XANDER VITTORIO LOVE STORY

Alexander Vittorio POV

(Twenty years old...)

The aroma hangs heavy in the air, the delicious bread smells luring me to the kitchen where I find Mama and Tanya admiring the pineapple honey cake they just baked.

It's my favorite smell in the world – Mama baking in the kitchen. It's home.

The moment Mama spots me, she gives me a stern scowl. "Don't you dare try to steal a slice young man, it's for after dinner."

It's Marc Vincent's birthday today. My brother is three years older than me. We haven't seen much of him over the past years as he's been training in Palawan Island to take his place in the Filipino Mafia called Demonyo Gang. With my father being a boss, it's only natural that we follow in his footsteps.

I take a seat at the table, eyeing the cake like it's my last meal.

"Do you want coffee?" Tanya asks me.

"Please." I smile at the girl who's like a little sister to me.

My parents adopted Maryo and Tanya Peters, and even though things were rocky at first, Maryo is now my best friend.

I watch as Tanya makes the coffee the way I like it, creamy and sweet, and smile again when she places the beverage in front of me.

"Thanks, T." After I savor my first sip of caffeine for the day, I ask, "Did you bake only one cake?"

It's normal for Mama to be up at the crack of dawn when it's one of our birthdays. And she always bakes enough for a small village not only baking but cooking more recipes for the occasion.

Mama shakes her head while trying to hide the smile tugging at her mouth. She cuts a huge slice out of the freshly baked cake. "You'll live on pastries and desserts if I give you half a chance." Still, she plates the slice and pushes it closer to me. "Only one slice."

I lean closer and take a deep breath, my mouth watering from the aroma. "I can't promise anything," I chuckle. "This is why you bake extra." I give Mama a thankful smile. "You love me too much to let me suffer until dinner time."

"Hmm." Her eyes are fixed on me as I take the first bite.

When the taste of cream, pineapple and cinnamon explode over my tongue, I let out a satisfied groan. My eyes close as I savor the goodness of my mother's baking. "Perfect."

Excitedly, Tanya claps her hands. "Really? You like it?"

My eyebrows fly up, and I swallow before asking, "Did you bake this one all by yourself?"

She nods, pride dancing in her exciting eyes.

"Well, little sister," I nod my approval, "it's exactly how I like it."

Tanya lets out a little shriek before falling onto the chair next to me. "Tell me how it tastes. Is there enough cream? Did I make the dulce de leche right? Not too much cinnamon?"

I lift a hand and softly pat her back. "Everything is perfect."

"What's perfect?" Maryo asks as he comes into the kitchen.

"The pineapple honey cake I made," Tanya answers, pride lighting up her face. "Sit. You have to taste it."

"It's too early," Maryo protests. He grabs a seat, then looks at me. Shaking his head, he mutters, "How can you eat cake first thing in the morning?"

I pop a huge bite into my mouth and groan again. "So good," I mutter around the cake.

Tanya places a cup of coffee in front of Maryo, along with a much smaller slice of cake. "Just taste it," she begs.

Tanya might've accepted Marc Vincent and me as her brothers, but there's no one she loves more than Maryo. Before my parents adopted them, they were stuck in an orphanage and only had each other, so it's understandable that they're inseparable.

Mama starts to prepare breakfast, and soon the aroma of fried eggs, melting cheese, and sliced sausages fills the air. Marc Vincent and Papa enter the kitchen, and Tanya gets busy preparing tea for them.

"Happy Birthday, Marc," Mama says before hugging MarcVincent.

We all take a moment to wish Marc Vincent a happy birthday, and as Mama and Tanya set all the dishes on the table, Papa mutters, "The boys are coming with me. We'll be gone all night."

"But it's Marc Vincent's birthday!" Mama exclaims. "We always have dinner together. It's tradition."

Papa shakes his head, giving Mama an impatient look. "Work can't wait."

Mama looks visibly unhappy, but she doesn't force the subject. "You better eat," she says, glancing around the table. "Come, come, more food coming." Getting up, Mama starts to make more fried eggs, a clear sign she's pissed off with my father. Cooking always calms her down.

"Tanya, you look after your mama while we're gone," Papa instructs.

"Yes, Papa," she replies.

