble around me. Just moments ago, I had sworn never to be a prisoner again, and now a ring that resembled a collar was staring me down. Paul glanced at Papa, confusion flickering in his eyes, and a manic laugh escaped my lips. He didn't know. He thought this was already decided. He thought I was aware. But of course, Papa had never bothered to inform me. He never cared about my thoughts or opinions. "Of course, amore mio," Papa crooned, but it was all a facade. "Once you've given Paul his answer. It's not right to keep a gentleman on his knees." "But Papa-" I started, only for his grip to tighten around my wrist. Too tight. He had never struck me before, but I had witnessed him hit Mamma once. His grasp left bruises, and the threat in his eyes was unmistakable. However, I had one advantage - he would try to save face with Paul. So I pulled away from him, forcing him to release me. I stormed out of the room, making my way upstairs to my childhood bedroom. I flung open the stark white door, entering the princess pink room that no longer felt like mine. Jamie, my loyal companion, came bounding down the hall and leaped onto my bed, his tail wagging eagerly. With trembling hands, I retrieved my cellphone from my purse. Vincent's number appeared on the screen, and my heart pounded unevenly in my chest. He was the only person in America whom I truly trusted, but what could I say? Now that we were back home, my father was his boss, not me. Yet, he meant more to me than just an employee. He was the one who played card games with me while guarding me, who taught me how to shoot hoops, who wiped my snotty nose when I was a child. He had been more of a father to me than Papa ever was. And he would come if I called. I was certain of it. Papa barged into the room, and Jamie began yapping furiously, trying to warn him off. He kicked the door shut, and a chill ran down my spine. "Give it to me," he demanded, striding toward me with his hand outstretched, demanding my phone. But this wasn't just a phone - it was my lifeline, my connection to the outside world. Surrendering it meant losing contact with my friends in Italy, the people who had been there for me throughout the years, who had laughed with me and spent countless hours in my company. I turned away, but Papa caught hold of my arm and wrestled the phone from my grip. "Wait a second-" I began, only for my words to die as he popped out the SIM card. "No!" I yelled, desperately clawing at him to retrieve it. Panic coiled within me, and I fought harder, desperate not to lose this lifeline. He held me back with one hand and crushed the SIM card in his other, emitting a vicious crack. "No more of this, Ava. What has gotten into you?" he seethed. He dropped the two broken pieces onto the carpet before pocketing the phone. Those shattered fragments mirrored the state of my heart. "You dare to leave Paul on the floor of my home, offering you the world?" He gripped my shoulders tightly, and Jamie snarled ferociously, leaping off the bed and gnawing on Papa's trouser leg in a desperate attempt to protect me. Vincent had secretly trained me in self-defense over the past four years, but I wouldn't dare lay a hand on my father. Even if I could physically break free from his grasp, I couldn't escape the mental hold he had over me. "I won't marry him," I hissed, and Papa's eyes darkened with a deadly intensity. He tightened his grip, his fingers leaving bruises on my arms as he shook me. "Without Paul, this family has no future. I've been preparing him to follow in my footsteps for fourteen years! You know I need a man I can trust to inherit my title when I die. Your husband can't just be anyone; it has to be the right man. It has to be him." "But-" I began, my voice barely a whisper. "But nothing!" he snapped. "Without this marriage to secure heirs for our family, the Woods will take over the city. Is that what you want? Those filthy bastards who left you half-dead in that car taking everything from us?" Horror coursed through my veins, and I shook my head frantically as the memories of that day flooded back. Walter Wood pinning me down, his rough hands tightening around my neck. I had woken up in the hospital, questioning why I was still alive. The trauma still haunted me to this day. He was my nightmare, my greatest fear. And I had never truly overcome it. "No, Papa," I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks. "Then you should be grateful for the life Paul is offering you. He is a fine man who will treat you with respect. You will lack nothing, Ava. What more can a father give his daughter?" he said, his words laced with a hint of desperation. A choice. I stared at him silently, unable to comprehend how quickly the chains had tightened around me. And now, they were more unbreakable than ever before. I could see my future stretching out before me. Becoming the wife of the man my father had molded in his image. Bearing him children. Expected to confine those children to the same fate. And the cycle would continue endlessly. The Jenkins women would forever be bound, forever caged.
