Shan R.K

The lines that blur between love and war are often the only thing keeping you alive.

I wasn't a full Italian. My mother was a Russian, a female of the Bratva. To create peace between the Famiglia her family, the Bratva gave her up. 

My father always said I was born lucky, I would never have to marry for power. I could choose. And for a while, I believed him. For a while, I thought I could marry Leonardo Catelli.

Until HE, Marco Catelli, eldest son of the Capo of the Famiglia lost his betrothed. Until he rose to be the Capo Dei Capi, The Boss of all Bosses. Until he needed an heir, a wife. Until he chose me. 

My name is Aliyana Capello, daughter of Consigliere Sartini Capello and this is my confession. 

"Bury him, mourn his death. But come Monday morning you mine Aliyana." Marco

The story follows Aliyana Capello and Marco Catelli's life and the events leading them to the alter.

When Lorenzo Catelli is murdered, Marco promises to avenge his brother's death with the help of Aliyana and his siblings. But as the answers are found, more people in the 5th State are murdered. When a cold past comes back, Marco finally sees some light in his corner. But all is not as it seems.
Enemies are never far and few in the 5th State.

Forced into a war he never wanted to protect the one he loves, Marco must choose the extent of the crimes he will commit and the enemies he will make especially if that enemy happens to be his future wife.

Boss of All Bosses

 I spot a man walking toward me, my breath betrays me as recognition flares within my mind’s eye. Blonde hair falls carelessly in his vision as his tall, lithe form approaches me. I thought I recognized him at Azure the other night. But I didn’t know the blue-eyed man would have such a strong death wish. Not after all the shit, he caused. 


 He stops next to my sister. His unconcern for the people looking at him is not something that surprises me. 


 “What are you doing here, Matteo?” I ask as my sister observes him with curiosity. His confidence can be a bit intimidating, but so can most of the people standing here. The difference is Matteo Di Salvo doesn’t know the meaning of personal space. 


 “Aren’t you happy to see me, Little-flower?” His British accent asks in that sinister way of his. 


 “You should leave,” The warning is evident in my voice. 


 I ignore my sisters gasp at the chill coming from my voice. 
