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The Mafia and his lost queen

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Sophia is a troubled girl fighting her demons and trying to run away from her past life as much as she can but she cant just run away. Its too difficult. She desperately wants someone to help her out until the mafia boss takes a glance at her. His life is fucked up, messed up but he is the king. He knows when to shut down his emotions, when to snap ,when to hold things under control. He doesn't believe in love or happiness and vows to die alone. But will he be able to complete his vow when he sees a set of pure green eyes which make him completely stop on his way. What will be the fate of Ashton Romanno?

Romance / Adventure
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

Before any one of you comes and slits my throat apart (I might appreciate that too in the world that we live in), just hear me out. I re-edited this book and it turned out to be so much better than the shitty way I started to write 3 years ago. So the following 5 chapters are the final version that are also available on Amazon.

I hope you will love Ashton, Sophia, Massimo and little Everleigh as much as I do. And I really do hope that you feel love towards these characters. Ashton might not respond the same way, the others, I assure will.

Love you all!!!!! Stay happy. Always.


I brought the glass of alcohol to my lips, letting the burning liquid go down my throat. It ravished the inner beast within me, awakening the blood-hounding demons within and clawed at my skin to draw more blood. I relaxed back in the headrest, had my right ankle over my left knee, my body eased on the sofa as I looked around my surroundings, catching glimpses of each mafia don attending the meeting today.

The French, Americans, Russians, Australians and then us, the Italians.

The five of us crime lords were enough to rule all over our own countries, setting it ablaze in flames upon our liking or anyone’s interruption.

My eyes raked over to all the other four leaders, their right-hands standing behind them, their spines straight and hands behind their backs. I took another sip of my drink when Etienne, the French mafia don, spoke up, his accent rolling smoothly through his tongue, “Let’s put a break to this, Mr. Romanno. A truce is for the best.”

I wore a three-piece suit: black suit pants, black suit coat but a white shirt. My muscles strained against my suit, and threatened to break free and tear the fabric, or better yet, break some skulls on the way. My hair was pulled back, I had a Rolex wrapped around my wrist, and cufflinks decorated the wrist area of my suit coat when my expression remained passive. I could feel veins popping against my arms, hands and forehead when I kept my ruthless-mafia-face on.

As soon as Etienne’s words passed from his mouth and he stopped talking, I heard chairs scraping as everyone turned their bodies to look at me. But I didn’t move an inch. I never bowed to anyone, nor did I ever show my eagerness to meet someone. I was never built that way. The more you show you are eager for someone, the more you resemble a pussy.

Sitting in my seat and keeping my head straight, I just moved my eyes till they landed on Etienne. He had this stupid sympathetic expression when my gaze found Vladimir, the Russian mob boss. He was looking at me with a shit-eating smirk when I replied calmly, keeping my gaze on Vladimir the entire time. My voice boomed clearly through the hollow dome, imprinting my words in their fucking skulls, “The Italians know how to play their games ... barking dogs don’t.”

Vladimir’s face morphed into pure anger when I sensed another war coming on. Before he could start barking, I relaxed back in my seat, placed the glass of alcohol on the arm rest and continued, looking as calmly as ever at him, “You attacked my bases, I didn’t. You led an ambush, I led a war. You pay for shit you started.”

There were people talking all over the room, but I got up, not having the time for their stupidity. The whole table fell into silence as every head turned my way when I adjusted my suit coat and looked at them as I fastened a button: “Vladimir. Don’t make me rain bullets on your empire again. Next time you try to enter Italy without my fucking permission is the day you end up bloody. The day you decide to wage an attack on me is when I wage fucking wars on you and end you for good. Mind it. You want a truce? You sign the papers. If not ...?” I didn’t need to complete the rest of the sentence. I addressed the rest of the dons while I kept my eyes on the shit-eating piece of shit, “Gentlemen.” I didn’t spare a glance at the others and walked out.

I maintain a truce till the other does so too. You break it? Don’t expect me to just go along with it. I make sure karma knocks on their doors.






Calmness radiated inside me as my eyes watched the streaks of blood flowing down the floor, across the basement. My inner beast roared with gratitude for giving him the satisfaction it long desired for. My itching fingers felt the warmth relishing within them but not enough to completely stop the restlessness within me.



