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

Zhian scoffed as his foot nudged the motionless body strewn out over the table, bruised and covered in blood. He cleaned off the sole of his designer shoe by scuffing it on the ground. 


"She passed out somewhere between the third and fifth round." Benjamin Schutt, Richie's replacement in The Dreadful Six, shoved both hands in his pockets as he looked over Katarina's body with cold, lifeless eyes. "I'm surprised she held out so long." 


"The bitch is more resilient than she looks." He flicked a zippo lighter to life and held it to his Cuban, puffing on it slowly as the tobacco caught flame and lit up. "Is she dead?" 


Salem had two fingers pressed to the bruised skin of her neck, checking a watch on his wrist calmly as he tried to disguise the intense discomfort he felt every time he had to see her injuries in anything brighter than the glow of a kerosene lamp. "No, but her pulse is barely there." 


"She can't go back underground, then." 


The Third Person View [Bonus chapter]