Adriana

Matteo, the Don of the Diavolli, was on his knees.

The Playboy of New York.

The man everyone feared.

On his knees for me.

The sight stole the air from my lungs. Words clung to my throat but refused to escape. All I could do was stare down at him, the most dangerous man I knew, folded before me like a supplicant.

I had told him earlier I was indebted to him, but the truth was heavier than that.

I owed Matteo my life.

And he wanted more than gratitude.

I closed my eyes, and for a moment, I let memory claim me. The first time I ever saw him, I was eighteen.

Papa had always made sure I stayed clear of Cosa Nostra business. “Art, Adriana,” he would say. “Stay with your paints, your brushes. Leave the evil world we live in to me.” It was his way of keeping me safe, or maybe of keeping me ignorant.

But Mama… Mama had a different vision. She raised me not as her daughter but as her golden ticket. “Perfect yourself for a rich man, a made man, she whispered, day after day. Beauty would buy me freedom, she said. Beauty would buy you comfort.

Our relationship was built on that obsession. She loved me only as much as she could sell me. And when she died, I was not sad. I was angry.

Angry that she had never cared for my paintings.

Angry that my papa had gambled while she withered away.

Angry that I had been nothing but a commodity to her.

And then Matteo appeared.

I remember it like yesterday. The atmosphere was gloomy. My first glimpse of him was tense because his eyes were locked on mine.

I had heard whispers about him. The Capo who had stolen the city from men twice his age, the shadow every soldier feared.

But the way he looked at me wasn’t like a man looking for his next girl to fuck. It was like a man claiming what was his.

Heat rushed through me, treacherous and unfamiliar. I hated myself for it. My skin prickled under his gaze, my chest tightened, and for the first time, I realised that desire could be dangerous.

He didn’t approach me then, but everywhere I turned that night, I felt him. Watching.Waiting

Later, I overheard the words that would haunt me. He asked my papa for my hand.

I had been naïve, even flattered. My mother would have called it a victory. But a part of me trembled.

I was terrified of sacrificing my art, my dreams, my freedom. When Papa rejected his request, I felt a wash of relief. But I knew it wasn’t over. Matteo was not a man who accepted denial.

And I had been right. He appeared everywhere… art studios, libraries, parks. At first, I thought it coincidence. But soon, I knew better.

He thought I hadn’t noticed,Or maybe he knew but he just simply didn’t care. But I did notice.

My body always did. The shift in the air when he walked into a room, the weight of his gaze on my skin, the way my pulse betrayed me.

Even then, he was already unravelling me.

Now, years later, he knelt before me.

“Your father’s debts are already cleared,” Matteo said, his voice steady though his eyes burned with a fire that unsettled me.

I moved to the window to breathe, clutching the sill as though it could steady me.

Outside, his men lingered, wearing sharp suits, holstered weapons, pretending like they weren't being nosy.

I turned back to him. “Why me, Matteo?” My lips curled bitterly. “You’re finally done with whoring around, huh?”

A wicked smirk tugged at his mouth. “Who said my whoring days were over, Adriana?”

His arrogance sent a jolt through me, and I took a step back. I tried to mask the storm inside me, but I wasn’t foolish enough to believe Matteo would ever belong solely to me. Not in this world. Not in the Cosa Nostra.

He rose from his knees, towering over me, and cupped my cheek. His hand was rough, calloused from violence, yet the gentleness of his touch undid me. Against my will, I leaned into it. My body had always been a traitor where he was concerned.

“You’ve been mine, princess. From the first moment I saw you,” he murmured, icy blue eyes cutting straight through me. “Why are you fucking fighting it?”

“I-I’m not fighting it, Matteo. I—”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” he snapped, voice sharp, grip firm. His sudden possessiveness sent a shiver racing down my spine, and heat pooled right in my middle.

