The Don's Nemesis And Obsession

•HAZEL SANTORO•

Growing up in the United States, I'd been around my fair share of fanatics and delusional people. Honestly, I could probably count myself as one of them sometimes. But just three months ago, I started college and found myself surrounded by next-level delusional girls. The kind who squealed over their ridiculous fantasies about being swept away by some handsome mafia Don to live a fairytale happily-ever-after. I used to laugh at their stupidity. The mafia? Seriously? It's all bullshit.

At least, that's what I thought.

Now, here I am. Somewhere in Italy, standing in front of a massive gate guarding a mansion that belongs to the very thing I thought was a joke-a mafia Don. A man I'm about to beg for my father's life. Who would've thought, right?

I let out a bitter laugh, straightened my shirt, and knocked on the gate. Once. Waited. Then knocked again. No answer. Just as I raised my fist for a third try, I heard the faint click of a lock at the far-right end. Hurrying over, the gate creaked open, revealing two tall, bulky men in tailored suits and sunglasses. Instinctively, I shrank back. Why are they so huge?

Clearing my throat, I spoke loudly, hoping to mask my fear.

"I need to speak to Raffaele Mancini."

The one on the left scanned me from head to toe, then exchanged a glance with his partner before answering. "And what business do you have with him?"

"I'm Hazel. Hazel Santoro."

At my name, they paused. Left Monster-looking man repeated it under his breath. "Santoro..." He stepped back, murmuring into a walkie-talkie looking thingy before gesturing for me to follow him.

I stepped inside, my breath catching as I took in the sprawling estate. Calling it beautiful didn't even come close. It was unreal. But I wasn't here to gawk. Focus, Hazel. I muttered the words to myself, giving my cheeks a light slap.

After being stopped in a small room for a very invasive body search and phone confiscation, they finally let me through to the mansion. Left Monster man told me to wait on the patio while Raffaele Mancini finished some business, promising someone would call me when he was ready.

So I waited.

And waited.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours. The sky began to dim, the golden light of the late afternoon fading to gray. I paced, sat, then stood, unable to keep still. Were they trying to intimidate me? If so, it wasn't going to work.

Finally, I'd had enough.

I stomped deeper into the mansion, determined to find this Raffaele Mancini myself. Eventually, I found myself in front of two enormous, floor-to-ceiling doors. Muffled voices filtered through from the other side. Let's hope he's in here. I drew in a sharp breath, pushed the doors open-heavier than they looked, damn-and stepped inside.

Instant silence.

All eyes turned to me, then to the man sitting at the head of a long table. His dark hair and shadowed features were hard to make out in the dim light, but his presence hit like a freight train. The air around him seemed heavier, suffocating, like he was commanding the room just by existing. There was no mistaking it-this was Raffaele Mancini.

I steeled myself, clenched my fists, and marched to the center of the room.

"Raffaele Mancini! I'm here on behalf of my father."

The chair creaked as the mysterious man at the end of the table rose to his feet-tall, easily 6'2", maybe even 6'3". Omg, is this what I'm really thinking about?! I mentally shook myself as he began walking toward me. It wasn't until he stopped just a few steps away that I could finally take in his features.

Gray eyes, almost see-through, with fairly long hair for a guy-tied back in a low bun, a few loose strands falling over his face. Full lips... distracting, set against a hard, sharp jawline. He was built, but not excessively so, with broad shoulders that looked like they could hold the weight of the world-or cradle me for years. The perfectly tailored suit clung to him in a way that made it impossible not to notice every detail. He looked young, maybe 28 or 30, a couple years older than me. And ridiculously handsome. Seriously, Hazel, get.a.fucking.grip. Who is this guy?!

"Impatient, are we now?"

That voice. Deep, smooth, with a dangerous edge that made my stomach flip. Why is everything about this man so incredibly hot and threatening at the same time?!

"Miss Santoro..." he said, stepping closer, his gaze pinning me in place. "Did your father send you here?" "N...no, sir" I stammered, feeling myself fading but then I forced myself to breathe, to stand straighter. " I heard he stole from you. He made a mistake, my father isn't such a person."

He laughed-a deep, rich sound that sent a slight wave of anger through me and a pool of heat between my thighs. "A mistake? No, Hazel. Your father didn't make a mistake. He made a choice. A very stupid one."

I took a step forward, ignoring the way the guards by the door shifted, their hands moving to their weapons. I wasn't armed. I wasn't a threat. But in a room like this, desperation was more dangerous than a gun.

