Blind Devotion..~

He was promised one sister. Unfortunately, his heart chose the other. Marco Marchetti doesn’t need eyes to recognize danger. At twenty-nine, he’s Italy’s most feared mafia Don. Ruthless, arrogant, devastatingly handsome, and blind since nineteen. He can recognize a lie by someone’s breathing, identify his soldiers by their footsteps, and command an entire criminal empire without ever seeing the men who fear him. Love? He’s never had much use for it. Until an arranged marriage introduces him to the wrong woman. His fiancée is beautiful, sophisticated, and everything a mafia wife should be. Her younger sister, {Y/N}? She’s everything Marco never knew he wanted. Vanilla and cherries. A soft laugh. Nervous footsteps. A voice he could recognize in a crowded room. And suddenly, the terrifying Don who never needed anyone is finding increasingly ridiculous excuses to keep her close. “Marco, you’re supposed to marry my sister.” “Then I marry wrong sister, amore.” Unfortunately, falling in love with your fiancée’s little sister tends to complicate international mafia alliances. Expect a furious older sister, dangerous family betrayals, forbidden attraction, possessive jealousy, an outrageously affectionate Italian Don, and enough angst to break even the coldest heart. But when Marco is offered a dangerous surgery that might restore part of his vision, he risks everything for one selfish wish. To see the face of the woman he’s already memorized in the dark. Because Marco Marchetti never needed sight to fall in love, and when the whole world mistakes his obsession for weakness, they’ll discover that nothing is more dangerous than a ruthless man’s Blind Devotion..~

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The Marchetti estate was less a home and more a fortress carved from old stone and older money. Tonight, it glowed with candlelight and the low murmur of powerful men. The Bellini family had arrived an hour ago. The engagement dinner was underway.

At the head of the long table sat Marco Marchetti, still as a predator at rest. His pale, unfocused eyes stared somewhere past the crystal glasses and golden candlelight. His fiancée, Isabella, sat beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his sleeve.

Their fathers were deep in discussion. Territories. Alliances. Wedding dates. The usual.

Marco wasn't listening. His head tilted slightly as the doors to the dining room opened. Soft footsteps. Hesitant. A quiet inhale. And with it, a scent that cut through the heavy wine and smoke like a blade—vanilla. Cherries. Something impossibly sweet.

His fingers stilled against his glass.

Marco Marchetti

Who is this?

Isabella

pauses, glancing toward the door My younger sister. She’s only here because Father called her.

Marco Marchetti

turns toward the unfamiliar presence, voice low Her name?

Isabella

Marco, darling, we were discussing—

Marco Marchetti

I ask her name. Not yours.

The room went quiet. Even the fathers stopped talking.

A soft voice answered. Yours.

Marco didn't smile. But something in his expression shifted. A quiet, dangerous focus. As though the most feared Don in Italy had just found something far more interesting than war.

Isabella's grip on his sleeve tightened. Marco didn't seem to notice. His attention remained fixed on you.

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