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

 “Don't give me that fucking bullshit. Where the fuck were you Aliyana?” Who the fuck does he think he is? He has no right to ask me questions. 


 I shrug, “I have been standing here, in the garden for the last ten minutes.” I finish as his angry snarly face looks down at me, blocking the suns rays with his broad shoulders. Shoulders I have imagined naked, wondered how the flesh of it will feel under my fingers. Shoulders that were supposed to be mine to touch. 


 Camilla Moretti doesn't have to wonder. That thought has my impassive face, twitching in what I know looks like a fuck you look. 


 “Don't push me little girl, answer the question.” His voice is clipped, but I know he won't hurt me. Not here at least. 


 I want to tell him I wasn't a little girl when he had his hands on my body, his tongue in my mouth. But my words tend to die. Why fuel an already burning flame? 


 “I had plans.” Meetings to tend to. 
