SugaryWinter

Do you ever wonder what your life will be like when you cross paths with your arch nemesis? Yes? Well buckle up, it’s a wild ride.

Katarina Montenegro is what everyone would simply call spoiled. She was raised with a silver spoon in her mouth and a custom Tiffany’s diamond tiara on her head. She was referred to as The Spanish Princess by everyone who knew of her existence, and she revelled in the nickname. She was young, cunning, and powerful. There was nothing Katarina wanted that she didn’t have. 

On the other hand, Marco DiBiancci was known by everyone as The Emperor Lynx, due to his ability to see through deception as easily as he could breathe. Unlike Katarina, who lived a mainly pampered life, Marco was raised by a strict father who wanted him to be in the front lines of the job since he was fourteen years old. He had spent his years getting his hands dirty and washing them again. He was young, strong, and powerful. There was nothing Marco wanted that he didn’t take for himself. 

The common ground? They were both set to inherit their father’s thrones as King and Queen of their respective organised crime kingdoms. 

The problem? Marco wanted Katarina, or more importantly, he wanted what she was set to lay claim on. Even though the two had never met, Marco was determined to get his hands on her by all means necessary, and that’s how we’re here.

This is how I, Katarina Montenegro, was kidnapped by the Italian mafia.

[WARNING: highly foul language and mature themes]

Kidnapped by the Italian Mafia

"Have you ever seen such a pompous crowd?" Moira was grumbling, of course, as she always did. Inviting her to the art show as my plus one was not my best feat, but I had no choice after Connor declined because he wanted a go at Nazareth. It was just us girls now and we tried our best to seem interested in the bent scrap metal that was floating before our eyes. Whoever made this was either harbouring a lot of violence, or, wanted to appear like they did. 


"Just smile and nod, M," I hooked our arms together and surveyed the crowd, trying to catch sight of at least one familiar face. The gallery was filled with people, but not people I knew. There were a few influencers and art critics in the crowd, along with regular art lovers and pretenders who tried to fake liking art. The person who had invited me, though, didn't seem to be visible. "Oo champagne."


The Art Show