"I'm here to fix that choice," I said, my voice louder now, more confident than I felt. "I'll pay off his debt," I interrupted, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

His brow arched, a slow smirk curling on his lips. "You? How?"

"I'll figure it out," I said, though I had no idea how. "But you'll leave him alone."

Raffaele tilted his head, studying me as though I were some kind of amusing puzzle. "And if you can't?"

"I will." I clenched my fists tighter. "I won't fail."

The smirk deepened, and he took a step closer, his broad frame casting a shadow over me. "You're brave, Hazel. I'll give you that. But bravery alone doesn't fix problems like these. It doesn't erase the fact that your father stole from me. That he took what belongs to me."

He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And I always take back what's mine."

A shiver raced down my spine, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. "What do you want, Mancini?"

The question hung in the air between us, and for a moment, he said nothing. He just stared at me, his eyes searching mine, as if trying to unravel the thoughts spinning wildly in my head. Then, slowly, he straightened, his smirk returning.

"You'll be mine, Hazel. For one year. In exchange, your father walks free. No debt. No punishment."

I stared at him, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "You-you want me to be your-"

"My pet," he finished smoothly, his smile cold. "For one year, you'll belong to me. Do as I say. Go where I say. You'll live under my rules. And when the year is up, you and your father will be free."

For most of my 22 years, I'd done everything in my power to avoid responsibilities. The big ones, at least. The ones that demanded complete commitment. Yet ironically I'm now faced with a choice, my father's life or a yearlong devotion of my life to this terrifyingly handsome man? How unfair.

Raffaele watched me, his eyes glittering with something I couldn't quite place. Amusement? Desire? Control? He knew he had me backed into a corner, and he was reveling in it.

"What will it be, Hazel?" he asked, his voice soft but commanding. "Are you willing to make the sacrifice? Or should I send someone to collect your father now?"

I swallowed hard, my voice barely a whisper as I finally spoke. "Yes. I'll do it."

The smirk on Raffaele's face widened, and he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my cheek. "Good girl."

I flinched but didn't pull away.

"Tomorrow," he said, stepping away from me. "You'll come to my estate. We'll start then."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My legs felt like they might give out at any moment, and I just wanted to get out of there before I lost what little composure I had left.

As I turned to leave, the sound of his voice stopped me cold.

"Oh, and Hazel?"

I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I looked back over my shoulder.

"If you try to run," he said softly, his eyes locking onto mine, "I'll find you. And your father won't live to see the sunrise."

I stared at him, my blood turning to ice in my veins. The full weight of what I had agreed to pressed down on me like a suffocating blanket, and as I walked out of the room, the reality of my situation settled in.

I had just sold my soul to the devil.

•RAFFAELE MANCINI•

Hazel Santoro.

Brave-I'll give her that. Barging into a room surrounded by men who'd kill for far less than her audacity. And then making demands? I haven't decided if I'm amused or irritated.

I stare at the door she disappeared through, replaying our encounter. Her voice, steady but fragile. The way those full lips pressed into a hard line when she looked me in the eye. Those hips in the damn jeans with her movements bold and annoyingly distracting.

Who would've thought Alfonso Santoro's bloodline would produce something like that?

The room is quiet now, the air still heavy with the tension she left behind. I glance around and find my men uncertain, their eyes flicking between me and each other.

"Let's call it a night, meeting's over. Get out."

I stare at them impatiently as they begin to shuffle their way out of the room, their usual arrogance replaced with silent obedience. I sink into the chair, exhausted and ponder about the encounter with the rebellious little cat with fire in her eyes.

A low chuckle draws my attention. I lift my head and spot Dante leaning against the far wall, a knowing smirk on his face.

"You're really creepy sometimes, you know that?" I grumble.

He laughs and strolls over, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "Creepy? Me? Fratellone, I could say the same about you. But at least I don't pick my prey from the middle of a standoff."

I accept the glass he pours and take a long, satisfying gulp, relishing the burn. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Dante sinks into the seat across from me, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he gives me a sideways look. "You tell me, Don. That was quite unlike you, I expected a bullet to be lodged up between her eyes the moment she walked in, I saw you grab your gun, but you hesitated...then you talk about keeping her as a pet?"

