Three Years Trapped: The Don Who Never Touched Me

Serenella's POV

In bed, his hands would bruise my hips as he whispered, "Principessa."

In public, he was Cosimo, the cold-blooded mafia don, who dismissed me with a frosty, "Piccola."

I was bought three years ago, a human down payment on my father’s debts. For the first two years, Cosimo never laid a finger on me. But six months ago, the moment his first love, Caterina, returned to Corvina City, everything changed.

Suddenly, he became a man possessed. He would storm into my bedroom in the dead of night, tearing my silk nightgowns to shreds, claiming me with a desperate, terrifying fury. Yet, when I was breathless beneath him, he would tenderly kiss my earlobe, whispering "Principessa" over and over, even promising me a grand wedding in seven days.

On a rain-drenched afternoon, I clutched my positive pregnancy test and rushed to his private club, eager to give him the surprise of his life.

But as my hand touched the cold brass doorknob, words drifted through the crack, freezing the blood in my veins.

"Marcellino, remember the rules," Cosimo’s voice rang out, devoid of any warmth. "You are my double. But you do not touch my things. Especially Serenella."

My breath caught. Marcellino?

I peeked through the sliver of the doorway. Cosimo sat on the leather sofa, casually swirling a glass of scotch. Leaning against the pool table was another man—with a face identical to Cosimo's.

Marcellino. Cosimo’s decoy.

Over the past six months, who was the man holding me in the dark, calling me "Principessa," and promising me a life together?

I had thought that after the last rival family was wiped out, Cosimo no longer needed a double. I thought the wedding in seven days meant he could finally step out of the shadows, and I could finally leave the gilded cage of his villa.

"Relax, Cosimo," Marcellino muttered, swirling his own drink. A cynical smirk played on his lips, though his eyes remained dark. "I didn't cross the line. Besides, even if I did sleep with her, would you actually care? You locked her in that villa for three years and never touched her."

For three years, Cosimo had only ever called me "Piccola" in that icy tone of his. I had foolishly believed "Principessa" was a secret tenderness reserved only for our bed.

Cosimo’s expression darkened.

"She is trash traded by a desperate gambler to save his own hand," Cosimo said, his voice flat. "I wouldn't dirty myself touching cheap cargo like her. If you want to play with my scraps, why would I care?"

"Then go ahead and sleep with her," a sharp, elegant female voice interrupted. "Just don't get her pregnant."

Caterina. She lounged beside Cosimo, her face—which looked seventy percent like mine—twisted into a smirk of pure malice.

"It was my idea," Caterina giggled, sipping her champagne. "When I got back to Corvina City, I noticed that little rat from the slums was getting restless. I told Cosimo to send Marcellino to play house with her to keep her quiet. Who knew the idiot would actually believe the great Don fell in love with her?"

The world spun. The blood in my veins turned to ice.

"And what about the wedding next week?" Marcellino asked, his tone mocking. "She was babbling about wedding dresses yesterday, practically glowing. How do you plan to end this little theater, Cosimo?"

Cosimo took a slow sip of his drink. "It's just a joke. There will be no wedding, and she gets no name."

Caterina clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, I have a better idea! Let her stand at the altar. Let her say 'I do.' And at that exact moment, we tell her the truth. I want to see the look on her face when she realizes she’s been sleeping with a decoy for six months."

They laughed. Marcellino forced a smirk, though the amusement didn't reach his eyes.

"But wait," Caterina purred, feigning concern. "What if the bitch gets pregnant? Girls from the slums love using bastards to extort money..."

My fingernails dug into my palms, drawing blood.

Cosimo didn't even look up. "The Torregrossa family has no room for a bastard."

His cold eyes shot toward his double. "Do I make myself clear, Marcellino?"

Marcellino kept his head down, clenching his jaw so hard I could see the muscle twitch. He stared at the floor for a long five seconds before plastering his signature careless smirk back on.

"Loud and clear, brother."

I stood in the dim, empty hallway, a hollow shell.

In my hand, the pregnancy test was crumpled into pieces.

The child in my womb did not belong to the Don. And my entire life was nothing but a cruel joke designed to please Caterina.