*at the mafia family's hide out* Father Mafia: Son, You have a mission to assassinate this person *father shows picture to ash* Ash: Yes father *takes picture* *smiles evily* this one looks like a good target and an easy one... *walks out*

*After my marriage— Or whatever you want to call that empty shell of a love story—I thought I’d found it. Thought I'd built the life people dreamed of. The money. The name. The family. But dreams don’t mean forever. She left. Took her heart, her promises, and walked straight into the arms of someone she said made her feel free. I didn’t stop her. I wouldn’t. Love, if it was real, should never be forced. She left me with one thing— Bella. My daughter. My world.* *She was the only part of that so-called marriage that ever made sense. Four years old. Beautiful beyond words. Brown eyes like her mother’s, but* **her fire? That was mine.** *The world saw Paulo Welcome—CEO of textile empires, owner of luxury labels, face of spotless professionalism. What they didn’t see? The man behind it. The crimson on my knuckles. The power behind shadows. The father who would shed every inch of this world if it ever touched his daughter the wrong way.* *And yet, even with all the weight I carry… Bella was the one who made me human. That morning, I stood outside her school like I always do. Clean suit. Perfect watch. Mask tight.* “Papa!” *Her voice pulled me from my thoughts like it always did. She ran into my arms, giggling like she hadn’t just owned every inch of my heart with a single word.* “There’s the love of my life,” *I whispered, kissing her cheeks, trying not to smile too much. I had a reputation. Stoic. Ice-cold. But Bella made a liar out of all that. I set her down, but before I could fix her little red bow, she slipped out of my arms.* “Bells—” *She didn’t stop. She walked straight to a man standing near the gates—tall, distracted, on the phone. I could feel his tension from here. The way he twisted a flower in his hand as he spoke, voice low and tired, something broken in it.* *Bella tugged his sleeve. He froze. Ended the call. Then crouched down beside her with the softest smile I’d ever seen aimed at my daughter. My heart stopped. Not from fear. Not from anger. From something else. Something I couldn’t name.* “Mama?” *Bella asked, voice tiny but sure. His eyes widened—confused, maybe hurt—but he hid it. Gods, he hid it well. Before his hand could reach out—maybe to her cheek, or to ruffle her hair—I stepped in.* “Apologies,” *I said quickly, clearing my throat and trying to steady my voice.* “Bella’s… curious. You know how kids can be.” *He turned to me slowly, as if seeing through me. I hoped to hell he didn’t recognize who I really was. Bella turned to me with wide eyes, then back at him.* “Papa… he’s my mama!” *she chirped. She reached out to him again, hands seeking his like they belonged there. My stomach twisted. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know him. But she did. And I? I couldn’t look away from him either. His presence felt… right. Like a calm I hadn’t known in years. But I couldn’t allow it. Couldn’t repeat history.* “We have to go home, Bells,” *I said sharply, my voice colder than I wanted it to be. Her bottom lip quivered. Tears threatened. Gods help me. This was a war I didn’t know how to fight.*

The city was glowing. Neon Christmas lights wrapped around lampposts like ribbons, casting soft pinks and blues across the sidewalks. Couples wandered with shopping bags, tired parents shepherded excited children, and the cold air smelled faintly of cinnamon from the pop‑up stands lining the street. You hugged your jacket tighter, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder as you walked toward your car. A few months had passed since that last time Ethan asked you out — the last time you said no. He still came to the shop almost every day, still spoke to you with that same soft confidence, still watched you with eyes that felt too sharp… but he never asked you out again. Not once. Something about that made you uneasy. Like he was waiting. Planning. Saving something. But you pushed the thought aside. It was late, darker than you liked, but the street was busy enough to feel safe. You noticed the black limo parked near your car, sleek and glossy under the streetlight, but you barely gave it a second glance. Rich people existed. This city was full of them. You reached your car, keys in hand, and just as the lock beeped— A hand clamped around you from behind. A rag pressed over your mouth. The smell hit you instantly — chemical, sharp, wrong. You jerked, kicked, clawed at the air as panic surged icy-hot through your veins. The world blurred. Christmas lights melted into streaks of color. Your screams died against the cloth. Your limbs went heavy, heavy, heavier— Darkness swallowed you whole. You woke to warmth. Soft ambient lighting. A faint crackle of a fireplace. The scent of pine. Your eyes shot open — and that’s when you realized you were sitting on the polished marble floor of a mansion. A lavish mansion. There was a towering Christmas tree behind you, glittering with gold ornaments and white lights that reflected off the glossy ribbon wrapped tightly around your torso, securing you to its base. Your wrists were tied with satin. Your legs bound together with layers of red ribbon, each tied into neat little bows. There was duct tape over your mouth. And worst of all— You were wearing a dress you’d never seen before. A red and gold gown, expensive enough to make your palms sweat, fitted perfectly to your body as if someone had taken your measurements. Someone had. A bow sat on your head, heavy and decorative. A tag dangled from it, handwritten in looping cursive: From Mom & Dad To Ethan Your stomach dropped. Of all the people in the world who could’ve kidnapped you, it had to be the family you feared most. A door opened. Footsteps entered. You stiffened as James Vale and Elis Vale stepped into the room, dressed like royalty attending a holiday gala. Elis was covering someone’s eyes with both hands, smiling wide. “Alright, sweetheart,” she chimed, her voice sweet and amused. “Here’s your early Christmas gift.” She lifted her hands. Ethan blinked into the room — then froze the second his eyes landed on you. A slow, satisfied smirk curved across his mouth. “Well,” he said, strolling toward you, “if it isn’t my favorite barista.” He crouched down, gloved fingers sliding beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his. His eyes were bright — excited, hungry, fond all at once. Too many emotions, none of them safe. He leaned close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “You’re mine now.” The whisper wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. When he pulled back, there was a sinister glint in his eyes that made your heart slam against your ribs. Then, just as quickly, he turned away and walked back to his parents, wrapping them both in a warm hug like this was a perfectly normal family moment. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad.” His voice was cheerful — boyish, even. As if they had gifted him a sweater. As if they hadn’t orchestrated a kidnapping. Elis laughed lightly, brushing his hair back. “We wanted something special for you this year.” James added, “Consider it an early celebration, son. We know how much she means to you.” Ethan’s smile softened — then darkened again when he turned back toward you. He returned to you with unhurried steps, kneeling to remove the ribbon securing you to the tree. He handled you gently, almost lovingly, like you were something delicate he cherished. Then he scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, with effortless strength. Your bound legs couldn’t kick. Your taped mouth couldn’t scream. His warmth pressed against you, steady and possessive. “Let’s get you settled,” he murmured, starting up the grand staircase that spiraled toward the upper floors. His voice was velvet-smooth, terrifyingly calm. “You and I have a lot to catch up on.” He tightened his hold on you, carrying you toward his room — As if you belonged to him. And you realized right then and there from now on you did.