Tanya was the first to call him Papa, where it took Maryo a couple of years. He still alternates between Mr. Andre Vittorio and Papa. It was easier for both to switch from Mrs. Alica Vittorio to Mama, though. Papa was a heritage of Italian-Russian ancestry and Mama was a pure Filipina.

Just to please Mama, we all eat twice as much. It feels like I'm going to burst by the time I stand up from the table. I press a kiss to Mama's cheek before giving her a tight hug, then move to Tanya to hug her quickly.

"Be careful," Mama says to Papa. "And look after our babies."

"Babies, my ass," Papa grumbles. "They're fully grown men."

Mama gives him a look of warning. "They'll always be my babies, Andre."

It takes another ten minutes before we're able to leave the house, and only once we've all piled into the armored SUV does Papa say, "We're taking the Russian's daughter tonight."

What?

My eyes widen, and shock trickles through my body. Maryo and I just started with our street training. We've been assigned to a junior boss and follow him around like lost fucking puppies. So far, I've only beaten a couple of fuckers who owe the Demonyo Gang's money. I've only killed once.

Kidnapping? That's a whole different level especially if the girl has half a fucking army guarding her.

My eyes flick to Maryo, and we stare at each other for a moment.

"Xander, you'll grab the girl while Marc Vincent has your back. Maryo and I, along with my soldiers, will take care of her guards."

Christ.

I nod because there's no arguing allowed. You do as you're told in the Demonyo Gang. I have to kidnap the girl. I'd much rather help take care of the guards.

Letting out a slow breath, I turn my attention to the rice field-covered scenery passing us by as we speed toward the heart of Metro Manila.

Against my better judgment, I ask, "What happens to the girl after we take her?"

Papa's eyes remain on the road as he mutters, "She'll be our hostage until Emmanuel either withdraws out of our territory or agrees to an alliance."

Fuck. That can take years.

Pushing my luck, I ask another question, "Will she be kept in one of the safe houses?"

"No."

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask yet another question, but I know it will anger my father.

"She'll stay with us," he mutters.

What the fuck? Mama is going to lose her shit.

Papa once came home with a little boy they kidnapped, and Mama didn't speak to Papa for a whole two months.

"It won't be for long," Papa adds.

The little boy only stayed two days. Hopefully, things will run as smoothly this time around. Or things are going to be tense at home for a long while.

"You'll make me proud," Papa demands. "Do as you're told and get the job done."

"Yes, Papa," we all answer in unison.

XXX

Anya Santini De Luna POV

(Eighteen years old...)

Glancing around me, it's still hard to believe I'm in Metro Manila.

I was supposed to take this trip with my father – Rocky Ace De Luna, the Italian Mafia Boss but he died in a car accident on New Year's Eve.

Next month will be a year since he passed away. The grief still comes in waves, especially when I see one of the sights Papa always talked about. Besides, Papa named me – Anya Santini De Luna – I don't know why. Papa did not tell me the name of my mother.

We planned this trip for over a year, and it was meant to be my graduation gift. With he's gone, I decided to honor his memory by going ahead with the vacation; the Philippines, Scotland, and Hawaii. We each chose a destination, and right now, I'm on the first leg of the trip.

Sometimes I'm struck by a wave of panic. Honestly, it's a little terrifying exploring a foreign country alone. But Papa Rocky Ace told me that the Philippines are great for tourists. It's terrifying being alone in this big world.

The only families I have left are Papa Mafia's Friends, Papa best friends – Uncle Craig, Uncle Montero, who lived together with us in Italy, but I barely have contact with them. There is Matthew, Papa's son, and he's offered that I move in with him, but he has four kids of his own, and I don't want to intrude.

I inherited enough to live comfortably for the next ten years or so. Money is the least of my worries. It's the fact that I don't have my Papa anymore that's scaring the hell out of me.

I was going to study literature and played with the idea of becoming an editor, but that flew out the window when I lost my parents.

Actually, I lost more than just my parents. I lost my friends as well. They tried to be patient with me, but I was too consumed with unbearable grief, and one by one, they stopped interacting with me.

By the grace of god, I managed to complete my final year of school, and now, as I'm traveling through Philippines, I have no idea what I'll do once the vacation is over.