He pauses, his smirk growing into an annoying grin. "Not that I'm complaining. She's quite the looker. I mean she's got that amazing body, and that face? Damn. I didn't know I had a thing for gingers until tonight. Maybe you could lend her to me for a while-"

"Watch it, Dante." My voice drops to a dangerous edge, a little sharper than I intend. "Careful fratellino. Hazel Santoro is here because she offered herself as payment. What I do with her or how long I keep her alive really isn't your concern."

Dante raises his hands in mock surrender, though his smile doesn't waver. "Easy there, fratellone. I'm just trying to be your voice of reason. Don't forget what her father did. He stole from you, betrayed you. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree you know, be careful."

I glare at him, loosening my tie as the irritation simmers. "There's nothing to worry about. I'll decide her fate. And I'll start by finding out everything there is to know about her."

Dante raises a brow, but I continue, my voice firm. "Bring me everything-her address, her history, the people she's close to. Hell, down to the details of her favorite body wash. I need to be sure about her ties to Alfonso and her real motive."

Dante downs the last of his whiskey, adjusts his suit jacket, and pushes to his feet. "Your wish is my command, Don. But just remember-you're playing with fire."

I wave him off, and he gives a light nod before disappearing out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Hazel Santoro.

The name rolls through my mind, sticking there like a thorn. I've met hundreds-thousands-of people in my life, yet her face stays sharp in my memory. The slight tremor in her voice when she stood her ground, the way her hands curled into fists as though she was fighting not just me, but herself.

I saw the fear in her eyes, but more importantly, I saw something else: defiance. A fire that hadn't been put out, even as she stood in the lion's den. Most people in her shoes would've dropped to their knees and begged for their lives. She didn't. She was afraid-I could feel it radiating off her in waves-but she didn't cower.

That alone intrigued me.

But it also made me wary. My brother's words echo in my head-The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Alfonso Santoro had been one of the few men who'd dared to betray me. He'd smiled in my face, shaking my hand as though he was loyal, then turned his back and stolen from me. It hadn't ended well for him.

Hazel's arrival feels too coincidental. Desperation or not, there's something I can't quite put my finger on yet.

I rise from the chair, pacing toward the window. Outside, the estate sprawls before me, the security lights throwing long shadows across the manicured grounds. Tomorrow, she'll be here. Under my roof. My rules.

"What are you hiding, Hazel Santoro?" I murmur to myself.

I don't trust coincidences. Never have.

I picture her again-those stubborn green eyes, the wild flame of her hair, the way she spoke my name like a curse. She'd been trembling, but her voice had steadied with every word, like she was building herself back up in real time.

I pour another drink, downing it in one go. There's a dull hum in my chest-anticipation. It's been a long time since I've felt anything but cold, ruthless purpose. Hazel Santoro brings something different to the table: unpredictability.

And that makes her dangerous.

But danger doesn't scare me. It excites me.

The knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts. Matteo steps inside, ever the picture of efficiency. "The guest wing on the east side is being prepared as you requested. Security will be doubled there starting tonight."

"Good," I say, staring out at the estate again. "She'll arrive tomorrow on her own. I want her to see exactly what she's walking into."

"Yes, sir." Matteo hesitates. "And her role here?"

I glance over my shoulder, smirking. "She'll find out soon enough."

Matteo nods and leaves me alone again. I return to my desk, leaning my hands on the polished surface as I stare at the faint reflection of my face in the glass.

Tomorrow will mark the start of something new. Whether Hazel Santoro knows it or not, she's crossed a line she can't step back from. She's mine now-at least for the next year.

And I'm going to enjoy every moment of watching her fight against it.

I allow myself one last thought as I shut off the lights and leave the room.

Let's see how long that fire lasts.

•HAZEL SANTORO•

The light streaming through the windows was starting to become unbearable, piercing through my closed eyelids like needles. I groaned and pulled the covers over my face, but the dusty fabric just made me sneeze. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and took a look around the cramped room.

Is this really where my father has been living for the past twenty years?

The place was a complete disaster cluttered, dusty, and stinking like no one had been in it for months, maybe even years. Everything about it felt wrong.

I reached around the bed for my phone, but it only took a second to remember I didn't have it. I'd left that damned arrogant bastard's mansion without getting it back after he seized it. I groaned again, throwing my legs over the side of the bed.

Do I really have to be there today? Till forever? Who knows if that asshat will even let me take a break to see my father.

