Camille
Camille Conti.
Princess.
I despise that word. It's what Ricco Conti molded me into, what he demanded I become.
It, along with my virginity, was meant to serve him—to secure an alliance with the Western world and Sartori Luca.
But that's not what occupies my mind right now.
Two things consume me.
One: the vicious malice and menacing hate rolling off the enormous man beside me, Esposito.
Two: he said San Francisco.
The pieces slot together. Esposito Santoro, Don of the family controlling California.
I knew my father would try to marry me off. Over the past few years, I secretly studied the major players on the US criminal underworld chessboard: Alessio Candreva, New York's strongest Italian family; Volk Aleeksev, Bratva in New York; Rurik Frolov, Bratva in New Jersey; and the Irish mob prince, Riordan Byrne from Chicago. These territories made sense—close, practical, suitable for power alignment.
I never considered my father capable of forging an international alliance. His reach isn't as vast as he claims. Nor did I think the Western US players were realistic options. Still, I acquainted myself with them, just in case.
And then… Esposito Santoro.
I've heard the stories. The gruesome kills. Hands wedging into wounds to rip out the insides of men. Throats torn out.
My eyes fall on his fist, resting on his thigh. Huge. Powerful. One hand could wrap more than halfway around my neck.
He hates me.
"Don't fight the monsters, princess. Because the monsters always win."
I am not under my father's thumb, yet I heed the lesson anyway. Esposito is a new monster I need to navigate carefully.
Every brutal lesson Ricco Conti drilled into me flashes in my mind.
His dark brown eyes swirl with malice, scanning me, as if trying to peel back each layer to see what's beneath.
I double down on the demureness, the meekest, the most obedient version of myself.
"Esposito," Vittoria Marino says, her frown audible in her voice.
I keep my head bowed, shoulders curled, hands clenched so tightly the skin turns white.
"Vittoria," Esposito's deep, rumbling voice shakes me like a mountain shifting, ready to crush everything in its path. I shudder.
"Turn up the heat, Gabe," Vittoria orders.
Esposito scoffs.
"Do it, Gabrielle Marino," she continues.
My head lifts at that last name. Brow furrows.
Vittoria bites her lip, cheeks pink, glancing at me.
Gabe Marino notices us as he adjusts the heat.
"What?"
Esposito's eyes drill into my face. I bow my head again, desperate to escape the searing, hate-filled gaze.
"Um…" Vittoria hesitates, then laughs. "I used your last name when I met Camille, Gabe."
Something flickers between them. But I'm not here to watch mafia soap opera drama.
I remain silent, studying every detail, plotting survival. But escape? Impossible. A man like Esposito would never allow it.
The tiny spark of defiance inside me tries to flare, to push back. I smother it immediately.
Because my mother's fate is a warning. If Ricco Conti's monsters could destroy her, what could Esposito do to someone he hates?
Far worse.
I suppress thoughts of the horrors I haven't yet experienced.
Given the size difference between us, I wouldn't stand a chance physically.
Or… sexually.
Dear Lord.
Is Esposito that kind of monster?
I don't know. And I don't want to find out.
I recite the lessons learned from years of Conti abuse in my mind:
Don't speak unless spoken to.
Only eat when told.
Look the part of the perfect princess, always.
Forget your wants. Your needs. You exist only to serve your master.
I continue reviewing each brutal lesson until the car slows. I open my eyes.
Nails cut into my palms. Faint streaks of blood show. Even reliving these lessons is punishing.
I swallow against the lump in my throat. Steal a glance at Esposito. He watches me openly. His gaze is dark, menacing, but furrowed in thought.
I turn away, staring out the window. Massive iron gates, high stone walls. Impenetrable.
Guards flank the entrance—dressed like soldiers, weapons visible. My stomach twists.
It's not the guards themselves that terrify me. It's the memory they invoke.
They were dressed like this the day they beat my mother to death.
I swallow hard, shoving away the memory of her screams.
The car passes through the gates. A prison door slams in my mind.
If I wasn't already, I am now fully inside Esposito's world.
And under his control.
"Don't fight the monsters, princess. Because the monsters always win."