Do I study further? My father and personal assistant are supposed to be here to help me make this decision. Shaking my head, I draw myself out of my morbid thoughts and glance up and down the busy street. The city is alive, and my eyes land on three girls as they giggle. It looks like they're heading toward a nightclub.

I used to be that carefree.

Finishing the last of the coffee I bought thirty minutes ago, I get up from where I'm sitting in a Starbuck's Café. Instead of going back to my hotel, I follow after the girls at a slow pace.

Two girls are holding hands. I remember I used to be that close with Bernadette in Rome, Italy before they moved to New York, USA because her father was transferred there for work.

The girls join the back of a long line of people waiting to enter the nightclub, and I stop behind them. They're talking Tagalog, but from the excitement in their voices, it's clear they can't wait to get inside.

Wearing a pair of tight, black jeans and a cozy sweater over a white long-sleeve shirt, I'm not dressed for the nightclub.

All the other girls are glammed up for the night.

Feeling a little self-conscious, I lift my hand to my head and pull my hair free from the braid before placing the tie around my wrist. I tug my fingers through the strands and take a couple of steps forward as the line moves.

Are you really going into the nightclub?

I glance around me, taking in the happy faces, and I feel the excited vibe filling the air. It's better than sitting in my hotel room where my grief will overwhelm me.

Two guys come to stand behind me, and I feel overly aware of my appearance. Like any other girl my age, I notice boys, and for some reason, they seem more appealing just because they're foreign. It's weird.

My eyes sweep over the group of girls in front of me, and as we move forward again, I notice their high heels. My sneakers might not fit the dress code.

Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I contemplate giving up on this silly idea, but something keeps me from leaving the line.

When we get closer to the entrance, I can hear the music coming from inside the nightclub.

A night out will do you good.

The girls ahead of me are allowed to enter then the bouncer's eyes land on me. His stern gaze sweeps over my outfit then he shakes his head. "Hindi pwede." His tone is harsh when he says something else, and the guys behind me chuckle, which has my cheeks going up in flames.

From my limited knowledge of Tagalog, I know the bouncer said no.

As I let out a sigh and turn to leave the line, a gorgeous woman comes toward us, her eyes flicking from me to the bouncer. She says something in Tagalog, then hooks her arm through mine, a bright smile on her face. I notice the group of men behind her. They look like bodyguards, making me wonder who the woman is.

My heartbeat speeds up, and caught off guard, I listen to her rambling in her native tongue as we enter the nightclub before I think to say, "I don't understand Filipino language." I pat my hand against my chest. "Italian and I know English language."

Her smile widens, and her eyes fill with surprise. "Really? So cool." Her accent is thick, and as she tugs me toward the lower floor where people are dancing, she leans into me. "My name is Olga."

Thank God she understands English.

A smile forms on my face as I meet her eyes. "I'm Anya...ahh...thanks for getting me into the nightclub."

I glance at the orange and blue décor, the strobe lights, the bar counters, and sitting areas. Olga leads me up a narrow staircase, and at the top, we enter a much more luxurious area than downstairs.

"You come alone?" Olga asks in broken English.

I nod, conscious of the men still following behind us. "Are they your guards?"

"Yes, ignore them." I'm pulled toward a bar counter, then she asks, "What do you drink?"

Getting a good look at her face, I have to admit she's stunning. Her hair is a couple of shades lighter than my light brown strands, and her blue eyes are downright mesmerizing. She's wearing tight leather pants, a silk blouse, and a three-quarter-sleeve jacket. Paired with high heels, the woman looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.

I almost declines a drink but remember the drinking age in the Philippines is eighteen. Shrugging, I sit down on a stool. "I don't drink much. You can get anything."

Olga also takes a seat, and then asks, "Are you visiting the Philippines?"

I nod, and slipping the strap from my shoulder, I set my backpack down by my feet. "Italy is beautiful."

"How long will you be here?"

The bartender interrupts her, and Olga holds up two fingers without saying anything.

"Just another week." My eyes dart between the bartender and her, then I ask, "Do you come here often?"

She nods, and when the bartender places two shot glasses down, she picks up one.

"Why did you help me get into the nightclub?"

"My father is owner, and it looked like you could use favor," she answers. We clink glasses, and hen she adds, "Welcome to Manila, Anya."

That explains the bodyguards. Olga's father must be wealthy, the same as my Papa.

