Chapter 16
Vercetti Estate. Private Guest Room. 10:55 PM.
The heavy door clicked shut behind us.
I turned slowly.
Slipped back into my perfect, professional posture.
Valentina stood a few feet away, face flushed deep pink, chest rising in tight, shaky breaths.
She looked ready to combust.
Absolutely feral.
But—
I raised one hand slowly, warning.
Two fingers pointed upward, subtly.
Her eyes widened slightly.
She understood.
Security camera in the corner.
Microphone planted in the light fixture.
Marco trusted no one.
Not even his daughter.
I kept my voice low, calm, warm—the way a new, sweet fiancée would talk.
"Relax, princesa."
I smiled softly, like I was reassuring her.
Stepped close enough for the cameras to see, but not close enough to set the house on fire yet.
"We have to act normal.
Cameras watching. Audio on."
She swallowed hard.
Nodded like an obedient little thing.
I gently took her hands.
Held them between mine, squeezing lightly.
Perfect.
Sweet.
Loving.
Wedding Gift Talk. 10:58 PM.
I guided her to sit on the couch.
Sat beside her.
Our knees brushed—
just enough to look close and "in love"—
but not enough to show what we really wanted.
I spoke, my tone light, like I was talking about some honeymoon vacation:
"I wanted to give your father something special."
Valentina tilted her head.
Perfect actress.
"Really?" she asked sweetly.
I nodded.
Played it like we were two giddy girls discussing wedding colors.
"Yeah.
Something that'll make the Vercetti name...
untouchable again."
I leaned closer.
Lowered my voice into a "just for us" secret tone.
"The wedding gift?"
I smiled.
Deadly.
Slow.
"I bought the controlling shares of the D'Amico, Santorelli, and Graziano families' financial networks."
Pause.
Valentina's eyes widened.
Almost too real.
Almost too impressed.
"Three entire families?" she gasped dramatically.
I nodded casually, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear like a lovesick fiancée.
"They're under my command now.
They're attending the wedding.
Their loyalty's already signed.
Publicly."
Valentina squeezed my hands tightly like she was about to short-circuit.
Inside?
She was fully combusting.
Because she knew:
I wasn't just marrying her.
I was taking over the goddamn Mafia hierarchy.
All under Marco's nose.
All with a sweet little bow.
Camera Shutdown. 11:01 PM.
Out of the corner of my eye?
I saw it.
The tiny red security light above the door?
Flick.
Off.
Scheduled reset.
Thirty-second blackout.
No cameras.
No audio.
I didn't even have time to breathe.
Guest Room. Chaos Explosion.
Valentina pounced.
Full body weight.
Slamming into me.
I grunted slightly as she threw herself into my lap.
Legs wrapping around my waist like a fucking octopus.
Face buried deep in my neck.
Purring.
Actually purring against my skin like a starving kitten.
Tiny whimpers.
Tiny kisses.
Tiny hitches of breath.
Her hands fisted the lapels of my suit jacket, dragging me closer.
Muttering against my throat:
"Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine."
I let my hands roam slowly down her back.
Held her against me.
Feeling the way her whole body shook.
How desperate she was.
How completely she had snapped.
I whispered against her ear, voice low:
"Careful, princesa.
Thirty seconds goes fast."
She shuddered violently.
Tightened her grip.
Whimpering again.
Still purring.
Still clinging like she'd die if I pulled away.
And I?
I smiled lazily.
Let her cling.
Let her break.
Because when the lights came back on?
We would go back to playing our parts.
But in this tiny blackout window—
She was fully, completely mine.
And she would never escape again.
Vercetti Estate. Guest Room. 11:03 PM.
The camera light blinked back on overhead.
Fast.
Sharp.
Valentina froze against me, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, thighs still clamped tight around my waist.
I gave her a tiny warning squeeze at her hips.
"Eyes up, princesa. Show's still on."
She bit her lip until it almost bled, and scrambled off my lap like a guilty sinner fleeing the altar, sitting prim and proper at the far edge of the couch.
Fixing her dress.
Taming her breathing.
Barely.
I reached into my inner jacket pocket.
Pulled out a slim black tablet.
Turned it on.
Screen flickered.
Passworded.
Encrypted.
A tap.
A swipe.
And there it was.
The hidden camera feed.
Marco's Office. Live Feed.
Valentina leaned in.
Pretending to look like a curious little fiancée planning wedding ideas.
In reality?
Watching her father.
Watching hell itself.
Marco sat behind his massive oak desk.
Cigar burning in one hand.
Drink in the other.
Talking to two shadowed figures across the room.
The audio feed picked up his voice crystal clear:
Marco (chuckling cold):
"Anna Maricella is a fucking idiot if she thinks this marriage is real."
Valentina's breath caught sharply.
I reached over—casually brushing her thigh under the guise of showing her the tablet—keeping her from reacting.
Marco continued:
"Once the papers are signed?
I'll kill her myself."
Pause.
