Ruined By Revenge - Paperback

Chapter 1
Damiano
The hot water beats against my skin, washing away the day's tension. The countryside villa has always been our sanctuary—mine and Bianca's. Away from the city, away from the family business, away from the blood and violence that follows the Feretti name like a shadow.
I shut off the water and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. Droplets cascade down my chest, catching on old scars—each one a story of survival.
"Bianca?" I call out, expecting her voice to float back to me.
Nothing.
"Bianca, amore?" I try again, louder this time.
The silence stretches, broken only by water dripping from my hair onto the floor.
Something's not right.
Bianca always answers. Always.
My muscles tense as instinct takes over. I grab another towel and quickly dry off, ears straining for any sound in the house. The quiet feels wrong—heavy and threatening.
I pull on a pair of pants, not bothering with a shirt, and move to the bedside table. The drawer slides open silently, revealing my Beretta. The metal feels cold against my palm, familiar and reassuring.
"Bianca?" I call once more, though I already know she won't answer.
I check the magazine, then chamber a round. The metallic click echoes in the bedroom.
I move through our bedroom with silent precision, my bare feet making no sound on the polished floors. The villa feels different—wrong.
The hallway stretches before me, shadows dancing against the walls from the evening light filtering through half-drawn curtains. I press my back against the wall, Beretta held low but ready.
Then I hear it.
A soft whimper breaks the silence—Bianca's voice, but not the way I ever want to hear it. Not a sound of pleasure or even annoyance. It's fear. Raw and unmistakable.
My blood turns to ice even as rage floods my system. Someone has brought fear into my home. Someone has made my wife cry.
I move faster now, still silent but with deadly purpose. The living room is ahead, just around the corner. Another sound reaches me—a man's voice, low and threatening. Foreign. Not one of my men.
"Please," Bianca begs, her voice breaking. "Please don't—"
I peer around the corner, keeping most of my body hidden. The scene before me stops my heart for one terrible moment.
Bianca stands in the center of our living room, her face streaked with tears, mascara running down her cheeks. Her hands are raised in a pleading gesture, her body trembling. But what makes my vision blur with fury is the stranger standing behind her.
I step into the living room, Beretta raised, my vision narrowing to the man holding my wife. He's tall, dressed in black, with a face I don't recognize—which means he's not from any of the New York families. Not someone I've crossed paths with before.
"Let her go," I say, my voice deadly calm. The kind of calm that makes my enemies more afraid than when I shout.
He has a gun pressed to Bianca's temple. Her eyes find mine, filled with terror but also relief. My beautiful wife, five months pregnant with our child. My chest constricts with rage so intense it nearly blinds me.
"Damiano," she whispers.
"It's okay, amore," I tell her, never taking my eyes off the intruder. "Everything's going to be fine."
The man tightens his grip on Bianca, using her as a shield. Amateur move. If he were professional, he'd know I can still make the shot.
"Who are you?" I demand, the Beretta steady in my hand. "What do you want?"
His lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm—"
A sharp, explosive pain erupts at the base of my skull. Stars burst behind my eyes as I stumble forward. Fuck. There's a second intruder. I didn't clear the room properly. Rookie mistake.
I fight to stay conscious, my vision blurring as I struggle to keep the Beretta aimed at the man holding Bianca. My finger twitches on the trigger. I need to take the shot. I need to—
A deafening crack echoes through the room.
Then another.
A third gunshot thunders in my ears.
Three shots. Why three?
The world tilts sideways. Darkness rushes in from the edges of my vision like black ink spilling across paper. Bianca's scream pierces through everything, but it sounds distant, as if she's calling to me from the end of a long tunnel.
"DAMIANO!"
Her voice fades as consciousness slips away.
Blackness. Complete and absolute.
I jolt upright, a roar tearing from my throat. Sweat soaks the sheets beneath me. My hand flies to my nightstand, fingers closing around my Beretta before I'm even fully awake.
Three seconds. That's how long it takes me to register I'm in my bedroom in the New York. Not the countryside villa. Not twelve years ago.
"Fuck," I mutter, running my free hand over my face.
The same nightmare. Again.
The clock on my nightstand reads 3:17 a.m. The red numbers glow in the darkness, accusatory. Another night of broken sleep.
I set the gun down and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The cool air hits my sweat-slicked skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and back. My breathing gradually slows, but the images remain burned into my mind.
Bianca. The intruders. The gun at her temple.
And those three gunshots.
Always three. Why the fuck were there three?
A soft knock at the door breaks through my thoughts.
"What?" I growl, not bothering to soften my voice. Anyone disturbing me at this hour knows what they're walking into.
The door opens, and Enzo's silhouette appears in the doorway. He's fully dressed despite the hour, which means he was either working late or just got in.
"Thought I heard something," he says, stepping into the room. The dim light from the hallway casts long shadows across his face. "You good?"
I reach for the lamp and switch it on, flooding the room with harsh light. "I'm fine."
"Bullshit," he says simply.
I stand up and walk to the window, pulling back the curtain to look at the city below. Manhattan never sleeps, lights twinkling like stars fallen to earth. Neither do I, it seems.
"It's nothing," I mutter.
"The nightmares again?" Enzo asks, not letting it go. Stubborn fuck.
I don't answer, which is answer enough.
"They're coming more often lately," he says, moving further into the room. "Third time this week."
"You keeping a fucking diary of my sleep patterns now?" I snap, turning to face him.
Enzo doesn't flinch. He's one of the few people who never does. "Someone has to notice this shit."
I grab a t-shirt from the back of a chair and pull it on. "Notice what? That I have trouble sleeping? Welcome to the fucking family business."
"This isn't just trouble sleeping, Damiano." He leans against the wall, crossing his arms. "These nightmares are hitting you harder, and they're happening more often. Ever since we started negotiations with the Eastons."
"Coincidence," I say, but the word tastes like ash in my mouth.

Paperbacks will be shipped out 3-5 Business Days after Ordering.

1. Ruined By Revenge
2. Ruined By Blood
3. Ruined By Rhapsody
4. Ruined By Capture
5. Ruined By Protection
6. Ruined By Ravishment

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