Nolie The Don's Sweetest Sin

Nolie’s POV At The Funeral Home

"Say hi to the devil for me, Sylvesso."

I spit the words right into my husband’s coffin. Husband. Abuser.

His skin looked like wax. Pale, too smooth, like the mortician tried to erase every ugly thing he ever did with powder. But no makeup in the world could cover the monster.

I leaned closer, the scent of lilies and embalming chemicals nearly making me gag.

"Marcire all’inferno."

Let him rot slow. Let every inch of him decay backwards. Let his balls fall off first.

He tried to kill me two nights ago. I still had the bruises to prove it—dark around my neck like a choker, one eye purpled and puffy. I looked like a widow from hell. Perfect.

I didn’t blink when his younger brother, Reggio, slid beside me and touched my lower back.

I slapped his hand off. “Touch me again and I’ll take your fingers with me.”

He chuckled like it was a joke. “You look beautiful today, Nolie.”

I looked him dead in the eyes. “You’ve always been a fucking creep.”

Reggio had been obsessed with me since the day I married Sylvesso. He watched me like a pervert, always lingering, always smiling too long. If Sylvesso was fire, Reggio was oil, just waiting to spread.

Arjona, the wicked bitch of a sister-in-law, sidled up beside me like a mosquito in heels.

"You could at least pretend to cry, Nolie," she muttered, fake dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue. "You were his wife."

I blinked at her. "I was his punching bag."

She sucked in a breath, scandalized.

"Oh, fuck off, Arjona. I hope he’s roasting."

She rolled her eyes and hissed something under her breath, but I didn’t care.

I survived Sylvesso Averso. That’s more than most women could say.

Two Nights Ago

Charity ball. Fancy plates. Red dresses. Mafia wives pretending they care about displaced families while dripping in diamonds.

Sylvesso had his hand halfway down some blonde’s backless dress. I didn’t care. Not really. Not until his mother elbowed me hard in the ribs.

"Go get your husband, cara. He’s making a fool of us."

I could’ve left him there, humping her thigh like a dog. But I did what I was told—like always.

So I went. Like a good little wife.

He turned as I touched his arm, that fake smile on his face.

“What?” he barked.

“Your mother said”

He smiled at me. And just like that, I knew it was about to go bad.

Real bad.

Before I could finish, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me through the ballroom, into the garden outside. His fingers dug into my wrist.

The cold air bit my skin.

"You think you're better than me now? Huh? You walk around like you're holy fucking music. You’re not. You’re just a pretty whore who got lucky."

"Sylvesso, let go."

Then his hand cracked across my face.  Hard.

The stars above blurred. The garden spun.

He slammed me against the stone wall. Fingers wrapped around my throat. Tight. No mercy. My heels scraped against the pavement as I kicked, clawed, and gasped.

My vision blurred. My lungs screamed.

I was going to die. He was going to do it this time. No cameras. No witnesses. No escape.

And then his hands were on my neck. He pushed me against the wall, pressing, pressing

"I’ll fucking kill you. I swear to God"

Pop.

The noise didn’t even sound real. It was soft. Like a whisper.

His grip loosened.

Blood poured down his temple. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

I crumpled to my knees, coughing, retching. My legs were shaking so hard I couldn’t stand.

Then I saw the shooter.

A man stood in the shadows of the hedge. Broad shoulders. Tall. Powerful. In  a black suit like it was sewn to his body. The moonlight hit his eyes golden, gleaming, hungry. His jaw clenched. His stare? Violent. Raw.

He stared at me like I was something he lost a long time ago.

He looked like death and desire rolled into one man.

He took one step forward. I held my breath. Then he vanished.

I screamed.

The guards ran in. They blamed a rival hit. It made headlines.

I didn’t say a word.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Back to Present

After the burial, I was done. Emotionally, mentally, physically. My heels pinched. My throat burned. The pitying looks made me want to throw up.

I cut through the back hallway of the Veltrano estate,

I just needed a damn breath.

Then..

A hand.

It grabbed me by the wrist. Hard. Fast. And before I could scream, I was yanked into a dark room.

A closet. No light. Just wood, heat, and him.

The door slammed shut behind us. And the second, I spun to slap whoever it was.

He pressed me into the wall. One hand clamped over my mouth. The other wrapped tight around my waist, pulling me against a chest that felt like carved stone.

I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe.

But I could feel him.

The scent of smoke and cedar. Leather and heat. Danger and Lust.

His lips ghosted my ear.

“Still burning,” he whispered, voice dark and thick. “Still mine. My little flame.”