We drink the shots, and the alcohol tastes like dishwashing liquid. My body shudders, and I struggle not to cough. "God," I chuckle. "It's bitter."

She lets out a burst of laughter, and a moment later, her face lights up, and she waves excitedly. "My friends are here."

I follow her line of sight and see two men and four women approaching us. Olga stands up and hugs each of them.

While I'm watching the group interact, I think about the random encounter with Olga. It's not in my nature to talk to strangers, but she looks the same age as me, so I don't think there's any harm in socializing with her.

Also, the energy pulsing through the nightclub is a nice change of pace. I'm tired of watching TV in the hotel room every night.

Olga gestures for me to follow them as they head toward a luxurious sitting area. Picking up my backpack, I join the group, and while they're all sitting down, Olga pats the seat next to her. "Come. Sit down."

She waves a hand at me while saying something in Tagalog. I make out the word 'American,' and everyone smiles at me.

Feeling out of place, I shift on the seat, doing my best to return their smiles. I am Italian, not American. This is the most awkward and impulsive thing I've ever done.

One of her friends says something I don't understand, and it has Olga glancing over my clothes. She replies to her friend before she gives me a wide smile. "I want to ask favor."

My eyebrow lifts, and I feel a tinge of apprehension. "What?"

"You come to bathroom with me and exchange clothes." She shoots a glance at her guards. "We will go to dance floor, and you pretend to be me."

Frowning at her, the apprehensive feeling grows. "Why?"

Olga lets out a chuckle. "I want to escape guards for one night. Do me favor. Please."

Yeah, I'm not so sure about this.

Olga has guards protecting her for a reason.

"I'll get in trouble," I state the obvious.

She waves a careless hand. "No. You just wear my clothes and dance. Nothing will happen. You can leave after I'm gone." She gives me a pleading expression. "I just want one night. Please." She takes hold of my hand. "My life is ahh... suffocating. I want normal life."

We're just swapping clothes.

Feeling sorry for her, I give in and nod.

A bright smile spreads over her gorgeous face, and I'm yanked to my feet as she gets up. "Thank you! Let's go."

I quickly grab my backpack. The other girls join us and surrounded by their giggles and Tagalog words, I'm ushered to the restroom.

"Thank you," Olga says again when she shrugs off the jacket.

We begin to exchange clothes, and while I put on her high heels, I think about the long walk back to the hotel.

Hopefully, I can get a taxi cab.

Olga fluffs my hair out, her eyes perusing me. "Good. This will work."

Honestly, her guards are stupid if they don't notice the swap.

I'm already regretting my decision to help her. I should've told her no and gone back to my hotel.

"I'll carry backpack to dance floor," she says while shoving her purse into my hands. Hooking her arm through mine, she gives me another smile. The other girls walk in front of us, and I notice they try to block our faces as we head to the stairs.

The two men who are waiting at the table get up and follow us to the lower level. Olga quickly pulls me into the dancing crowd.

"Wait ten minutes before leaving," she says right by my ear. She sets my backpack down by my feet and takes her purse from me.

"Let's go," one of the guys says while nervously glancing around.

The other guy and four girls stay with me while Olga makes her escape. I dance so I don't look like an idiot and keep giving Olga's friends awkward smiles.

Okay...this is not weird at all.

It's only been five minutes when one of the girls waves at me and the group leaves to join Olga. I feel a flutter of nerves and continue to dance while glancing around me. I try to see where Olga's bodyguards are. I didn't get a good look at them, though.

Ugh, I hope this doesn't bite me in the ass.

Sweat starts to bead on the back of my neck as I wait another ten minutes. Feeling the urge to make a run for it, I grab my backpack and rush toward the exit.

I hear Olga's name being called behind me and shove my way through the dancing crowd.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

With my heart beating a mile a minute, I make a beeline for the exit.

XXX

Xander Vittorio POV

Papa pointed out Olga as she entered the club, and I memorized her outfit because I didn't get a good look at her face. It all happened a little too fast.

Sitting in a car that's parked by the side of the building, I watch as Marc Vincent lights a cigarette.

"Mama's going to lose her shit when we come home with the girl," I state the obvious.

"Luckily, that's not my problem," my brother mutters. "I'm going back to Puerto Prinsesa, Palawan Island's as soon as we're done with this job."

