Calavera: The Mafia's Caged Bride

Calavera: The Mafia's Caged Bride

Prettyvillian · Completed · 84.6k Words

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Introduction

TW: DARK ROMANCE, ABUSE, DADDY KINK, PSYCHOTIC, VIOLENCE. This is not your typical dark romance novel, it gets darker with each chapters so if you can't handle it, kindly exit, not all Male leads are heroes some can be your worst nightmare, if you are looking for love you won't find it here


"Won't you like to open your gift, Bambi?"
It wasn't a question. César Navarro never asked. He commanded.
When Anya Esmeralda Torres untied the silk ribbon and lifted the lid of the velvet box, her world shattered.
Inside, staring back at her with dead, lifeless pupils, were the green eyes of Giovanni De Luca…..the man whose gaze had made her uncomfortable all evening.
Her scream ripped through the silence.
"Now his eyes will never trouble you again."
He said it like he'd given her a necklace. Like dismemberment was romance. Like murder was love.
César Navarro, known in the underworld as Calavera, wasn't just the founder of a billion-dollar tech empire. He was the Skull—mafia heir, executioner, and obsession wrapped in a tailored suit. And Anya? She was his cage bird. His possession. His favorite game.
But Anya wasn't born to be caged. She was fire—wild, defiant, desperate for freedom. And no matter how many diamonds he draped her in, she vowed to escape.
The question is: can you ever run from a monster who always finds you? Or will love become the cruelest prison of all?

Chapter 1

~ANYA POV~

"Yaya!"

The shout cut through the bass-heavy music pounding inside CÉRRO Nightclub. I didn't need to look up from the drink I was mixing to know it was Athena.

Only she called me that.

I glanced anyway. There she was, strutting across the bar like she owned it—blonde hair glowing under the neon lights, lips glossed to perfection, and that mischievous grin plastered across her face. The grin that meant trouble.

"No," I said flatly, sliding the cocktail across to the waiting customer.

He didn't take the drink right away. His eyes were too busy glued to my chest. Typical.

"Would you like anything else, sir?" I asked, forcing my voice into customer-service-sweetness.

"Yeah," he yelled over the music, leaning way too close. "Your number." I clenched my jaw. Great. Another drunk who thought spitting on me while shouting counted as flirting.

He wasn't ugly—late twenties, maybe, with dirty-blonde hair and a smirk that screamed "I've watched Wolf of Wall Street too many times." But still. Not my type.

"You know…" he dragged out the words, breath smelling like cheap whiskey, "I could take you outta here. No more slinging drinks. No more shitty customers. Just me. You. Shiny things."

I almost laughed. His order was the cheapest drink on the menu. Shiny things? The only shiny thing he could probably afford was a discount keychain from the gift shop across the street.

Behind me, Athena was trying not to burst into giggles. My annoyance must've been written all over my face.

"Why so quiet, baby girl?" he asked, raising his brows like he'd just dropped the line of the century.

I gave him the fakest smile in my arsenal. "Not interested. Thank you."

Then I spun on my heel and walked away before he could argue. Rule number one of bartending: never let them think they're winning.

Athena was waiting, leaning against the counter with a piece of paper in her hand. She fluttered her lashes at me.

"What now?" I asked, wiping down the sticky counter with a rag.

She slapped the paper against my chest. "Another love note. From Mr. Tall, Dark, and Probably Toxic."

I sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you? You're my best friend, not my girlfriend."

She gasped dramatically, clutching her heart. "Tragic. Rejected again." Then she tossed her blonde hair and sauntered off like the stage queen she was.

I shook my head, grabbed the next set of orders, and let my hands do the work. Mojito. Sidecar. Californication. Quick, smooth, automatic. Bartending was muscle memory now.

When I pushed the tray back to Athena, she shoved it right back.

"Not me. I need the ladies' room. Or maybe the men's." She winked, then disappeared into the crowd, leaving me stuck with delivery duty.

"Of course you do," I muttered.

"Mattie, cover me for two minutes," I told our co-worker, balancing the tray.

"What's in it for me, sweet cheeks?" Mattie smirked, adjusting his perfectly tailored vest. He was hot enough to make the straight girls swoon and just gay enough to never let them forget it.

I winked badly. "A back-alley makeout."

He recoiled, fanning himself dramatically. "As if. Standards, babe."

"Fine, fine," I laughed, weaving into the crowd with the tray.

The drinks were for a table shoved into the corner—teenagers, barely legal, all pretending they weren't. I dropped the tray onto the sticky surface, plastered on my fake smile, and bailed before one of them tried to ask if I knew where to score pills.

"Fuck my life," I muttered under my breath, heading back to the bar.

Here's the thing: I really do love my job. Loud music, flashing lights, endless chaos—London nightlife is its own beast, and I thrive in it. Wild. Free. Untouchable.

That's me.

But sometimes….just sometimes….the loneliness hit. Being thousands of miles away from Mijas, from family, from the warm sun and sea breeze… it stung in the quiet moments.

Not that there were many quiet moments at CÉRRO.

At least I had Athena. She wasn't just my co-worker. She was my childhood best friend, my roommate, my partner in crime. Tall, legs for days, and curves that made men trip over themselves. Compared to her, I was the shorter, curvier, redheaded best friend with a resting-bitch-face.

But hey…..I had my looks. I knew I was beautiful. I didn't need anyone else to tell me that.

"Yaya!" Athena's voice yanked me out of my little daydream again. She snapped her fingers in my face.

"Hello? Earth to main character?"

I blinked. "Sorry. Zoned out."

She rolled her eyes, then leaned closer like she was about to spill a secret. Before she could, Mattie's voice cut through: "Closing time countdown, babies. Two more hours!"

Two more hours. I could make it. Then home, bed, peace.

Still…

Abuela's old words echoed in my head: "Cuando el alma se inquieta, algo viene detrás." (When the soul feels restless, something is on its way.)

And tonight? My soul was restless.

I just didn't know why.

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