Hinovel
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Summary
He was her sin. Her mistake. Her obsession. Caine’s hand slid around her throat, squeezing but not to hard. Just hard enough to remind her who was in control. “You are mine,” he murmured, lips a breath away from hers. “Every inch of you. Your pleasure. Your pain.” His fingers pressed lightly against her pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm. “Do you understand?” A breathless nod. “Words, Solntse.” “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling. A dark, satisfied gleam flickered in his eyes. He stepped behind her and his fingers traced the delicate lace at her hips before slowly peeling her panties down, letting them slide past her thighs. She shuddered as cool air kissed her bare skin. Then…smack. *** On the day Isabel Silvarro was supposed to marry into wealth and power, she caught her fiancé in bed with her sister. One act of vengeance sent her straight into the arms of Caine Romano, New York’s most feared mafia king. One night. No names. Just anger and pleasure. She disappeared the next morning, thinking she’d left the past behind. But Caine doesn’t let women walk away. Not when they run from him. Five years later, she’s back in his city. Back under his control. And this time, there will be no escape. Because Caine wants more than revenge. He wants her on her knees. Bound, broken, and begging. He wants every moan, every secret, every scar. But Isabel has a past too and it's not just dangerous. It's deadly. And when enemies come for her blood, the only man who can save her is the one who swore he'd ruin her.
Chapter 1: The Wedding Betrayal
"I now pronounce you–”
The priest’s voice falters as the screen behind the altar flickers. Guests gasp. The wedding video cuts, replaced by raw footage of Isabel’s sister, Mia, naked beneath her fiancé, their moans echoing across the grand cathedral. Gasps turn to whispers. Whispers erupt into chaos.
“Oh my God! What the hell is that?”
“Turn it off! Turn it off now!”
“Blood of Jesus!” the priest exclaimed, nearly dropping his Bible.
“Isabel. What is this?!” Mr Silvarro, Isabel’s father barked, his bellowing voice bringing halting silence to the crowd as he stared angrily at his daughter who was getting married.
Isabel stood frozen, fingers curled into trembling fists beneath her wedding bouquet. Her chest tightened and her eyes blurred with unshed tears.
She forced air into her lungs and lifted her chin.
“This…” Her voice cracked. “This is your daughter and my beloved fiancé fucking hours before my wedding.”
The crowd gasped in overwhelming unison. All eyes turned to Mia who was standing at the front pew and trembling like a cornered animal. Her face was drained of color and her hands fumbled at the hem of her satin dress, eyes darting anywhere but at Isabel.
Isabel turned towards her fiancé, Ronald and stood before him – the man she’d once dreamed of loving forever.
“Why?” The word slipped out, barely a whisper. “Why, Ronald?”
Ronald’s jaw clenched. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculated, flicked to the video still playing behind them, to Mia, to the sea of judging faces, before falling to the marble floor beneath his polished shoes.
He couldn't believe that his reputation is currently being ruined before his eyes, all because of this crazy woman standing before him. He imagines the news headlines tomorrow:
“Heir to the Beckham Empire, Ronald Beckham leaves his fiancée as he pursues her sister in bed”
"Wedding Cancelled, Sheets Wrinkled: Beckham Heir Caught Playing 'Sister, Sister’!"
"Beckham Bombshell: Fiancée Left at the Altar, Sister Left Breathless!"
“Look at me and answer the damn question, Ronald!” Isabel screamed, her voice breaking, forcing Ronald back into reality.
Ronald flinched as though slapped. “It’s AI,” he blurted, trying to grab the remains of his already falling repute. His voice wavered under the lie. “It’s fake. Someone’s trying to ruin me. Someone is trying to ruin us.”
Laughter broke from Isabel’s throat. “What do you mean it is AI? I fucking saw it. I fucking saw you and her.” Isabel gestured towards her sister, her eyes bearing resemblance with a burning inferno.
“ISABEL ELENA SILVARRO!” Her mother screamed. She walked up to her in short steps laced with anger. Standing in front of her, she gives her a slap that resounded over the cathedral walls.
The crowd gasped. The tension in the room was so thick that a knife could slice through it.