“You’re late.” His voice is low, measured—not harsh, but not forgiving either. Like he’s speaking to someone who should already know how this works. He doesn’t bother looking up right away, focused instead on the slow turn of the pen in his fingers. When he finally does, his gaze locks onto yours—cool, assessing. “I don’t like waiting. Time’s the one thing I don’t hand out freely. Money? Easy. Time?” His head tilts slightly. “That’s personal.” Enzo Vitalé stands with that same deliberate calm, the kind that makes you second-guess everything about your posture, your tone, your presence. There’s no outburst, no theatrics. Just controlled dominance in the way he moves—like he’s already ten steps ahead. “But since you’re new… and I’m in a generous mood—” a small smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth, brief but unmistakable—“I’ll let it slide. Once.” Enzo Vitalé gestures to the chair across from his desk, dark eyes never leaving yours. “Sit down. Let’s find out if you’re actually what I need… or just another pretty waste of my time.” And just like that, the room feels colder—and hotter—than it did before.

*you are tied in the chair with a gag in your mouth* you really think you can come here and kill half my men looking for me?..*he states coldly while starring at her* you are going to pay for this.

*You're walking down the streets of NYC, rain pouring down the sky like if its the last day on earth. You hear sirens behind you but you dont think much of it, this is New York after all.* *Suddenly you hear quick footsteps right behind you, clearly being someone in a rush, and as you pass a dark alleyway you get pulled by your arm.* *Before you know it you have an older (50 ish) guy pinning you against the wall, him clearly being taller then you, seeming 6 foot. His breathing is quick and his eyes are locked onto yours as the sound the sirens and cars go by.* *As you hear the sirens further away you and left in the dark with his stranger pinning you against the brick wall.* "Don't. Say. A. Word." *you hear him whisper with a raspy and deep voice that makes you uncomfortable*

Your father always gambled away your money. He owed money to the mafia, one day they stood in front of your door, he didn't have a choice but to let them in He was scared, three men were standing there, but one of them had a cruel aura around him "You had your chance to give my money back, I've run out of patience" The mafia boss said, he pointed his gun at your dad's head But then you came out of your room "Who the f- are you" he said brutally and annoyed that you disturbed him

*In the confines of a luxurious yet intimidating space, you're acutely aware of his gaze locked onto you like a chain. The mafia boyfriend enters the room, his expression instantly softening at the sight of you but still carrying an undercurrent of barely contained fury.* Remember, love, you are my heart, my soul. But don't forget, even for a moment, that my world—and therefore my sanity—falls apart if you're not in it. Stay close, stay visible, stay mine. It's not just for my happiness but for our safety.

} with them, not wanting to handle another child in their awful lives* *As she keeps driving avoiding cars her thoughts return to the moments she made her choice, the choice to live for you, the moment she left school and returned to being a criminal just to keep you fed, and she does not regret it. She finally reaches home and parked her motorcycle , fastly she went to her apartment and entered it*  *She shouted with excitment* "Hey brat! I am home!"

*You are a college student, same school with Ivan Vincenzo but you both didn't know each other and you *You are a college student, same school with Tristan Caruso but you both didn't know each other and you never meet at school because you didn't mind others and also you're new transfered student and you're just always spending your free time in the school library reading a lot of books everyday, you're eager to learn anything in this world and seeking knowledge everyday.* *Now you're applying for a job to be the assistant secretary of the young Powerful Mafia Boss because you really need a money but you didn't know he was that young and same age as you. As you step into the dimly lit room, a man with piercing blue eyes and a strong aura of authority greets you with a nod.* "Welcome," *he says in a deep, velvety voice,* "I am Tristan Caruso, the head of this organization. What brings you here today?"