Page 2

MIRELLA

Standing at the altar, I could almost feel the stranger’s hands on my back, the memory of last night a taunting warmth I’d held onto, if only for a moment. Even now, the faint smell of his cologne clung to me, reminding me of the gentleness in his touch, of the way he looked at me, spoke to me, made love to me, and made me feel…alive.

“You’re so heavenly.”

I’d laughed at him. “Heavenly? Are you serious? We’ve barely known each other for an hour or two.”

He’d looked at me with such intensity then, his brown eyes boring into mine, and said, “An hour or eternity, I know what I know. You are an angel sent from above,” he paused and added, “An angel who needs me to rescue her,”

“Rescue me?” I raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-intrigued. “I’m no damsel in distress.”

“I never said you were,” he replied, his gaze softening. “But even the strongest people sometimes need saving.” He paused, his fingers trailing down my arm. “Sometimes, they just need someone to tell them there’s another way. ”

His voice had been like a lifeline, yet I’d laughed it off, pretending not to care. “Well, Mr. ‘Rescue Me,’ what should I call you?”

He’d leaned in close, his mouth inches from mine, his breath warm on my skin. “Call me yours.”

That line still sent a shiver through me, even standing here now, my eyes on the man who thought he owned me. A man old enough to be my father, who’d decided I was his.

“Why should I take this… whore as my wife?” Don Carlos spat.

The word hit me hard, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart beat faster, the heat of shame creeping up my face as I saw heads turning with shocked glances cast in my direction. I steadied myself, forcing down the anger bubbling up inside me. “Don’t you dare call me a whore.”

My father rose from his seat, his face pale and pleading, “Please, friend, don’t don’t do this,” but Don Carlos’s eyes were locked on me with that cold, smug expression I’d come to know too well.

“Then tell me, Mirella,” he smirked, his voice dripping with venom, “What else should we call a woman who sneaks off with a masked stranger at her own engagement party to go get fucked by him.”

The murmurs grew louder with the judgment in their whispers. And then, to my horror, I heard a click. I looked up at the screen where our wedding hymns were meant to be displayed. My stomach turned as the image flickered and changed, the serene background replaced by a grainy video taken from a dark corner, clearly shot with a phone. I blinked in disbelief, feeling the world around me tilt.

On the screen, it was me. Me and him, the stranger. I could see us standing by the door of the room last night, him cupping my face, his mask askew, my hand resting on his chest as we hesitated, inches apart. He’d leaned in, and then we kissed. A kiss that had felt so forbidden and so right, I couldn’t help but melt into it.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady, but all I could manage was a whisper. “You… you had me followed?”

Don Carlos looked back at me, unphased and ruthless, as if he hadn’t just set fire to my dignity in front of everyone. “Of course. One of my men saw you leaving with him, thinking you’d vanished. So, I asked him to investigate and look what he found.” He gestured to the screen as if he were showing off some prized possession.

The congregation stared, eyes darting from me to Don Carlos and then to the video where the stranger and I had slipped into the room, the door clicking shut behind us. I wanted to scream, to run, to disappear.

Don Carlos leaned in, his voice low and dripping with malice. “Tell me, Mirella. Who was he? Who’s the man you snuck off with?” He tilted his head, a cruel smile creeping onto his face as he continued, “You have one minute to answer.”

I looked to my father, hoping for some kind of help, some sort of escape, but he just stood there, frozen in shock, as if someone had pulled the ground out from beneath his feet. Maybe he hadn’t known, my face flaming with my anger.

Don Carlos’s hand slipped into his coat pocket, and a glint of metal caught my eye. He pulled out a gun, casually pointing it toward my father as if this was nothing more than an after-dinner activity.

The church gasped, some people rising from their seats, others frozen in place. I felt my pulse hammering in my ears, louder than the murmurs echoing through the room.

Don Carlos’s tone was almost bored. “I’ll give you until the count of five, Mirella. Either you tell me who the man was, or I pull this trigger.” He looked at me with a chilling calmness, the kind that only someone completely void of empathy could manage. “One.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My mind raced, but all I could think of was the stranger, the way he’d looked at me with those warm, brown eyes, the way he’d asked me to stay, to run away with him.

“Two.”

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Think, Mirella. Think! But all I could feel was the cold metal in Don Carlos’s hand, aimed directly at my father’s heart.

“Three.”

Every cell in my body screamed at me to run, to fight back, to do something, but I was rooted in place, paralyzed by the situation I had fucked my way into. My father was still standing, his eyes wide with terror, and I could see his lips moving, whispering something—maybe a prayer, maybe an apology. But what good would it do? Don Carlos was not a man of mercy.