The only two things that brought me peace, that brought calamity within my world. How ironic, no? The things that destroyed my fucking world to ashes cocooned me today in its warm embrace, and allowed me to feel powerful, dangerous, and fucking ruthless.

My eyes snapped at the man as his pale skin glowed under the one light bulb there and his eyes bored into mine. Half empty, soulless, tired.

But I didn’t care.

I didn’t fucking give a shit.

You disrespect me once? I give you a warning. You disrespect me again? I kill you.

As simple as that.

There is no in-between.

I didn’t give second chances;, I was never the one to give second chances.

One of the rules in my game was to fucking respect me and to not dare question my authority. I was the boss, the capo, the motherfucking king. You came to me, you obeyed me and you went along with my orders, not the other way round. My orders meant law and whoever decided to break it after swearing in loyalty? They fucking died. As simple as that.

By the hands of the capo himself.


One of the rules before entering my mafia after swearing Omerta was the fact that failure to prove yourself, or showing disloyalty, both resulted in death. I wasn’t stupid enough to let a man walk free from my den after they trained in my own fucking arena. That wasn’t how I worked.

I looked into the man’s eyes who was beaten badly, bruises decorating his body, torn muscles peeking out of his legs from which his bones could be seen. His hands, face, arms, and hair were full of blood. But ironically? My blood.

His blood was on the floor, pooling around like a fallen comrade, flowing down like a waterfall cascading down from above, like a storm ravishing in the misery of people, like a fucking curtain draping over the lives of those people who once lived happily but later had their entire world incinerated.



As if it never existed.

I had been there too, and I didn’t like it one bit. I fucking hated it, loathed it, detested it. And I was on the path of vengeance. Vengeance for my own sanity, my mental health, my peace and so. Much. More.

My eyes snapped to his chest which moved slightly with his heavy breaths. Poor soul. What did it deserve to be in the body of such a bastard? What did it do to deserve having a knife being driven through itself?. Very poor thing.

I looked at him again when he whimpered. He whimpered and I chuckled. He groaned in pain, I thrived in his pain. This was how it worked.

You swear your loyalty to me, I give you everything.

You fucking betray me, I take away everything.

He whimpered again when I chuckled, my own voice sounding deadly and fucking satanic to my ears. I tightened the gloves around my hands, held the knife and walked up to him. As I opened my mouth to speak to the shivering weasel when Massimo, my second-in-command, interrupted me, “Boss.”

My head snapped towards him, and anger roared within my veins from his interruption that I could have snapped his neck in half.

“What?” I asked in a deathly low voice, and I was sure it scared the most inner of his wits despite the simplicity of the word.

He whispered the recent events in my ear as my fists clenched and my eyes turned into slits while I felt my muscles tense as a new wave of anger raked through my body, dominating every cell within, and threatened to let the inner beast lash out as dangerously as possible. My head swirled with all the possible torture I could inflict upon the bastard when my eyes went back to the bloodied man in front of me.

His eyes widened and rekindled with hope and anticipation that the news might have distracted me enough to let him go. But too sad for him, he read me a little bit wrong. I always knew when to and how to manage fucking situations, one could never deter me away. Never. Fucking. Ever.

What I learned since a young age was to have entire control over my fucking nerves. To never let them rule me as kings didn’t let anyone else or anything else rule them. We had our own throne, our own power, our own fucking show. And hence ...? I always kept my nerves under control, never once snapped under the pressure of it. The rules were always like this: Learn to remain calm when nothing is.

So I fucking was.

I was fucking calm when I was anything but on the inside.

I chuckled at the hopeful ray dancing naked in his eyes and just as my chuckle registered in his brain ...? He lost that ray too. Poor thing. Going away in hell in all black and white.

I stepped closer when he struggled against the chains that hung him from the ceiling. He tried to thrash and move away from me, wishing that somehow the chains could snap, the back wall could magically crumble so that he could run away. But too late and too unfortunate. This never happened.

I stood close to him as he whimpered, his sighs of defeat leaving his body when I cocked my head to the side and looked at him, placing the blade of my signature knife on his cheek, right into the muscle that I had torn.