My whole body went still. My blood roared.

I froze. And then I looked up.

Golden eyes.

The man from the garden.

The man who killed my husband.

But no. No—he wasn’t just that.

Now, up close, his face flickered in my memory like a half-buried match strike. That face. That look.

I’ve seen him before. But My Memories from that night were scattered.

“You…” My breath caught. “You were there that night…”

A flash….blood on my bow. My hands shaking. The cello string cutting through the  billionaires heir throat as music still echoed.

His lips curved, just slightly.

My stomach turned in recognition.

That private concert. The one that ruined my life. Where I met the  Four billionaire heirs. Where I was touched. Where I killed. And my fate was sealed to marry Sylvesso Averso  THE MAD DON.

“You” I swallowed. “You were in the shadows that day.”

He responded. “ I knew then, if you could bleed like that and still play, then you were made for me.”

His grip on me tightened. My thighs pressed together. Heat pooled low in my belly.

He whispered. “You’ve been mine since the moment you put a string around a man’s throat and played him into the ground.”

He dragged his thumb across my cheek, down to my throat. His touch was gentle. Reverent.

I should’ve pushed him.

But my hands… they didn’t move.

His lips hovered near mine. So close I could taste the warning on his breath.

“You smell the same,” he rasped. “Vanilla. Little flame.”

“Why now?” I breathed. “Why come for me now?”

He smiled. And God, it wasn’t kind.

“Because now there’s no one in the way.”

He pressed me harder against the wall, thigh between mine. My dress hiked up slightly, and my breath hitched.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s mine too.”

His voice. His stare. His fingers ghosting my ribs.

His chest slammed into mine, and I swore my nipples tightened right through the lace of my bra. A sharp ache jolted down my spine, between my legs, where I hadn’t felt anything in years.

Not since Sylvesso.

Not since he ruined my body’s ability to feel good without flinching.

But this man?

My pussy pulsed.

Just from how close he was.

From the growl in his throat. From the heat of him pressing into my hips, like his body was begging mine to remember him.

He looked down at me like I was edible.

"I gasped when his hand slipped down to my waist—slow, rough, confident. His palm gripped me like he owned my bones. And then

He dragged it lower.

Fingers to the hem of my black funeral dress.

And then he started lifting.

Inch by inch. The fabric rose along my thighs, higher, until cold air kissed my skin.

And still he didn’t stop.

His knuckles skimmed the tops of my thighs, right up to the edge of my panties.

He stopped.

Barely.

“I should taste you right now,” he murmured.

My breath hitched. My pussy clenched. Wet.

I hated how my legs tried to open for him. My body, the traitor.

He leaned in, lips brushing my jaw. “You’d beg me if I let you speak.”

My mouth opened—but I didn’t say no.

Then

Bang.

The door flew open.

A tall blonde. Cold eyes. Rage in her bones.

“Zorak,” she said, sharp and loud. “They’re ready to drop the announcement, Everyone's gathering .”

Just like that, his hand vanished.

But not before dragging one knuckle slow over the crease of my thigh.

“Later, little flame,” he murmured. “This was just the first taste of mercy.”

Wake Room – Moments Later

My legs still shook when I stepped into the wake room.

The scent of him—Zorak—still clung to my skin like smoke.

His fingers had been right there. Inches from undoing me. My panties were still wet. My pulse hadn’t calmed. My brain couldn’t decide if I wanted to slap him or drag him back into the dark.

And now I had to walk into this black draped room like I hadn’t just been this close to losing control.

Eyes turned toward me as I stepped in.

I straightened my shoulders. Lifted my chin.

They would not see me weak.

Arjona stood at the front. One hand curled around her wine glass like it was a microphone. Her mouth curved in a way that always meant venom.

She tapped the glass with her fork.

“Family, friends,” she began, her voice sugary and poisonous, “in honor of my beloved brother Sylvesso, our family has decided to preserve the bloodline and dignity of our house…”

My stomach dropped.

No. No.

“…by announcing the future marriage of his widow, Nolie Hartley Averso, to his younger brother, Reggio Averso.”

The room erupted in polite claps and fake smiles.

My ears rang.

No. Fucking. Way.

Reggio smiled at me from the corner, teeth too white, eyes hungry. He raised a glass.

My hand moved before my mind did.

CRASH.

My wine glass hit the marble. Shattered loud enough to stop the clapping.

Every head turned.

I stared at Arjona, then at Reggio.

And I said it.

Out loud. Raw.

“What the actual fuck?!”