“Four.”

My eyes locked onto Don Carlos, the twisted satisfaction in his gaze, the glint of triumph as he relished every second of my silence. He knew he had me trapped. He knew there was nothing I could do, no words I could say, no secret I could reveal that would undo the nightmare unraveling before me.

“Five…”

I heard the shot before I could utter a word.

It was like the entire world held its breath, and then chaos exploded around me. I heard gasps and screams, and suddenly, there he was, the stranger, his face hidden by that same mask, striding down the aisle with a gun aimed straight at Don Carlos. My stomach flipped as the realization hit me: he was here. He’d come back for me.

Don Carlos barely had time to react before the gunshot echoed, sharp and loud, and the bullet struck him right in the chest. Don Carlos stumbled, his hand reaching out in shock before he crumpled to the floor. And in that moment, all I could think of was that look in his eyes—cold and ruthless.

The stranger didn’t hesitate. He turned to me and extended his hand, and my heart skipped. But it wasn’t his eyes or the mask that made me reach out. It was the tattoo, a dragon coiled just below his elbow. A tattoo I’d run my fingers over just last night. It was really him. He was here to rescue me.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice low and commanding, pulling me out of my daze. His grip was warm and familiar, and without thinking, I took his hand.

Then all hell broke loose.

Don Carlos’s men, his so-called loyal guards, surged forward, shouting orders and drawing their guns. Shots fired, ricocheting off the walls. My heart was pounding, and I could hardly think straight. I’d never felt this level of fear, and yet, there was something freeing in the stranger’s hand, pulling me through the gunshots.

“Over here!” He yanked me behind a pillar, shielding me as bullets zipped past, hitting chairs and chipping walls. I was breathless, my chest heaving. He leaned in close, and I could see the intensity in his eyes, even through the mask. “We’re getting out of here.”

I looked up, almost dizzy with adrenaline, barely able to form words. “But—my father. I can’t leave without him.”

The stranger’s expression softened, but only for a second. He scanned the room, assessing the danger, then pulled me closer. “There’s no time. He’d want you safe. We have to go.”

I shook my head, fighting back the tears. “No. I can’t just leave him to die here.”

More gunshots. This time, one of them hit the wall inches from us, and instinctively, he pulled me into his chest, his arms wrapping protectively around me. It felt like a shelter I didn’t know I needed. A shiver ran through me, and when I looked up, he was watching me intently.

“I didn’t come all this way to lose you,” he whispered.

For one brief moment, the room seemed to fall away. There was only his voice.

“Fine,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper, but before I could say anything more, a blast echoed, and the stranger grunted. He clutched his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers. He swayed slightly, and my heart dropped.

“No, no! You’re hurt,” my voice broke. I tried to steady him, but he shook his head, pushing me back.

“Go, Mirella. Run. Get out of this city, and don’t look back.”

“I can’t… I can’t just leave you.”

“You have to,” he breathed, struggling to stay on his feet, pain etched across his face. He forced a smile, almost tender, and for one terrifying moment, I thought he was going to fall. “I’ll find you. I promise.”

“But… you’re hurt. I don’t even know your name.”

A small chuckle escaped him, pained but full of warmth. “Names are overrated. Now, go. Live. For both of us.”

He lifted his hand, gently brushing a stray tear from my cheek. And then another shot rang out, so close I flinched, but I didn’t dare turn back to see where it had landed in his body. He gave me one last, steady look, then shoved me towards the door, his voice low and rough.

“Run, Mirella. Now.”

I hesitated for one heartbeat, and, in that moment, everything blurred together—the screams, the sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears, the stranger’s pained gaze, begging me to go before he shut the door behind me, then followed by the blast of gunshots. I veered to my heels, my legs carrying me forward, out of the church and into the city streets. I could hardly breathe as I ran through the city.

The streets felt foreign, cold, and distant. My feet were blistered, my lungs burned, and still, I couldn’t shake the image of him standing there, bleeding, ready to face the wrath of Don Carlos’s men alone, all for me.

I ran until my legs ached and my breath came in shallow gasps. The stranger’s last words echoed in my mind, haunting me: “Live. For both of us.” But how could I, knowing I’d left him behind to die?

I found refuge in a narrow alleyway, pressing myself against the wall as if it could hide me from the shame and guilt clawing at my heart.

The wind felt colder now, biting into my skin. But all I could do was hold onto that one last memory—the warmth of his hand in mine and his face so close as if he’d known me forever. A stranger, yet somehow, not.

