Gael De Luca

"I'm going to kill her..."

Gael De Luca, a Mafia Prince from the Southern Alps in a region in Northern Italy, paced back and forth across his large living room at eleven in the evening with nothing but lounge pants on. He had a huge fallen angel tattoo on his back, one of his greatest reminders in life. His hair was disheveled from the countless times that he ran his fingers through it.

"I will find that woman 'til the ends of the earth, make her pay for what she did and I will kill her."

His grey eyes darkened and his heavy footsteps trailed thuds on the floor. At six foot two, his athletic built and current menacing expression made him look frightening. He had been furious for the last hour after learning about what that woman did.

The woman whose identity he did not know. And for that, the rage within him burned his stomach, making him feel evidently uncomfortable about this… ridiculous situation.

She wanted to kill him — why not kill her first?!

He ground his teeth together in frustration and clenched the book in his hand—hardcover in red and white colors with the author's name "Galatea K.S." written in bold font and the title that said: "Falling in Love With the Mafia Prince"

He had never felt this humiliated in his life! The author—whoever she was, described his features. Sure, she used a different name for the male character but everything else was a description of him—even the mole that's found somewhere only he and some women knew, his tattoos that were strategically placed in his body, and the scars in his torso. The way she described the male lead's character was as though she knew him very well. Which was hardly the case for someone whom you just knew after a one-night stand.

Gael huffed and scoffed. Both the flowery and shîtty descriptions about the character came flashing in his mind as if taunting him—no, reminding him how shîtty his life was. Even the story about how he got the scar on his arm while he was doing a business transaction in the U.S was also written in the book. A story that he should have kept to himself but after having one too many drinks, he probably didn't care what he had told that woman while they were at it.

That's right. That woman was somewhat a cuckoo. He met her at a friend's wedding on a private island sometime three years ago. Everything about her screamed that she was a liar. She said her name was 'Angela' but if that was the truth, he wouldn't know about it because while they were drinking hard liquor at the open bar, the two of them agreed to keep their last names a 'mystery' or that they just enjoy the evening without caring about who they were outside of the island — something that he, of course, didn't mind at all.

And then she asked, "Tell me something unbelievable." If he told people who he was or what he really did, they would either not believe him or they would run away as fast as they could. 'Angela' was the former. She did not believe what he told her.

A couple of things that Gael learned from one of his female friends was to be honest and to be himself and 'love' will find its way to him. Yeah, as idiotic as it sounds for someone like him to be looking for a partner, it was true at a time. Which was why after drinking several shots with Angela, he had the guts to tell some truths about him.

The look on the woman's face when she snorted after he told her, "I'm a Mafia Prince" while he was hammered, was still etched on his mind. She certainly didn't believe him. Well, in all honesty, if he were to hear from someone that he or she were a Mafia Royalty, he would probably not believe them too. It was such an obnoxious and pretentious thing to say.

But it was the truth. And after hearing it hundreds of times, he decided to just own the title. After trying to be honest about what he really was, the first reaction he received was a snort from a woman he barely knew. What a loser. Well, she did ask him to tell her something unbelievable.

He should have stopped when she started asking him to tell her more stories about him while they were already busy stripping each other naked as they got to her room. The two of them were wasted and none of them cared that it was just meaningless sex. He had slept with women before who had different kinks and it was probably Angela's – to hear stories from the men while they were about to do the deed. Maybe that got her excited?

Was it really a woman's dream to get to know a bad boy and attempt to tame them? Maybe her orgasm depended on how exciting the story was?

How the hell would he know? But since she clearly did not believe him when he told him a partial truth about his identity, what's one more story? She probably lied the entire time too. She already thought he was bluffing and making up stories, so what does it matter if he were to feed her fantasies with a story that she wouldn't really believe anyway?

The alcohol got to him. Oh, what the hell—yes, the lust got to him. He was vulnerable. The only time he forgot how chaotic his life was and that a one night stand with a stranger whom he enjoyed his time with—somehow—seemed appealing at the time.

But who would have thought… That three years later, he would find himself as the male character of a best-selling book. Written by some author whose name and identity he didn't know. Did that woman perhaps sell his story? Did she have so much pleasure that night that she decided to share with the whole world what kind of man he was?

The detailed sex from that one night that they shared written as porn in the novel made him think that – A, He is a sex god—which he wouldn't mind being called.

And B, the author was probably none other than Angela herself. After all, there were so many authors who used pen names.

But how in the world was he going to find her? He only knew her one night and that was f*cking three years ago!

And the only thing he believed among her many lies that night was the way she moaned when she climaxed. He couldn't randomly ask anyone around his friend's circle if they knew someone who sounded like that, could he?

He could find her through the publishing company…

Or he could simply ask his friend—No. His friends must not know the book was about him. He's already humiliated enough!

Exasperated, he tossed the heavy book onto the couch and he slumped next to it, the leather material squeaked at his weight. His abdominal muscles and the V-line on his torso were visibly clear under the bright lights from the chandelier.

Gael ran a hand down his face and let out a sinister laugh.

Who would have thought that Gael, known as the notorious prince in the De Luca Family, would be in this laughable situation?

He couldn't accept what she did to him. He was furious. What if his family read this book?

Too late. He found this book because his sister was reading it.

Fûck. His younger sister was reading smut about him!? He was mortified!

"Rick!" He called one of his men—it was short for Riccardo.

A big, muscly man came into the room and waited for his orders.

His gaze darkened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He steepled his hands in front of him and with a gruff voice, he said, "Prepare the plane. We're visiting a friend."