He swirled his drink.
Smirking.
"And her companies?
Her holdings?
Her secrets?"
A slow, disgusting smile.
"All mine.
All Vercetti property."
The men across the room laughed.
Marco leaned back smug.
"She's just a walking wallet with a pretty face."
The Real Knife Twist:
Valentina trembled beside me.
Silent.
Frozen.
But Marco wasn't finished.
He sneered.
Lifted his glass.
"And my daughter?"
Another sip.
Shrugged like she meant less than a dog.
"She's weak.
Always was.
A pretty little thing to sell for power.
Nothing more."
One of the men joked something crude about training Valentina into a "proper obedient wife."
Marco laughed.
Laughed.
"If Maricella doesn't keep her in line, we'll auction her off next."
The men laughed harder.
Marco raised his glass higher in mock toast.
"To daughters.
To profits.
To fucking loyalty."
Guest Room. 11:08 PM.
I closed the tablet slowly.
Set it on the table.
Valentina sat there.
Shaking.
Eyes wide.
Silent tears streaking down her cheeks.
Not from weakness.
Not from fear.
From rage.
From betrayal so deep it carved her bones hollow.
I leaned closer.
Masked still gone.
Full Anna Maricella mode.
Voice low.
Deadly.
"I told you, princesa."
Pause.
Soft.
Sharp.
"Blood doesn't make family."
Valentina didn't answer.
She couldn't.
She just shook.
Breathing so hard it sounded like she was gasping for air.
Her fists curled tightly in her dress.
Knuckles ghost white.
And when she finally lifted her head to look at me?
It wasn't with sadness.
It was with pure, molten, broken rage.
"Kill him," she whispered.
Voice shredded raw.
Eyes burning.
"I want you to fucking kill him."
And me?
I smiled.
Slow.
Sharp.
Deadly.
"Already planned it, baby."
Vercetti Estate. Private Lounge. 9:06 AM.
The mansion buzzed low with tension.
But Marco sat calm as ever behind his oversized chessboard, cigar burning low between his fingers, waiting.
Waiting for the woman he thought was his rising star.
His "weapon."
His future expansion.
Anna Maricella.
The doors swung open.
And there I stood.
Dressed to kill.
Literally.
Red satin dress that clung like it was painted on my skin—
cut deep at the sides, slit up the thigh, sleeveless with an open back that left no room for mercy.
Every curve.
Every inch.
A living sin.
Black latex heels clicking softly against the marble with each step.
And the perfume—
A forbidden mix of smoked vanilla, crushed roses, and warm leather.
A single inhale of it?
Could make a priest collapse and crawl.
It wafted across the room like a second weapon.
Deadlier than any gun.
Marco smiled in satisfaction.
Eyes gleaming.
Old man smugness leaking off him in waves.
"Ms. Maricella," he purred, standing to pull out a chair across the chessboard.
"Looking... radiant."
Behind him, across the room—
Valentina stood.
Silent.
Obedient.
Looking like she might actually fucking combust.
Her eyes locked onto me the second I entered.
Her throat bobbed in a heavy swallow.
One step forward.
Stopped herself.
Her hands balled tightly into fists.
Trying—desperately trying—not to throw herself at me in front of everyone.
Inside?
I knew she was already dead.
The perfume.
The dress.
The heels.
The unholy aura leaking off me.
Too much.
Far, far too much.
Poor girl didn't stand a fucking chance.
Chess Game. 9:08 AM.
I sat gracefully across from Marco.
Crossed my legs slowly—
letting the slit in the dress fall open just enough to show one toned thigh, gleaming like silk.
Marco coughed once behind his cigar smoke.
Valentina whimpered silently behind him, clutching the wall.
I smiled sweetly.
Tilted my head.
Picked up a white pawn between two fingers.
Placed it forward.
"Let's play," I said softly.
Marco grinned.
Moved a black pawn to counter.
I let the pieces move casually for a few rounds.
Small talk.
Cigars.
Fake laughter.
But then—
I made my first real move.
I picked up my queen.
Slid her deep into Marco's territory.
Captured his first bishop without warning.
I smiled slowly across the board.
Voice soft.
"The thing about power, Mr. Vercetti..."
I moved another piece.
Took one of his knights.
Leaned forward, letting the neckline of the dress fall just slightly.
Marco tried to hide his reaction.
Valentina behind him?
Swayed visibly, nearly fainting.
I continued, silky:
"It looks safe.
It feels protected.
Until you realize—"
Another snap move.
Took his second rook.
"—you've already been cornered from three sides without even seeing it happen."
Marco chuckled.
But there was tension now.
Tiny.
Buried.
He countered, sloppier.
Trying to bait me.
I ignored it.
Smiled wider.
Moved my queen again.
Took another pawn.
Voice softer:
"Every king thinks the board belongs to him."
Pause.
Another move.
"Until a better player shows him the checkmate was inevitable from the start."
Marco sat back.
Tapping his cigar against the ashtray.