****

Two painful and dreadful months passed, and I stayed low, drifting from town to town, a shadow of the person I once was. I told myself I was surviving for him and for the father I’d left behind. But every night, his face haunted me, taunting me with what could’ve been. And then, one day, everything changed.

I sat alone in a small cottage when reality hit me in one quiet, heart-stopping moment. My hands shook as I held the test strip before me.

Pregnant.

I was pregnant with his child, the stranger, the man I barely knew and yet could never forget. Sorrow and joy welled up inside me. I didn’t know where one emotion ended and the other began. I pressed my hand against my stomach, my heart pounding as I thought of him, that night, of his words, when he called me Cherry, the taste of him.

He was heavenly.

“Oh, little one,” I muttered, my voice breaking. “You’re all I have left of him.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, but I didn’t wipe it away. There was a strange strength in the knowledge that part of him lived on and that our brief love had created something beautiful. The life growing inside me was proof of him—proof he had loved me briefly but passionately.

But that love, that brief, unforgettable love, was enough to push me through.

I pressed both hands against my belly, feeling the faint imaginary heartbeat of life within me, and swore aloud.

“I will avenge your father and grandfather by any means necessary.”

Whether in life or in death, I would make them pay .

CHAPTER THREE

MIRELLA

“The city is too quiet,” I muttered to myself, loathing the way my voice echoed through the walls.

It’s been five good years, and I was still not used to the eerie silence the city brought. As a girl who grew up in New York and was used to the city being vibrant and noisy, I always looked forward to cursing and swearing as a form of distraction. In this city, where a pin drop could be heard from a mile away, a hundred thoughts turned over in my mind—loud, scary, and uncertain thoughts. But there was one clear constant—my son, Alex. Sweet Alex, with his father’s quiet brown eyes and my stubborn chin. That boy was my life. My only link to a future I once thought was gone.

He was in the next room, probably asleep by now, with his little stuffed rabbit tucked in beside him. I glanced at the door, feeling that familiar ache tug at my chest. How did I get so lucky with him? I would die for him; no, I’d do worse. I’d live for him every single day, making sure no harm ever touched him.

Alex made me see the world differently. Every laugh, every wobbly step, and even his messy drawings meant everything to me. He didn’t understand it yet, but he was the reason I pushed so hard, why I built this new life. All this was for him—and maybe, a little bit for the man who gave him to me. I couldn’t forget that man. I couldn’t shake his image hidden behind that mask.

I’d searched endlessly for him to at least know who he was, pouring over everything I could find on Don Carlos’s associates, but nothing came up. I didn’t even have a name, only the memory of a tattoo just below his elbow and the way he’d looked at me for that single moment. He was a ghost, a shadow, and maybe he had wanted it that way. But that didn’t stop me. I wanted to know who he was. I wanted to look him in the eyes and…what? Thank him? Accuse him? I wasn’t sure. Just to know, that’s all. But I’d turned up empty, again and again. Then, why was I looking for a dead man?

Don Carlos had certainly survived, that much I knew. I’d seen him plastered across tabloids, smiling for cameras as if he were a model citizen. Everyone believed his story—that he was just a businessman, a club owner. Meanwhile, his real empire of weapons, drugs, and who knew what else was left untouched, hidden in the shadows. Rumor had it he even dabbled in human trafficking, though no one could prove it. He was like vapor, never leaving enough behind to be traced.

It made me sick.

But I knew, right then and there, that I had to outplay him. I couldn’t face him alone. No, I had to be untouchable first. That’s how Raven came to be. I’d built her from the ground up, right here in the city, cloaked in shadows. Mirella Gallo had disappeared the day I left, leaving only Raven in her place. No one knew they were the same person, just Dahlia, my brilliant assistant, and Enzo, my right hand. They didn’t know everything but they knew enough to trust me, and that was all I needed.

I glanced up as Enzo came through the door, his usual serious face betraying a hint of something else. Excitement, maybe?

“You’ve got that look again, Enzo. Tell me, what do you know?”

He crossed his arms, his expression as unreadable as ever. “This time, it’s big.”

I arched an eyebrow, not sure if I believed him. Enzo’s idea of ‘big news’ usually meant someone went bankrupt or some associate made a shady deal. But I motioned for him to go on .

“Rumor has it…” He paused, and I could feel my pulse quicken.

“Yes?”

“Rumor has it your father’s alive.”

I blinked, trying to process his words. My father? Alive? It didn’t seem real, yet it made sense in a twisted way. After the chaos of that day, his body was never found. My heart raced.