I let out a sigh while scanning our surroundings. "I wish I could go with you."

Princess Coastal Entertainment is a training school slash resort in Palawan for anyone in the criminal world. It's the only neutral ground on the planet where we're taught how to be assassins, smugglers, and anything else crime-related. Marc Vincent is learning everything regarding torturing, fighting, and shooting. I'll go through the same course as him once I turn twenty-one.

"Just one more year." Exhaling a puff of smoke, he glances at me. "The training is tough."

"If you can do it, so can I."

He nods while his eyes flit back to the nightclub's entrance.

Silence falls between us, and we watch as people enter and exit the building.

Even though I'm not happy about kidnapping a girl, there's nothing I can do about it. I was born into the Demonyo Gang. It's been my entire life, and I always knew I'd fill some role in the organization as soon as I became an adult. It helps that I'm going through the training to be a Gang enforcer with Maryo.

Suddenly I'm ripped out of my thoughts when a girl matching Olga's description comes darting out of the nightclub, heading straight for us.

"Shit," Marc Vincent exclaims. "Grab her."

I shove the car door open and run after her. The high heels she's wearing slow her down, and I'm able to catch her before she can disappear around the side of the building.

Nervously, I keep looking around us for the guards while my arms lock around her. As I lift Olga off her feet, she cries, "I'm sorry. It was her idea."

Hearing her speak in an English accent makes a frown form on my forehead, but having a job to do, I haul her to the car. Marc Vincent opens the backdoor, and I shove Olga inside.

"Jesus," she hisses, shooting a glare my way.

After I slide in beside Olga, Marc Vincent starts the engine, and seconds later, we're speeding away from the nightclub where Papa and Maryo will take care of the guards should they try to come after us.

I turn in the seat to glance out the back window to make sure we're not being followed before I let out a breath of relief.

"That was easier than I thought," I voice my thoughts to Marc Vincent, then my eyes lock on Olga.

Holy. Fucking. Christ.

The woman sitting next to me is so fucking beautiful, I can only stare at her for a solid minute. She has wavy light brown hair, and her eyes are a mixture of brown and green. Her features are delicate and innocent.

"Do you understand English?" she asks.

Olga is half-Russian, half-American. Born and bred.

This woman has a full English accent.

Fuck.

"What's your name?" I ask, praying to all that's holy I didn't grab the wrong girl.

"Oh, thank God you speak English," she lets out a relieved chuckle. "I'm Anya de Luna. Are you Olga's guards?" She glances out the windows, then nervously brings her eyes back to me.

"What the fuck," Marc Vincent snaps from behind the steering wheel.

Apprehension tightens the girl's features. "This was her idea. She left the nightclub with her friends." She glances out the window again. "You can drop me off right here."

"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter while quickly pulling my phone from my pocket. In Tagalog, I tell Marc Vincent, "Papatayin tayo ni Papa."

"What are you doing?" Marc Vincent shakes his head as he turns the vehicle left up a random street. "Don't call Papa. Let's think of a plan."

"Can you stop the car?" The girl...Anya is looking more anxious by the second.

I feel a twinge of panic because I wasn't lying when I said Papa would kill us for the mistake. We had one job, and we fucked up.

My eyes snap to the girl's face as I ask, "Where is Olga?"

She shrugs while gripping a backpack to her chest. "I don't know. She left the club ten minutes before me."

Suddenly there's a crash of metal, our bodies are jarred, and the car spins to the side.

"Fucking Christ!," Marc Vincent curses, trying to regain control of the vehicle.

Shock vibrates through me, and the air in my lungs bursts from my lips. Instinctively, I grab hold of Anya, who's too stunned to make a sound. I'm slammed against the door, and as the car flips, there's nothing I can do to stop us from being tossed around.

A faint peeping sound comes from Anya, and I feel her hands claw at my shirt. Pain rips through my left arm, and a moment later, everything stops. I hear the groaning of metal and something dripping.

What the fuck?

Letting out a groan, I shake my head before pushing myself up from where I'm laying partially over Anya.

I grip hold of the driver's seat and sit up. I notice blood seeping from a gash on my left forearm, then my eyes dart to my brother, who's slumped over the steering wheel. There's a cut on his forehead and blood trickling from his mouth.