Smiling.
But tight now.
Tighter.
Because deep down?
He felt it.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Valentina was gripping the wall like it was the last thread keeping her alive.
Breathing so shallow it hurt.
My dress.
My voice.
My goddamn perfume.
My dominance radiating through the air.
She was soaked.
Gone.
Ruined.
She would have crawled across the floor for one bite of skin.
One breath against Anna's throat.
She pressed her thighs together harder, whimpering so softly it barely made sound.
Every molecule of her screamed:
"I want her."
"I need her."
"I'll die if I don't have her now."
I slid my last piece forward.
Smooth.
Casual.
Check.
Mate.
Marco blinked.
Stared down at the board.
Realized he was completely, utterly surrounded.
No escape.
No hope.
No moves left.
He smiled thinly.
Lifted his glass.
"You're dangerous, Ms. Maricella," he said low.
I leaned back.
Crossed my legs the other way.
Slowly.
Letting the dress part again just enough to drive the final nail into Valentina's shattered soul.
Voice soft.
Sweet.
"You have no idea yet, Mr. Vercetti."
Vercetti Estate. Private Lounge. 9:35 AM.
Marco leaned back in his chair after the brutal chess loss, swirling his whiskey lazily.
I stood.
Fixed my dress casually—
like I hadn't just metaphorically gutted his empire in fifteen moves.
I gave a polite, professional smile.
Voice syrupy-smooth:
"Unfortunately, Mr. Vercetti...
My flight back to Europe is in a few hours.
I have some business matters that need my personal attention."
Marco stood too.
Extended his hand.
I shook it cleanly.
Gloved fingers brushing against his ring once.
Silent.
Deadly.
I continued smoothly:
"If you don't mind..."
Pause.
Smile sharper.
"I'd like to take your daughter with me for a few days."
Marco blinked.
Tilted his head slightly.
I added quickly:
"Just to show her everything she's entitled to.
What she's gaining.
What she deserves."
Marco chuckled under his breath.
"Getting to know your future wife, huh?"
I smirked lazily under my lashes.
"Exactly."
He waved a hand like a king granting a favor.
"Fine. Take her.
Just don't let her spend too much of your money before the wedding."
Valentina behind him?
Literally shaking.
Holding onto the wall with everything she had not to sprint across the room and tackle me to the ground like a demon.
Vercetti Estate Driveway. 9:44 AM.
I walked out slow.
Calm.
SUV already waiting.
Fog curling around the ground like velvet.
Pulled open the driver's door.
Slid inside.
Valentina scrambled in the passenger seat.
Practically vibrating.
As soon as the doors closed—
Screaming.
Phone on speaker.
Tiny 4'10 Selene already yelling in gibberish.
I sighed, tossing my tablet onto the center console.
Inside the SUV.
Selene's voice blasted through the speakers:
"I JUST WATCHED YOU.
I WATCHED YOU SLAY HIM IN THAT RED DRESS.
I AM 4'10 I AM CLIMBING INTO YOUR FUCKING BODY.
I'M GOING TO LIVE INSIDE YOU LIKE A PARASITE.
YOU'LL NEVER GET RID OF ME."
Valentina joined in mid-scream:
"I'M GOING TO EAT YOUR PERFUME OFF YOUR NECK.
I'M GOING TO LICK YOUR ABS.
I'M GOING TO—FUCK—ANNA, YOU CAN'T JUST EXIST LIKE THAT."
I drove calmly through the fog.
One hand on the wheel.
Expression flat.
Voice cold:
"Chill."
They did not chill.
At all.
Selene shrieked:
"NEXT TIME YOU WEAR AN HOODIE, I'M GOING INSIDE.
I'M CLIMBING INSIDE THE POCKET AND NEVER COMING OUT.
I'M GOING TO LIVE THERE.
FEED ME COOKIES AND SCRITCHES."
Valentina, breathless, half-delirious:
"I'm claiming your neck.
The perfume spot.
It's mine.
MINE."
I arched an eyebrow slowly, still staring at the foggy road.
"Y'all are feral. Jesus Christ."
Selene whined dramatically:
"PLEASEEEE LET ME BE YOUR LEFT TITTY.
I'LL BE GOOD.
I'LL PURR."
Valentina, gasping:
"I WANT HER RIGHT TITTY THEN.
I WANT HER NECK.
AND HER STOMACH.
AND HER THIGHS.
AND HER EVERYTHING."
I huffed out one lazy chuckle.
Rolled my eyes.
"Fine," I muttered.
Dead serious.
"Selene gets my hoodie pocket.
Valentina gets my neck."
They screamed together over the speaker.
FULL FERAL.
One Tiny demon. One very feral mafia princess.
Possessed.
Thrashing.
I drove into the fog.
Leaving the Vercetti estate behind.
The empire collapsing behind me.
And two chaotic, one tiny, and one fairly talldesperate idiots
arguing over which parts of my body they were going to claim next.