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Kidnapped by the Italian Mafia

Do you ever wonder what your life will be like when you cross paths with your arch nemesis? Yes? Well buckle up, it’s a wild ride. Katarina Montenegro is what everyone would simply call spoiled. She was raised with a silver spoon in her mouth and a custom Tiffany’s diamond tiara on her head. She was referred to as The Spanish Princess by everyone who knew of her existence, and she revelled in the nickname. She was young, cunning, and powerful. There was nothing Katarina wanted that she didn’t have. On the other hand, Marco DiBiancci was known by everyone as The Emperor Lynx, due to his ability to see through deception as easily as he could breathe. Unlike Katarina, who lived a mainly pampered life, Marco was raised by a strict father who wanted him to be in the front lines of the job since he was fourteen years old. He had spent his years getting his hands dirty and washing them again. He was young, strong, and powerful. There was nothing Marco wanted that he didn’t take for himself. The common ground? They were both set to inherit their father’s thrones as King and Queen of their respective organised crime kingdoms. The problem? Marco wanted Katarina, or more importantly, he wanted what she was set to lay claim on. Even though the two had never met, Marco was determined to get his hands on her by all means necessary, and that’s how we’re here. This is how I, Katarina Montenegro, was kidnapped by the Italian mafia. [WARNING: highly foul language and mature themes]

SugaryWinter · Urban
Not enough ratings
203 Chs

The Negotiations (1)

As it turned out, The Loft was a modern eatery in mid Manchester city with old fashioned lightbulbs hanging low from the industrial style ceiling and a pretentious open plan roofless patio situation around the back of the restaurant. The décor of the place was minimalistic, using wood tones combined with shiny black floor tiles and marble counters.

Overall, I thought the look of the place was too high strung. The exterior of the building was rundown and dated, but the inside was completely renewed, like a recent face lift on an old crone.

Apparently, to make the whole thing more appalling, it was necessary to dictate reservation numbers to the hostess standing in the foyer of the building.

"How irreverent," Henri muttered the moment we stepped around a table of people eating… something. They were eating something. "No clear distinction between the culture of the food."