He had no skin, no hefty amount of blood left. Only a bit of blood and muscle. And ofcourse, bones. Bones that were peeking through, wanting to have a look at the face that gave them a chance to see the outside world. To see how fucking tainted it was, smeared with the devils, roaring with the horns. Thriving in the flames as water tried to desperately pass.

If I had to explain? This would somewhat be the definition.

He groaned in pain when more blood dripped down his chin as I spoke, my cold, dark and authoritative voice booming around the cellar, as sure as ever, as loud as ever, as fucking ruthless as ever, “I love to kill,” his eyes widened as I bent lower, coming to his eye level, “it calms me down.”

He was shivering when I dragged my knife down his neck and harshly made a cut, cutting off one of his veins when a strangled cry of pain left his mouth. Dragging it further below, I laid it over his opened chest, prying the layers apart, glancing inside as I saw his rib cage. Menacing daggers gifted his lone of sight when I chuckled, “Feels alive, right?”

A dark joke meant at such times made the mood even better. Denser, more deathly, more fucking toxic.

Satanic, as I liked it.

He shivered, his entire being shivering when I clicked my tongue, “A bit late for that, no? I warned you once, and you decided to conveniently ignore. That’s exactly how I’ll conveniently ignore your pathetic whimpering.”

I lowered down till his eye level, grabbed his hair and pulled his hair back harshly as his head hit the wall behind, little jagged pieces of cut out knives attached there slicing his skin apart as they made their way inside his head, his screams illuminating the chambers of my heart to see his blood dribble down, his body spasming from the pain and his entire being dying while I refused to let it die right now.

He closed his eyes shut in agony when I bellowed at him, “LOOK AT ME!”

He grimaced in pain and managed to open his eyes when I seethed out, fury dominating my veins, controlling every part of my well being as I let it take the best of me. I let my inner beast roar at me for it wanted release, it wanted to sharpen its claws and tear apart flesh and muscle when I gladly gave it the satisfaction. Not one life, but two. The other was waiting for me.

“I don’t like my commands to be questioned. I am the motherfucking boss here, not you. I command, you listen. I tell, you fucking obey like a loyal fucking dog. You questioned my commands once and I warned you. There is no second warning here. You questioned me again?”

He poorly whimpered when I let my eyes turn into slits and let him see all the anger swirling within them. He tried to beg for mercy when I chuckled, my chest rising and falling from the action.

I gave no mercy.

I was never known for that.

The Italian Mafia came under my rule, I was the ruler, the boss, the capo, the fucking crime king. Kings show mercy, crime kings don’t.

Mercy is shown by those who have a beating heart coloured with feelings. I lost that privilege a long time ago, darkness consuming my veins, decorating my walls, entering my life and camping there like a caveman. It became my best friend, my fucking toxic best friend that would drain me, weaken me, attack me but still? I would use it to be the strongest I could ever get. The deadliest to ever exist. The most ruthless to be ever known. I was Ashton Romanno, and I was known to never spare once my order was out which was challenged. I gave no mercy, no pity, nothing at all. A gun in the waistband of my pants everytime and a moment that I needed to use it. Just that. I was always looking for just that.

And that’s when my eyes went to the poor bastard tied up, a wind of confusion gathering his eyes. Will I forgive? Will I eventually leave? Will I kill? Will I let go?

But everyone knew, my death count was too much. Way too much for even me to remember.

And so, tearing apart his chest flesh with my hands, I broke his rib cage, him screaming as if his skin was on fire when pulling my hand back, I plunged the knife deep inside his chest, the blade sashaying its way inside his heart as I twisted and turned and pushed it in further to properly see that organ tremble against its restraint and die.

I watched.

I fucking watched it slowly come to a stop till his chest no longer moved. Till his whimpers no longer filled the air. I watched, understood and came to terms with it.

Standing to my full height, I twisted the knife one more time before leaving it there. Turning around, I saw Massimo looking at me, his face void of any expression, completely blank and masked. Just like I had taught.

Giving him a glance, I started to walk outside, “Let’s meet Trevor now.”


So 👀👀👀?????

Also, this is still subject to editing. Any changes will be prior to publication. Hope you enjoyed.



My insta: anachaudhry123

Insta: authora.zchaudhry

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