“How dare you?” Her mother asked. “How dare you, In the presence of everyone and the Beckhams’ accuse your sister of such?”
Isabel staggered back, palm pressed to her stinging cheek. “It's not an accusation, she is guilty and she knows it.”
“Keep quiet!”
“But Mama–”
“Enough!”
Isabel felt her whole world collapsing, one by one as the person she had hoped would support her, turned around to face the crowd.
“I apologize for any commotion my daughter, Isabel has caused. She has so much excitement for this wedding that she has become delusional,” Mrs. Silvarro chuckled nervously as she addressed the horrified guests.
Her gaze shifted to Silas, Ronald’s father. “You know how these young brides get, Silas.”
Silas Beckham’s mouth curled with distaste. His sharp eyes settled on Isabel like a predator sizing up his prey. Beside him, Sarah Beckham, Ronald’s mother, scoffed loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I cannot believe your daughter would accuse my darling son of infidelity, Rosa! I'm highly disappointed but not to worry, she will become my daughter-in-law soon, so I will see that she gets the proper home training that is long-overdue.” Sarah sneered.
Silas nodded. “Indeed, the show must go on.” He gestures to the Priest, “Please, Continue.”
“I now pronounce you–”
“No!”
“No!” Isabel screamed as she tore her veil from her face. “I will not marry a cheating scumbag.”
“What did you say?” Her father stood up, talking at last. He started walking towards her but was held back by a hand on his arm.
“Vincent, No.”
Those words. Those two words uttered by his saviour, the one who would save his dying company, stopped him. However, if Isabel did not get married to this man’s son, his company would end up going bankrupt.
“The show must go on. If your daughter refuses to marry my son, then, how many daughters do you have?” Silas asked, barely whispering.
“Since you have refused to get married, Mia will take your place.” Mr. Silvarro said in a matter-of-fact tone to his daughter, Isabel.
Isabel froze, staring at him blankly, her eyes widening.
“Mia!” Her father bellowed, calling out to his youngest daughter.
Mia’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face transforming into something eerily eager. “Yes, Papa?”
“Take Isabel's place beside the young gentleman.”
Mia nearly sprinted down the aisle, her grin stretched wide and triumphant as she shoved Isabel aside, grabbing Ronald's hand without hesitation.
“No need to start all over again. Just finish the whole damn thing,” Silas instructed the priest. “And after,” Silas added, his voice low but carrying across the cathedral, “You’ll see to your daughter’s… treatment, Vincent. She’s unwell.”
Laughter echoed from the guests.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The Priest declared. “You may now kiss the bride.”
With the guests cheering for Mia and Ronald who were busy trying to swallow each other whole, no one noticed as Isabel snuck out, veil discarded on the marble floor.
****
The wine scorched her throat.
It didn’t matter. She embraced the feeling. She wanted it to burn
Isabel slammed the empty glass down, her hand shaking and her throat raw. The hotel bar was quiet, too quiet, but the noise in her head wouldn’t stop.
Mia’s laugh.
Ronald’s face.
Her father’s voice: “Take her place.”
Her stomach twisted. She reached for the bottle again and filled the glass to the brim.
This was supposed to be her night. Her future. Her fairy tale. Instead, she was here, makeup smudged, drinking cheap wine like it could wash the filth off her soul.
It couldn’t.
She downed the glass but it barely dulled the ache. The rage wouldn't go.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, breathing sharp. She felt shallow and broken.
“Rough night?”
A voice said behind her.
She didn’t bother turning. “Leave me alone.”
A warm body sat down onto the bar stool beside her.
“I saw the video.” His words were quiet. The air thickened as Isabel flinched.
“Everyone saw it,” he added, sipping his drink like this wasn’t her personal hell unraveling.
Her eyes cut to him. Dark suit. Sharp jaw. His smile was like that of a man who enjoyed pulling wings off butterflies.
“Who are you?” She questioned.
The man ignored her. “You look like a woman who’s ready to burn the whole damn world down with your enemies in it,” he said, his eyes glittering under the low bar lights.
Isabel’s fingers tightened around her empty glass.
“Who the hell are you?” she whispered as her pulse raced.
The corner of his mouth lifted, that smile again.
“Someone,” he said, “who knows how to start fires.”