DON ALEXANDRO
“What do you want, Francesca?” I asked, my voice hard.
She pouted, d*mn it. That look. It always had a way of slicing through my armor.
I was never the soft type. Never. In this life, love was a rule-breaker. The gang code was clear: no love, no weakness. Not even I, the boss, was exempted. But Francesca? She made me realize love wasn’t just weakness... it was suicide.
I pulled her out of that d*mn club when she was just a stripper, polished her, gave her a new life, by my side. I even planned to marry her. And what did she do? She ran off with that old rag, Antonio.
What hurt more wasn’t even the betrayal. It was what she left behind, our daughter. She was still a suckling infant. Francesca took the gold... and left the baby. It still felt like a dream I needed to wake