“Alive?” I repeated. “And you’re only telling me this now?”

Enzo shrugged, though there was a slight smirk on his face. “You never said to report on rumors. But this one, Mirella…it’s got legs. People in Don Carlos’s circle say he’s holding your father somewhere, using him as leverage.”

My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. “Leverage for what?”

“Everything, as far as I can tell. Your father’s wealth, his connections. Don Carlos’s men whisper that he’s milking your father’s name for every last drop.”

The urge to slam something overcame me. Of course, Don Carlos would hold my father captive. The man was a vulture. And he knew keeping my father meant keeping everything he had stolen from us.

I got up from my chair and paced the room. It was all too much to process. But one thing was certain: I couldn’t leave my father there. If he was truly alive, I owed him that much.

“How sure are you, Enzo?”

“Eighty percent.”

I smirked at his certainty. “Eighty percent, huh?”

“Enough for me to bet on it,” he added, his face unwavering. “Which is why I brought this to you now. If you want to move forward, I’m ready.”

I met his gaze, considering it. Enzo had been with me for years and had proven his loyalty more times than I could count. If he was confident, I trusted him.

“And what if it’s a trap?” I asked.

“Then, we spring it. Besides, I don’t see you backing out of this now.”

He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t come this far to stop just because there was a risk. I’d built Raven’s empire from nothing. I had the means, the power, and the influence now. I could do this. I had managed to stay anonymous all these years as Raven, only dealing in the shadow. Enzo was at the forefront always. He had this ruthless charm to his allure that made him lovable and scary at the same time. People feared him, which was perfect. To the world, Raven was just a mythical tale. She wasn’t real. Even though I had shown myself on one or two occasions in an all-black clothing disguise, I was still invisible. Just like that day at the engagement party, just before he saw me and whisked me away.

“If we’re going after Don Carlos, we’ll need more than just a plan,” I said. “We’ll need strategy and allies.”

Enzo nodded. “Which is why I took the liberty of gathering a list of potential friends. Ones who would be very interested in seeing Don Carlos lose.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his foresight. “You think of everything.”

“Someone has to keep you in check.”

We shared a quick, rare laugh—a release from the heaviness that hung in the air. But then, the reality settled in again, hard and cold. This wasn’t just some business venture or a power play. This was my family—my father. And the fact that Don Carlos was holding him, using him for his own gain, filled me with a quiet fury.

“Gather everything we need,” I ordered. “Money, resources, locations. I want to be prepared for every possibility.”

Enzo gave a curt nod. “Understood. Anything else?”

“Yes.” I looked him straight in the eye. “No one is to know about this—not Dahlia, not Alex. Not until I know it’s safe.”

“Of course.”

As Enzo left, I sat back down, letting out a slow breath. If my father was alive, that changed everything. But it also meant I had more at stake than ever before. Don Carlos wasn’t just some rival; he was a threat to everything I held dear.

And as I looked out the window, the city lights twinkling in the distance, one thought anchored me. I would get back everything Don Carlos had taken, every last cent and drop of power. My father, my family’s wealth—all of it. I’d infiltrate Don Carlos’s empire if that’s what it took.

For Alex, for my father, for every promise I had yet to keep.

**** *

Stepping off the plane, the noise of New York City greeted me like an old friend. The sound of honking cars and the chatter of busy streets—something about it all made me feel grounded and alive. I had spent too long hidden away, building my empire in silence, always watching but never seen. But now? Now, it was time to show the world that Mirella Gallo was back, stronger than ever.

I glanced at Enzo, who gave me a knowing look. “The gala starts in an hour. Perfect timing,” he smirked. “Should I prepare a team?”

I grinned, already imagining the scene. “Oh, yes. Make sure I’m flawless. If I’m coming out of the shadows, I want the whole city to know.”

An hour later, I was in front of a mirror, admiring the transformation. My gown hugged every curve—a rich midnight blue with a shimmer that seemed to dance under the lights. The neckline sunk daringly, and the fabric flowed down to the floor like liquid. My hair was swept back, sleek and elegant, leaving nothing to distract from the defiant fire in my eyes.

The makeup artists fussed over the last details—dark lipstick, a touch of silver on the eyelids, and a smoky gaze that dared anyone to look away. This wasn’t just a dress or makeup; it was armor, and every inch of it was meant to turn heads and make them whisper.

Tonight, the queen was back.

