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

 "Marco. I wasn't expecting you so soon. You couldn't wait 'till later?" I kiss my sister on her cheek. Grinning as I stand in the foyer of the white Victorian-style home. It's a suburban housewife dream. And a sick joke of my sisters. 


 Anya picked it out because it was identical to most of the homes secured behind this gated community. 


 "I know you weren't going. I was shocked; you even made an appearance at the funeral. Did you manage to shed a tear or two?" 


 "Very funny, I loved Ren, in my own way." I ignore her glaring gaze, but I can't ignore the bright yellow dress she is wearing. 


 "We all did," I correct her, "What the fuck are you wearing?" 


 "What the fuck are you doing at my house?" She questions me back, already knowing the answer. 


 I roll my eyes, "I'm not going to the reception, where's Mischa?" 


 Anya's eyes remind me of my father when her face gets pinched, but the rest is just like my mother. 


 I'm the only one of us that got my mother's eyes. 