CHAPTER 1 (5)
My breathing grew rapid and Papa caught my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “I need you, Ava. You’re a good girl. Now be what the family needs you to be. We all have a role to play, this is yours.” My breath quickened, and Papa grasped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I need you, Ava. You're a good girl. Now be what the family needs you to be. We all have a role to play, and this is yours." Jamie let go of Papa's leg, surrendering just as I did. Papa released his grip, and I sank onto the edge of the bed, my little pup leaping into my lap, licking my hands. "The wedding is in a month. It's all set. You just have to look pretty on the day." Papa closed the door, but it felt like his fist was tightening around my heart. It was already arranged. I was nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard being manipulated into position. I stared at the shattered SIM card, wondering if I would ever be able to reach out to my friends again. Without social media and the possibility of another phone, I would be forbidden from connecting with them. Jamie nuzzled against me while my tears fell onto his silky white fur. I despised how I could feel myself giving in. There was no battle to fight. Papa had already conquered my world and forced me to surrender. Running away crossed my mind, but where would I go? How could I escape a city filled with Jenkinss and Woods? A gentle knock interrupted my thoughts, and I wiped away the tears. "Come in," I called, anticipating a servant with tea, but instead finding Paul stepping into my room, his broad shoulders almost as wide as the door. He frowned upon seeing my miserable state. "That didn't go quite as I hoped." "Apologies for bruising your ego," I replied hollowly. "But I didn't expect to be treated like property the moment I returned home." Paul sighed, stepping closer, and Jamie growled softly. "I would never buy you," he earnestly assured me. "But I'm not naive. I understand this is a transaction of sorts. Your father wants me to take his place one day, and honestly, Ava, you're better off with me than whoever else your father might push you towards." My throat tightened as I stared at him. "So you're not gaining anything from this?" I asked dryly. Except for an empire that should have been mine. "I didn't say that. I have admired you my entire life. You're beautiful, passionate, and your heart is so vast it could hold the entire world and still have room to spare." Confused by his unexpected tenderness, I furrowed my brow. He stepped closer, glancing at the door, aware that we shouldn't be alone together. Father would sooner die than let any man touch his daughter. But I had already defied that rule in Italy, and a part of me wanted to defy it again now. "We both know this world," Paul said gently. "We've experienced it together. Don't you think we can make it work?" I looked up at him as he paused before me, so close I could smell his subtle cologne mixed with the scent of power emanating from him. But beneath it all, I caught a whiff of the outdoors, reminding me of the boy I used to know. The one I had played with and adored. He took my hand, guiding me to my feet, and my heart skipped a beat as I gazed into his familiar eyes. I didn't want to look anywhere else but there, trying to capture that part of him I knew so well. But I couldn't hold onto it for long. "You're not the boy I once knew," I whispered, and his brows furrowed. He lowered his head, intertwining his fingers with mine, awakening a reckless side of me. We were defying my father. He boldly touched me with the door wide open, and it felt so intoxicating that I wanted to surrender completely to that feeling. "But I'm still here," he promised, his head dipping, his gaze filled with desire as his metallic eyes fixated on my lips. A kiss from him would feel like a sin. But we were in Sinners Bay, after all... I tiptoed up, hoping for a spark that could make this situation better, a glimpse of passion in our future. This man before me was going to be my husband, there was no escaping it, and maybe I could love him now as a man, just as I had loved him as a boy. Our lips brushed, and the thrill of his audacity urged me on, my mouth parting for his tongue. He suppressed a groan, his arm encircling me, pulling me against his solid chest. His heart pounded fiercely against my skin, and a glimmer of hope flickered within me, wondering if there could truly be a chance for us. Jamie barked angrily, and I finally pulled away, feeling flushed. "I can't imagine a more suitable bride than you, Ava," Paul said in a gravelly voice. "We are meant for each other, and I promise to keep you safe. Always." I frowned as he moved away across the room. I didn't want to be safe. Safe was just another word for confinement. He placed the ring box on my nightstand before heading back to the door. "I'll be staying for dinner," he stated. "If you'd like to reconnect tonight, I'll be waiting for you. Either way, we will be married by the end of the month, Ava. So let's try to make it work." My mind spun as I sank onto my bed, watching him leave with an ache in my soul. Paul may not have chosen me, but it was clear he desired me. And maybe, just maybe, the universe would be kind. Perhaps he would be enough. But the restless girl he had awakened within me was still wide awake. And I wasn't certain if he could ever truly be enough for her.
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