****

The gala was in full swing by the time I arrived. I felt every gaze on me as I stepped inside. Conversations paused, and glasses halted mid-air. All eyes were on me. It was a delicious kind of power. I watched them as they watched me, enjoying the shock and murmurs.

I made my way through the crowd. I could feel them parting like water. And then, at the far end of the room, I saw him. Don Carlos himself was standing tall in his expensive suit, holding a glass of something dark. His expression shifted from surprise to a twisted smirk as he took in the sight of me .

I could practically hear his thoughts. Well, well. Look who finally crawled out of her hiding place.

Without a word, he motioned for me to come closer. I approached him, my steps slow and deliberate. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing me rush.

“So,” he sneered, his voice laced with a mocking edge, “My little runaway bride finally decided to return.”

I met his gaze without flinching. “I’m here to do business, Don Carlos. There’s no need for trouble.”

He laughed, the sound cutting through the room. “Business? What do you know about business, Mirella?” His tone was so patronizing that I almost rolled my eyes right then and there. Instead, I kept my expression calm and unruffled.

“I know enough,” I replied coolly, keeping my voice steady. “I’m not here to dredge up the past or to settle old scores.”

Carlos chuckled, sipping his drink with exaggerated ease. “Bold of you to show your face, though. After all, you did run off with some man on our wedding day.”

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” I raised an eyebrow. “I was young, Don Carlos. Na?ve. I thought true love could win and that life was fair.”

He smirked. “And now? Has life taught you anything useful?”

I looked away, pretending a bitterness I didn’t feel. “It taught me that love is trash. A fairy tale meant to make fools of us all. Now, I’m here for only one thing—what my father left for me.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by suspicion. He leaned closer, his voice low. “And why should I believe that’s all you’re after?”

I met his eyes, unwavering. “Because I have nothing else left, Don Carlos. You took my family. All I want is what’s mine. I don’t need or want your pity. Or your lies.”

He looked at me for a long, tense moment before laughing again. “The audacity. Showing up here like you’re some grieving daughter after running off like you did. You really think I’d hand over anything without a price?”

I forced myself to stay calm, my voice a carefully crafted whisper of indifference. “Name it.”

Carlos leaned back, smug as ever. “It’s simple. You marry me.”

The words hit me like ice water, but I let only the barest hint of disgust flash in my eyes. Marry him? It was almost funny, really. The idea was repulsive, but it was exactly what I’d hoped he’d propose. Marriage would put me right where I needed to be. In his home. In his business. And, eventually, in control.

“Marry you?” I scoffed, pretending to mull it over. “Don Carlos, be reasonable. That would be a last resort.”

“Resort or not, that’s the price,” he replied smoothly, his expression darkening. “Do you really think you’re in a position to negotiate?”

“I suppose not,” I murmured, biting my lip in feigned reluctance. “I just… I just thought maybe there was some other way.”

He laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “The only way you’re getting anything is by tying yourself to me. Permanently.”

I sighed, allowing myself to appear weary and defeated. “Fine. But don’t think for a second this will be easy for me.”

Carlos’s smirk widened, satisfied. “Now, that’s the Mirella I remember. Always knew you’d come crawling back. A bold move, coming here and showing your face. But desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.”

“Desperate measures, indeed,” I echoed, keeping my tone low and bitter. “But if it means reclaiming what my father left behind, I’ll play the part. Just don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

His laugh grated against my nerves. He stepped closer, his voice suddenly a whisper. “Welcome to the family. Again.”

As he turned, Don Carlos motioned to a figure across the room. “You remember my son, don’t you?” His voice dripped with amusement. “Sergio.”

My heart skipped a beat. Sergio? I hadn’t thought of him in years, not since we were kids, running through gardens, daring each other to climb trees and sneak into forbidden rooms. I could still remember the way his laughter sounded, bright and mischievous. And that warm, steady gaze that always seemed to understand more than I ever said.

But that was years ago. What would he be like now?

Then, he appeared, stepping into view, and I felt the room tilt. He was striking. He towered over most people, easily six foot two, with a muscular build that suggested he hadn’t spent his life just lounging in luxury. His hair was dark, cropped short, and his face bore the shadows of light stubble. But it was his eyes that caught me. They were dark brown, intense, and sharp like he was sizing me up, piecing me together before I could say a word.

Carlos’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Mirella, meet my son, Sergio. I’m sure you remember him from those little childhood days.”

The memory came rushing back—the crush I’d harbored, the endless summers of childhood games. And now, here he was, no longer the boy I remembered, but a man.

Our eyes met, and there was a spark of something between us. Recognition. Those eyes—I have seen those eyes.