I swallowed hard. “I want you to swear to me, Matteo. Don’t treat me like a girl incapable of her own choices. Don’t cage me. Don’t lock me away. Teach me. Train me. Let me fight.”

He stared at me like I had lost my mind.

“I want Riccardo to fall,” I whispered, my voice shaking with anger. “I almost got trafficked today. I won’t stand by while men like him breathe. I want to help you, Matteo.”

For a moment, silence. Then he laughed. Laughed so hard his eyes watered.

Fury ripped through me. “I’m not a joke.” I said as my eyes got teary

He sobered at once, face darkening. “Adriana, stop this madness. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I want to prove myself,” I said, voice breaking. “I don’t just want to be Matteo’s wife. I want to be Adriana. I’ve lived in shame because of my papa’s debts for too long. Give me a chance.”

“Fuck!” He cursed, kicking a table hard enough to make me flinch.

“Adriana…” He dragged a hand down his face. “I’ll train you. But Riccardo… It's too dangerous.”

“Then let me prove I’m worth the risk.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not just anger. Not just lust. Something deeper.

He reached for me, kneeling again. His hands slid down my sides, gripping my waist, pulling me close. I could feel the tremor in his breath as his lips brushed my stomach. On his knees again, he kissed me there, slow and reverent.

Then he lifted his gaze to mine, eyes burning with a hunger that stripped me bare.

“Will you marry me, Adriana?”

The diamond glimmered in his hand. Not just any stone, it was massive, flawless, mounted on a band of pure gold. The kind of ring that would silence doubters, a ring that screamed possession. It wasn’t subtle; it wasn’t delicate.

It was Matteo in jewel form: bold and impossible to ignore.

He slid it onto my finger, the weight of it binding me to him. His men outside erupted into whistles and cheers. But I couldn’t look away from Matteo. On his knees, he looked like a fallen angel. It was a beautiful sight.

“Yes,” I whispered.

His head dropped against me, his face pressed into my abdomen, breathing me in as if I were air.

The wedding blurred into a fever dream.

A priest dragged from his bed, vows exchanged under dim light.

My father’s reluctant presence, Ruby’s innocent wave from the pews.

Matteo kissed me at the altar, his hand slid low, teasing my ass. His kiss was unreal, his hands cupping me, teasing, claiming me. My lips parted beneath his, and for a moment I forgot we were in church.

The crowd roared, but all I felt was him.

The drive afterwards was quieter. He was on the phone, voice low and clipped, but his hand never left mine. The diamond caught the city lights as we passed, every gleam a reminder that I was married now. Claimed.

My pulse thrummed in my ears, part terror, part desire.

Then came the gates. They were gold, towering, and obscene. The car slid into an estate that looked like a kingdom. Every house looked amazing. I had never seen anything quite like them before. Luxury dripped from every corner.

“Welcome home, princess,” Matteo murmured, kissing my cheek.

Inside, the penthouse was even worse, luxury and intimidation combined. White marble floors, black granite counters, chandeliers the size of cars, velvet drapes so damn thick. The kind of place you could get lost in and never escape.

He led me down a long hall to the bedroom. The door opened to reveal a space larger than my entire childhood home. A bed dominated the room, draped in silk sheets the colour of snow, so vast it looked built for kings.

I ran my fingers over the furniture: mahogany, gold, and crystal. Everything screamed wealth. And then his hands were on me. His lips brushed my collarbone, each kiss slow, deliberate, sending sparks racing across my skin.

My breathing quickened, and I almost pulled away, then I remembered how scared I was in the hands of those vile men and the fact that I would do anything to stop it from happening again.

I had a plan and there was no going back now.

I turned to him, my lips finding his, soft at first, then desperate and consuming. He lifted me as though I weighed nothing, holding my ass cheeks as support, my legs wrapped around him, and I felt him hard against me. His heat pressed against me, and I rubbed myself along his massive bulge. My panties were already soaked.

When I moaned into his mouth, I realised the truth.

This man would be my ruin.