Richie~Banks

Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached for a small black bottle from the table. “I thought you would prefer the gentle way. Guess I was wrong.”

His words cut through me like a knife. He crouched down in front of me, cupping my chin with his cold, cruel hands. His fingers dug into my skin, forcing my mouth open, and I gasped in horror as he tilted the bottle.

The liquid slid down my throat, burning, choking. My body convulsed in protest, but I couldn’t stop him. The poison — Deadly Nightshade. I had used it before. And now I was forced to take it. 

A year to live.

His smirk deepened as he let go of me, watching with sadistic pleasure as I gagged, my hands flying to my mouth.

Tears stung my eyes. The bitter, metallic taste of death filled my mouth, and I could do nothing but cry. My vision blurred as the poison coursed through me, but I couldn’t let go of my rage.

Francesco’s voice was low, almost gentle, as he spoke the words that felt like a death sentence. “Sometimes, the person you once loved may end up killing you,” he said, the twisted satisfaction in his voice unmistakable.

~~~~~

But surrender is never simple in a game of power, revenge, and dangerous desire. Because this man doesn’t just want to own her — he wants to unmake her, unravel her, and turn her fire to ash.

And the most terrifying part? Find out!

The Vicious Scent Of The Mafia's Black Rose

“Francesco, are you completely insane? What do you think you’re doing? Are you so desperate to see me gone? The Deadly Nightshade isn't enough for you, is it? I have less than eight months to live already!” I shouted, my voice sharp, the anger surging through every word. 


He didn’t flinch. His smirk deepened, but his eyes never left mine, dark and calculating. Slowly, he turned the gun toward the nurse. My pulse thundered in my ears, every breath a struggle as panic clawed at me. 


“Francesco, don’t do it. Drop the gun. Think about what you're doing.” My voice was tight, every warning laced with fear. “This is something you do not want to do. Don't regret it. Don’t make it worse.” 


“Regret?” He scoffed, his voice cold and mocking. “I don’t know what that is. What is regret? It’s for the weak, the pathetic.” He feigned ignorance, but I saw the darkness behind his eyes. 


40 ~ The Beginning Of The End