From Mafia Doll To Montana Queen

I was the invisible daughter of the Hayes crime family, secretly painting portraits of Marcus, the Underboss. He was the man who had once protected me from the world, the man I loved from the shadows. But he chose power over affection. To secure an alliance, he engaged Isabella. Threatened by my existence, Isabella staged a fake miscarriage and framed me for destroying her heirloom wedding dress. Marcus didn't ask for my side of the story. Blinded by rage over his "lost heir," he ordered his guards to drag me to the Ice Cellar—a freezing underground torture chamber used for traitors. For days, I shivered in the absolute darkness, listening to the water drip, realizing the man I worshiped was actually my jailer. My father, protecting his own millions, let it happen. In that cold, the girl who loved Marcus died. When he finally released me, he expected me to be broken, obedient, and grateful for his mercy. Instead, I burned every painting I had ever made of him. I packed a single bag and vanished into the night, escaping to a rugged ranch in Montana where no one knew my name. Three years later, the truth about Isabella’s lies finally surfaced. Marcus tracked me down. The King of New York fell to his knees in the dirt and cow manure of my new home, weeping, begging, and offering me the entire world to come back. I looked down at the man who once owned my heart. "You can't un-shatter a glass, Marcus," I said coldly. "I'm not coming home."

Chapters

Chapter 7

Olivia POV

I was floating in a void of ink, suspended in silence, but I wasn't wet.

Then, reality crashed down. I was pinned.

A heavy weight pressed me into the mattress. I tried to move my arms, but they felt like cast iron, useless and heavy. My mind was a fog of panic and static.

"Be still."

The voice was a low vibration against the sensitive skin of my neck.

I opened my eyes. The room was swallowed by darkness, shadows stretching like skeletal claws across the ceiling.

Marcus was looming over me. His face was buried in the crook of my neck. His lips were cold, moving against my skin with a possessiveness that made my bile rise.

This wasn't love. This was consumption.

I tried to shove him away, my hands pushing weakly against his chest. It was like pushing against a marble statue.

"Stop," I gasped, air struggling to reach my lungs. "Marcus, please."

He froze. He lifted his head, his eyes glassy and unfocused in the dark.

"Isabella," he murmured.

The name was a slap.

He didn't see me. He didn't know who he was holding. He was touching me, claiming me, but in his twisted mind, I was *her*.

"No," I rasped, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. "I'm not her. I'm Olivia! Look at me!"

He paused. His brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. But then the mask slammed back down. The cruelty returned.

"Quiet," he ordered.

He didn't care. I was just a body. A vessel for his lust and his rage.

He didn't stop. He held me down, his grip bruising, his touch erasing every remaining shred of the girl who used to paint him.

I stopped fighting. I went limp. I became a doll.

*This isn't happening,* I chanted internally. *I am smoke. I am air.*

Eventually, the weight lifted. He rolled over, pulling me against him like a pillow. I lay there in the suffocating dark, listening to his steady breathing, tears sliding silently into my ears.

I fell into a jagged, terrified sleep.

*SCREAM.*

My eyes flew open.

Morning light stabbed through the window like a blade.

Izzy stood in the doorway. Her face was a mask of twisted fury.

"You filthy whore!" she shrieked.

I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest. Marcus was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. He looked at me, then at Izzy, his expression unreadable.

"Get out!" Izzy screamed, pointing a manicured finger at me. "You think you can steal him? You think sleeping in his bed makes you a woman?"

She stormed into the room, looming over me.

"He doesn't love you," she hissed, her spit landing on my cheek. "He pities you. You are nothing. A charity case. A little girl playing dress-up."

I looked at Marcus, desperation clawing at my throat.

"Tell her," I whispered.

He stood up, buttoning his shirt. He didn't look at me.

"Get dressed, Olivia," he said coldly. "You're a mess."

Izzy laughed. It was a sharp, jagged sound, like glass breaking.

"You hear that?" she taunted. "He's disgusted by you. I'm his wife. I'm the future. You are just... a mistake."

She leaned in close, her perfume cloying and sweet, suffocating me.

"Disappear, Olivia. Or I will make sure they find your body in a ditch."

I looked at them. The King and his Queen.

They were monsters. And I was done bleeding for them.

The room began to dissolve. The walls melted. Their faces blurred into gray smoke.

My eyes snapped open.

I was on the floor of the safe house. Alone.

The fire had burned down to dying embers.

It was a nightmare. A hallucination brought on by stress and hunger.

But the tears on my face were real. And the hole in my heart was permanent.

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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.

Mafia Modern Romance

7.2

His Temptation

7.2

"Please don't hurt me, I will do anything you want me to, I will not tell anyone anything. I swear on my life, I don't want to die please" I pleaded, it was the least I could do in a situation like this. After all that I had seen, I knew I was nothing to him than just another body that he could drop dead. I closed my eyes hoping and praying that he would spare my life. "Anything?" I hear him say and I open my eyes immediately. Was he accepting my offer, was he going to spare my life. He was already standing in front of me, I had to tilt my head backwards a great deal to catch a glimpse of his face. "Yes anything" I nodded my head. Sky witnessed the death of her friend and family, while she stayed hidden in a closet. She thought she could escape the Culprit but she was caught and kidnapped by him. On her knees she begged to do anything for him if he released her. Rather be kidnapped her to be his maid, will she be able to escape him?

