– Chapter 9 Luciano’s POV Maya’s words made my stomach turn. | shot to my feet, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and dragged her. She screamed in pain, but | didn’t give a damn. “You think | need you?” | slammed her head against a stone pillar. “What the fuck are you?” Blood started to trickle down her forehead, but my rage was far from over. “Just two days ago, we-” she tried to argue. “Two days ago?” | sneered, my hand closing around her throat, squeezing until her face started to turn purple. “You were a warm body. A hole to fuck.
That’s all you ever were.” “You really think | could ever love you?” My voice was venom. “Maya Cross, you’re not worth a single eyelash that falls from Catherine’s face.” “You… you said you loved me…” she choked out. —- “Love you?” | let go, watching her collapse to the floor, coughing. “I never loved you. You’re just an animal who spreads her legs, a bitch who knows how to bark. You do the filthy things Catherine would never do.” Tears mixed with blood streamed down Maya’s face, but | wasn’t finished.
“You think a few fucks makes you the queen of the Carbone family?” | crouched down, grabbing her jaw, my nails digging into her skin. “Listen to me, you slut. Catherine is a pure angel. And you? You’re a sewer rat.” “If I’m so disgusting, why did you touch me?” Maya sobbed. “Because saints don’t get on their knees in back alleys. So | found a sinner who would. | needed a sewer for my filth, Maya. Don’t ever mistake a sewer for a throne.” Maya completely broke down, curling into a ball on the cold cathedral floor, crying like an abandoned dog. —- “But now,” | stood up and kicked her.
“The toy is broken. Now, I’m going to get my queen.” “Luciano!” Maya scrambled to grab my leg. “You can’t go! She won’t forgive you!” “Get your filthy hands off me.” “Let’s leave together! Leave New York!” she pleaded, her voice frantic. “We can start over!” She tried to kiss me, but all | felt was pure disgust. | kicked her away and ran for the door. Behind me, Maya chased after me like a mad dog. You can’t go! | won’t let you!” Catherine’s POV The private jet sat on the tarmac at JFK, engines already humming. Destination: Florence. An art retreat my father had arranged.
A way to get away from New York, away from the nightmares. —- “Miss Sterling.” A man | didn’t know called my name. He handed me a phone. “It’s a video call.” On the screen was a hospital room. Luciano was lying in bed, his head wrapped in bandages, his face bruised and bloody. He looked weak, like a dying animal. “Catherine…” his voice was hoarse, his eyes filled with desperate pain. “| was on my way to find you… | got in a car crash,” he said, struggling to speak. “Maya and | fought for the wheel… we hit a guardrail.” | heard Marco’s voice in the background.
“The doctors say there might be permanent damage.” Luciano started to cry on screen. The once-invincible mafia Don, now a pathetic child. “Catherine, | fucked up. | shouldn’t have betrayed you, shouldn’t have hurt you. I’m nothing without you. Don’t leave me. Please, I’ll die without you.” His tears soaked the pillow, his voice as broken as shattered glass. —- Marco looked at me, his eyes full of hope. “Miss Catherine, could you please-” “No.” My voice was cold and firm, like a northern wind. Marco froze. “What?” “Listen to me, Marco,” | said, my voice flat, dead.
“Tell your boss that the Catherine he knew is dead.” Luciano’s eyes went wide on the screen, a tidal wave of despair crashing over him. “She died in that club. She died the moment | saw their betrayal. The person standing here now is a stranger.” “Our families have nothing to do with each other anymore.” | ended the call and tossed the phone back to the man. “Give your boss a message. If he ever sends anyone to bother me again, my father will not be so merciful.” The man flinched, terrified by the coldness in my —- eyes. “And you can tell Maya she won. She can have the scraps.
| hope they rot in hell together.” | turned and boarded the plane. | never looked back.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
