Best Mafia Novels

BLURB "Beg for it, Bella," his rasped voice whispered against my ears as his dick rubbed against my thighs. "I want you to f**k me until my tongue knows nothing but your name. Please, Daddy," I begged shamelessly until he finally slipped into me. - The first time I saw him, I understood why people ruin their lives for dicks. He was standing in the sunlight, watching me like he already knew how the story would end. I had a boyfriend. He was my best friend's father. And ninety days should have been easy to survive. Then I opened the wrong door, and after everything burned. Alexander Moreau doesn't touch you first. He studies you, learns you, and makes you feel like the only person in the room. And somewhere between midnight swims and locked doors, I stopped pretending I didn't want him. I'd go through hell and come back friends with the devil if it would mean him sticking his dick inside me again. But houses made of glass don't protect secrets, and by the time summer ended, I had lost my best friend, my relationship, my future, and the version of myself I thought I was. Because falling for Alexander Moreau wasn't the danger. His ex-wife was.

"I..hate you" I croaked out brokenly, struggling and failing to hold back the tears spilling in waves from my eyes. "Awwww, is my fat queen crying?" Brandon jested mockingly, laughing as if he had just said something funny. His friends echoed his laughter, making the tears spill even faster from how embarrassed I was. Shaking my head, I turned away from his crude handsome face, but was held back by his hands, gripping my hair painfully. I screamed as he slammed me against the wall, feeling the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. He grabbed my hair roughly, pressing my face harshly against the wall. "You don't walk out till I am done with you," he gritted out, pressing his body against mine. "Please.... Stop, please..." I cried out. "Do I make myself clear?" Brandon snapped, his other hand gripping my waist tightly. I could feel his hard hot body against mine, and his nails digging painfully into my waist. "Yes," I whispered, "please let me go." He pressed harder against my body, his hands on my waist tightening. I could feel his hot breath against my neck, and despite my situation, my body was shamelessly reacting to him. Loud snickers alerted us to the fact we were not alone. Brandon released my hair, leaning away from my body, before pushing me forward. I stumbled, nearly falling to my feet. "Now run you fat bitch," he yelled, before laughing with his friends. I hightailed it out of there, crying my eyes out. Being fat wasn't a problem, her mother always told her, never failing to remind her how beautiful she was. But for Christy Morris, being fat was a curse. Especially since college and her arch enemy Brandon made it so. Forced to babysit her bully and enemy baby sister, Christy's life takes an unexpected turn. For the worst or better, was still what she was yet to find out. Find out Christy and Brandon's story in this thrilling novel filled with... Romance. Unexpected twist. And dare I say.... Love.

Kidnapped, beaten and locked up, Aurora Puro Pucasso, The daughter of General Puro Pucasso, has her life turned upside down. One moment she's on her bed, the next, she's forcefully taken by Vincenzo West, and made to act like his wife Brielle, and the mother to his psychotic child in exchange for her to live. What happens when every of Brielle's past comes to haunt her? Can she survive her new daughter's torment? What happen when the line between Reality and fiction start to blur between Aurora and Vincenzo.

I was the Harrington family's only son, forced to play a deadly game of shadows in the brutal underworld of Chicago. After a meeting with the Falcones left me poisoned and broken, my car was run off the road in a calculated hit. I crawled from the wreckage, bloodied and desperate, only to find Damien Cobb, the city's untouchable Don, looming over me with a gun pressed to my temple. He didn't see a victim; he saw a pawn to be crushed. My jacket was ripped, my secret bindings nearly exposed, and my life hung by a thread. I managed to talk my way out of the execution, but the humiliation was absolute. When I returned home, the nightmare followed, haunting my sleep with the cold steel of a blade against my throat. The world saw Alessandro Harrington, a man, but the truth was a fragile secret I guarded with my life. I was surrounded by predators who smelled my fear and mistook my silence for weakness. Why was I the target of their cruelty, and how could I keep my family safe when my very existence was a lie waiting to be unraveled? Enough was enough. I wouldn't be the prey anymore. I stood in the mirror, adjusting my shirt, and made a choice: I would stop hiding and start hunting. The dockworkers' strike was my opening, and I would use it to bring the untouchable Don to his knees.

For three years, my husband Hudson convinced everyone I was crazy. My parents. Our friends. Even my own therapist. He said my suspicions were just anxiety. PTSD from our miscarriage. That I needed my medication and a good night's sleep. But a pink butterfly hair clip in his car told a different story. It wasn't mine. And we don't have children. When I confronted him, he sighed with practiced patience—the same sigh he'd perfected over three years of making me doubt my own mind. "It belongs to a client's daughter," he said, reaching for my pills. "Your anxiety is flaring up again." I almost believed him. I always almost believed him. But this time, I didn't back down. I invited his mistress and their three-year-old son to our family dinner. With the DNA test results in my purse, I was ready to burn his perfect world to the ground. He thought he could gaslight me forever. He was wrong.

Three hours ago, I was the revered Bianchi princess, standing at the altar in a million-dollar gown to seal New York's most powerful Mafia alliance. Instead, my fiancé Julian Falcone didn't show up, publicly slaughtering our sacred pact for a rising actress and turning me into the laughingstock of the underworld. In a drunken haze of humiliation, I used my silent, lethal bodyguard, Damien Moretti, to numb my pain. But the next morning, he didn't just walk away. He showed me a video of my willing surrender and cornered me. "Marry me. Become Mrs. Moretti." My own father froze my accounts, demanding I get on my knees to beg the cheating Falcone heir for forgiveness, or face a fifty-million-dollar penalty. I was stripped of my assets, betrayed by the man I loved for a decade, and sold out by my own blood. I had no choice but to agree to Damien's marriage of convenience to survive. But what terrified me most was my new husband himself. A mere bodyguard shouldn't carry an invitation-only Centurion black card. A mere bodyguard shouldn't be able to terrify a Mafia heir with a single, murderous look. Who on earth was Damien Moretti? With no money and my back against the wall, I was forced to join a reality show alongside my cheating ex and his mistress. They thought they could continue to humiliate the discarded bride on live television. But they didn't know I was walking into this warzone with a monster at my back.