Action Mafia Modern

8.7

I Was Never His Real Wife

8.7

My little brother's heart monitor was screaming its final warning. I called my husband, Dante Volkov, the ruthless underworld king whose life I'd saved years ago. He had promised to send his elite medical team. "I'm handling an emergency," he snapped, then hung up. An hour later, my brother was dead. I found out what Dante's "emergency" was from his mistress's social media. He had sent his team of world-class surgeons to deliver her cat's kittens. My brother died for a litter of cats. When Dante finally called, he didn't even apologize. I could hear her voice in the background, asking him to come back to bed. He even forgot my brother was dead, offering to buy him a new toy to replace the one his mistress deliberately crushed. This was the man who had promised to protect me, to make my high school tormentors pay. Now, he was holding that very tormentor, Seraphina, in his arms. Then came the final blow: a call from the clerk's office revealed our seven-year marriage was a sham. The certificate was a forgery. I was never his wife. I was just a possession he was tired of. After he left me to die in a car crash for Seraphina, I made one call. I texted a rival mob heir I hadn't spoken to in years: "I need to disappear. I'm calling it in."

Mafia Modern Romance

9.2

Just A Placeholder: Dying For His Mistress

9.2

I stood on the tarmac clutching white magnolias, watching the man I loved hand his loyalty to the woman born to destroy me. Dante Cavallaro, the Ruthless Underboss, didn't just leave me for Sofia Moretti. He revealed that for two years, I wasn't his lover. I was a human shield. The heavy iron bangle he forced me to wear wasn't a gift for my protection. "It's a Malocchio anchor," he sneered as I lay paralyzed on the floor. "It drains the wearer's luck to keep Sofia healthy. You are just the filter." My body began to rot from the inside out, my nerves dying one by one. When I was finally on my deathbed, unable to move or speak, Dante didn't cry for me. He cried because his tool was broken. He forced the cursed bangle onto his own wrist, begging the universe to keep me alive so I could continue to suffer in Sofia's place. "Please," he sobbed into my sheets. "Don't leave me alone with the bad luck." I used my last breath to make a wish—not for him, but for my freedom. I closed my eyes and died. Exactly one hour later, Dante's phone rang. It was his father. "Sofia just collapsed," he said. "Her heart just stopped." I was the vessel. And now that I was gone, the poison had come home to the King.

Action Mafia Romance

9.4

My Husband Gave My Mother’s House to His Mistress

9.4

The fluorescent lights in the basement clinic buzz like dying insects. I steady my hands over Kira Kelly's face, the scalpel cold between my gloved fingers. She lies on the surgical table with her eyes closed, sedated but not unconscious—Ivan insisted she remain aware enough to "appreciate the artistry." My husband stands three feet away, his Italian leather shoes gleaming against the concrete floor. In his hands, he cradles the ceramic urn that holds my mother's ashes. He's positioned himself directly over the industrial trash compactor, its metal jaws open and waiting. "Steady now, Talia." Ivan's voice carries the same casual tone he uses when ordering coffee. "One slip, and your mother takes a dive." I don't look at him. Can't. The scalpel finds the precise entry point along Kira's nasal bridge. She wanted a smaller nose—claimed the bump made her look "ethnic" in photographs.

Mafia Modern Romance

7.5

Reborn Heiress: Pampered By The Ruthless Don

7.5

The man smiling in the silver frame on my vanity was the very same man who, in exactly three months, would wrap his hands around my throat. I knew this because I had already died. I had felt the freezing, silty water of the Hudson River fill my lungs while Alexander watched the life drain from my eyes, his mistress laughing in the background. I had hovered like a ghost above my own funeral, watching the betrayal continue even after my death. My mother, the perfect Mafia widow, stood stoically next to my killer, unaware she had sold her daughter to a butcher. My fiancé checked his watch, bored, waiting to liquidate my inheritance. But then I saw him. Darrian Golden. The Don of the rival clan. The enemy. He stood in the pouring rain, his expensive suit soaked through, staring at my coffin as if the world had ended. When the earth hit the wood, he didn't just cry; he roared in primal agony. My fiancé killed me, but my enemy was the only one who mourned me. "The Commission is waiting," my mother’s voice snapped the timeline back into place. She stood in my doorway, demanding I set the engagement date to secure the territory. She saw a charming Capo; I saw the rat who had cut my father's brake lines. In my first life, I was a trembling bird. In this life, I was the match that would burn the cage down. I smashed the photo frame against the marble table, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot. "Contact the Golden Clan," I commanded. My mother went pale. "He is a savage, Azalea. He butchers men for sport." "Tell Don Golden that Azalea Kidd is offering a parley," I said, looking out the window at the city that would soon be ours. "Tell him I am offering the only thing he has ever wanted: Me."

Billionaire Fantasy Mafia

From Mafia Doll To Montana Queen

Chapter 7

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