Your Little Plaything? I'll Be Your Nightmare

I once thought I had the most dangerous yet the most perfect love in the whole world.

My lover, Dante Costello, is the Underboss of the Costello family. He carries himself with grace and nobility. Everyone fears and respects him, yet he only shows his gentle side to me.

I used to think that the man who keeps lurking in the shadows and has once left humiliating marks on me while gazing at me with cold eyes is his brother, Luciano Costello.

Luciano is a Capo who lives in the shadows. He's also a madman whose hands are stained with blood.

Everything changes when I smell the unique scent of gunpowder and blood that only Luciano has from Dante's custom-fitted suit.

Only then do I realize that I have never just belonged to one man all this time.

During the day, Dante plays the role of my perfect lover. He showers me with jewelry and deadly romance.

At night, Luciano transforms into a devil who satisfies his twisted, possessive urges in the roughest way possible.

Both brothers have set up an elaborate trap to lock me up in this gilded cage and admire my struggles from afar.

When I find out about the truth, I don't cry or bleed over it. Instead, I'm filled with eerie calmness.

The brothers want to watch me break down. Instead of doing that, I'll ruin them.

I flutter effortlessly between the brothers, using their only weakness against them. Apparently, both of them think that they are the only hunters in this game.

This time, it's my turn to weave them a trap.

"Chiara, I'm back." Dante Costello pushed the door open, bringing in the sharp chill of snow and wind. He pulled me into his arms.

The familiar scent of cedar wrapped around me in an instant, but I went rigid like stone in his embrace.

Something was wrong. The smell was wrong. Beneath the cool cedar, there was another faint but unmistakable scent of gunpowder and blood.

I shoved him away and lifted my head, staring hard at his face. His face was still the impossibly handsome one I knew—he had a high, straight nose, thin lips, and focused and tender eyes that glinted behind gold-rimmed glasses. He looked every bit the refined scholar, not the Underboss in his mafia family.

"What's wrong, Chiara?" Dante reached out to touch my face, but I turned my head to dodge him.

His hand froze in midair. I got a good look at his long, clean, well-shaped fingers. But on the back of his right hand, near the thumb, there was a fresh, thin wound that had just begun to scab over.

My blood turned to ice in that instant.

Three days ago, Luciano Costello had cornered me at the end of the hallway. He had a face identical to Dante's, but his gaze was sharp and predatory, like a hawk circling for the kill.

He'd grabbed me by the throat and pinned me against the