"Vincent!" Even though I intended to shout, his name is nothing but a hoarse whisper.

"God," Anya whimpers, trying to sit up.

The doors are yanked open, and still dazed from the accident my reaction is delayed as I'm grabbed and hauled from the car.

When my arms are yanked behind my back, and someone starts to fasten zip ties around my wrists, I struggle, shaking my head again to rid myself of the fog left over from the accident.

This is an ambush.

I hear Anya cry.

As my eyes flick in her direction, I see men pulling her and Marc Vincent from the wreckage before a fist connects with my face, my muscles strain, but before I can do anything, another blow slams into my temple, and I lose consciousness.

Coming to it feels like I was hit by a train. My mouth is dry, and my head is heavy as I roll it to the side. There's a dull throb in the side of my face.

What the fuck happened?

It doesn't feel like a hangover, and my mind is too foggy to remember last night.

"Hey," I hear a panicked female voice. "Wake up. God. Please wake up."

My mind clears a little, and when I move my left arm, it throbs. I've had a broken arm before, so I know it's not that bad.

Lying on my side, I pry my eyes open only to see a stained wall. It looks like there's a spray of blood drops that dried ages ago.

Fuck!

"Wake up! Please," the woman begs again.

I push through the last of the grogginess and manage to move into a sitting position.

"Thank God," she whimpers before letting out a sob.

Turning my head in her direction, I stare for a moment before I recognize her, and all at once, the event of the ambush hits me. Jesus Christ. Our car was hit. Marc Vincent cursed as he tried to regain control of the spinning vehicle. We tossed around before being pulled from the wreckage.

"Fuck'," I mutter, realizing how serious this shitty situation is.

Marc Vincent!

My heartbeat speeds up, and I quickly glance around me, taking in every inch of the small, filthy room we seem to be locked in.

I try to remember the men who ambushed us but come up empty-handed.

I don't know who has us.

Maybe another Gang retaliated?

"What's your name?" Anya asks. "Do you think the other guards will look for us?"

Glancing around the empty room again, I see nothing but old blood stains. There's a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Fuck, this is bad.

"Please talk to me," Anya begs, her voice trembling.

My gaze swings back to her, and I shake my head. "Alexander." My tongue flicks out to wet my dry lips. "My name is Xander."

Anya's features tighten, and I can see tears brimming in her eyes. Her outfit is ruffled, and the high heels she wore when I grabbed her are nowhere to be seen.

"How long have we been here?" I ask.

Her frightened gaze is locked on me. "A couple of hours."

"Did you see what happened to my brother?"

"The guy driving the car?" When I nod, she shakes her head. "They put a bag over my head."

"Fuck'," I curse again. Struggling to my feet, I walk to the door and test it to see whether it's locked. The door doesn't budge, and I let out a sigh. "Ano ngayon ang mangyari sa akin?."

"I don't understand Tagalog," Anya whispers, her eyes still glued to me.

"I said fuck my life." I take a deep breath while my hand skims over the spot where my gun should be tucked behind my back.

It would be the first thing they'd take. That's why Anya doesn't have her high heels. I also noticed my belt is gone. Anything that could be used as a weapon has been taken from us.

Dropping to my ass next to Anya, I rub a hand over my face.

"Do you know what happened?" she asks.

I let out a sigh, then explained, "We were supposed to grab Olga, but she one-upped us. My guess is her father's behind the ambush."

"Ambush?"

My eyes meet the innocent girl's panicked gaze, and I wonder if she knows anything about the world I come from.

"You're American or?" I ask.

She nods. "I'm Italian but here on vacation."

I feel a twinge of pity in my chest. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you're fucked," I give it to her straight. There's no time to sugarcoat our situation.

The quicker she braces for the hell coming our way, the better for her.

Her face pales, her eyes jumping nervously over my features. "What do you mean?"

"Ever heard of the Mafia Gang or Bratva?"

She shakes her head.

"The Mafia..Bratva?"

This time her eyes widen, and panic makes her breaths come faster.

"You got caught in a war." I shake my head, and unable to lie to her, I say, "It's going to get bad, but with a little luck, my father will find out where we are and come to get us."

But that will take time, and in the meantime, we'll be tortured.

That's if they don't execute us today.

Like I said, we're fucked.

XXX