My father. I haven't laid eyes on him since I came back to Italy or since I left for the States twenty years ago. After my mom died, my father decided it'd be best to take my two-year-old self to live with his younger brother in Tennessee, probably because he was dealing with the grief of losing my mother and felt I'd get proper care there. If only he'd known... Care? That was a far fetched joke.

All I got was chaos. Constant fights between my uncle and his numerous girlfriends, drugs in every corner of the house, and a childhood filled with nothing but abuse. Emotional, physical, all of it. By the time I turned eighteen, I couldn't take it anymore. I left that house and worked hard to make a life for myself.

Through it all, the only thing that kept me going was knowing I at least had a family member left. My father. So, when he called me for only the second time in my life, sounding so desperate and scared, I didn't think twice.

And now here I am, stuck in the middle of his mess, about to live under the thumb of some mafia don just to keep him safe. But I don't mind, he's my family and he's all I've got so I'm going to do my best to keep him safe and no one, mafia don or not, breathtakingly handsome or not, is going to stop me.

And yet, for some reason, his face kept creeping back into my mind.

"Ugh!" I groaned, flopping back onto the dusty mattress. Why the hell do I keep thinking about him? What is wrong with me? He has big hands though. When he brushed the hair from my face and his fingers grazed my cheek...he smelled so nice. His fingers were thick too...he's most definitely big down there...His scent, his stupid smirk...

I slapped my forehead. Stop it, Hazel. Focus.

I pushed myself off the bed and scanned the room. There had to be a clock somewhere that still worked. After digging around a little, I found an old, dusty one on a shelf. It still worked just fine. I brushed it off and checked the time-2:15 p.m.

That gave me enough time to figure out how to find my father.

I waddle to the bathroom and was grateful the water still ran, though cold. I washed myself and came out, picking out the only other shirt I brought with me to Italy. I hadn't gotten the time to pack up before traveling because he sounded really urgent and worried over the phone when he'd called me and told me the mafia was after him and if I could, I should come see him one last time before he died. I knew I wasn't going to let that happen, how? I didn't know, but I gathered up all the money I'd saved and booked the next available flight to Italy with the address he'd given me. Figuring out where the mafia was in question wasn't at all difficult, as my father had mentioned his name on the call and I just needed to ask a few people who were willing to answer for directions.

I tied my sneakers and stepped out of the apartment, knocking on the neighbor's door with the number my father had called me from written on a piece of paper. An elderly woman answered, and after some explaining and persuasion, she let me use her phone.

"Dad? It's Hazel. Are you there?"

There was a long pause before his voice crackled through. "Hazel? Honey, is that you? Whose phone is this? Where are you?"

"I'm in your apartment," I said quickly. "And don't worry, Raffaele Mancini won't hurt you. I've spoken with him."

"What?" His voice shot up. "Hazel, that's dangerous! What did you do?"

My throat tightened, but I kept my voice steady. "I made a deal with him. I'll stay with him for a year starting today, and after that, we're free. It's nothing I can't handle."

"Honey... I'm so sorry," he said, his voice breaking. "I've failed you. I'm the worst-"

"Don't," I cut him off. "It doesn't matter now. I just need to know you're safe. Where are you?"

"I'm with some friends. I'm just taking cover at their apartment," he said hesitantly.

"They're people who don't like Mancini either. But Hazel you should know, that man is very dangerous. Please, be careful."

"I will," I promised, even though the lump in my throat made it hard to speak. "I have to go now. This isn't my phone. I don't know if I'll be able to call you, but I'll try. Stay safe, okay?"

"I'll find a way to contact you, promise." he said. "Take care, honey."

I handed the phone back to the woman and thanked her, unsure what to do with the ache in my chest. I decided to take a walk.

The streets were busy, full of people laughing and chatting like they didn't have a care in the world. I envied them. My life was anything but carefree.

I turned a corner, watching a mother and daughter pass by, when I noticed two bulky men in suits walking behind me.

That's odd. I'm instantly reminded of the huge-ass monster-looking men at the Mancini mansion. Am I being followed? It can't be right? I'm probably just being paranoid.

I turn to the next corner, and guess what, they do too, and then the next corner, same thing, I pick up my pace and so do they...oh shit. I begin to run.

These fucking bastards, did he send them to spy on me? How long have they been watching? I turn to look back and notice they're still hot on my tail. Just then I bump into a wall...a warm wall? I turn to look, and I'm greeted with a scowling scar-faced huge monstrosity of a man.

"You're coming with us, miss Hazel, the Don has been expecting you."

What the actual fuck is going on!!!