AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She knows that she's crossed a line that can never be uncrossed and that there's no going back from the truth that now lies between us.
"Goodbye, Felix," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
"Goodbye," I reply, my own voice wavering just slightly.
But I don't let her see that – I don't let her see the cracks in my armor.
I turn on my heel and walk back towards the party, my footsteps echoing in the suddenly empty space.
As I make my way back to the party, the sound of laughter and music filling the air around me, I can't help but feel a sense of loss.
A part of me wishes that I could return to the way things were before when Emily was just a woman I thought I knew.
When her touch didn't feel like poison, and her words weren't tainted by lies.
But that world is gone, replaced by a woman called Rosalie and the cold reality of betrayal.
And as much as it hurts, I must let Emily – Rosalie – go.
For in the mafia world, there's no room for love between enemies.
My heart pounds like a caged animal, my emotions threatening to overtake me.
The betrayal I feel is a venomous snake coiling around my chest, constricting tighter and tighter with each breath.
"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair, trying to regain control.
But it's useless – how can I control anything when the woman I've fallen for is the daughter of my sworn enemy?
I enter the ballroom, the music and laughter hitting me like a tidal wave.
My eyes scan the sea of faces, searching for someone – anyone – who can help me make sense of this mess.
Then, I see him. The man from the dance floor.
"Hey, Felix!" Tony, one of my most trusted Dons, calls out from across the room.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Something like that," I reply, forcing a tight smile as I approach him.
He's leaning against the bar, drink in hand, oblivious to the turmoil tearing me apart inside.
"Listen, Tony," I begin, my voice low and tense.
"I need you to do something for me. No questions asked."
"Sure thing, boss," he replies, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in my serious tone.
"What do you need?"
"I want you to go to that man," I say, pointing to the one on the dance floor, "And find out everything there is to know about Rosalie Battaglia. Her mother, her father – especially her father."
"Rosalie Battaglia?" Tony repeats, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Isn't she-"
"Fronzo Battaglia's daughter," I interrupt, gritting my teeth at the mention of her name. "Yeah."
"Shit," Tony mutters, taking a long swig of his drink before slamming it down on the bar.
