IDNAPPED ON WEDDING DAY AND BONDED TO THE MAFIA KING
e didn't come to stop my wedding to Daniel. He came to claim me for himself.
One moment I was walking toward "I do" - toward Daniel, my safe, predictable future. Next, his men stormed the church, and I was dragged from the altar in my lace dress, veil torn, dreams shattered. I became the prize of the most dangerous man in the city.
Eric Moretti. The Mafia King. Cold eyes. Sinful mouth. Hands that have ended lives... and now own mine.
"Daniel can't protect you," he growled against my ear that first night, locking me in his penthouse. "He never could. But me, Seraphina? I'll owe you. Cherish you. Destroy anyone who looks at you twice. You're mine now."
I fought him. I screamed. I clawed.
He pinned my wrists above my head and showed me exactly what resistance costs.
But somewhere between the silk sheets and the dangerous midnight confessions, hate began to blur with something far more terrifying-need. His touch sets my skin on fire. His voice commands my pulse. And when he looks at me like I'm the only light in his dark world, I forget Daniel's name. I forget I was ever meant to be someone else's bride.
"I should let you go," he admits one night, lips trailing down my throat. "Send you back to your safe little life with Daniel. But I'm a selfish bastard. And you... You've gotten under my skin, Bella."
But in his world, love is a death sentence. Enemies circle. Betrayal festers. And when they come for him, they'll have to go through me-the bride who stopped being a captive the moment I chose to stay.
They say the Mafia King has no heart. They're wrong. He gave it to me-and I'll burn this city down before I let anyone take it from him.me to add more tension between Eric and Daniel, or make Daniel a bigger threat?
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Chapter 1
The reflection staring back at me was a masterpiece of deception.
I was draped in five yards of the finest Italian silk, a Vera Wang creation that cost more than a suburban home. My hair was swept up into an intricate crown of curls, pinned by a diamond tiara that felt like a circle of ice against my scalp. I looked like a queen, but as I adjusted the lace sleeves of my wedding dress, I knew the truth.
I was a sacrificial lamb.
"Seraphina, you are the most beautiful bride New York has seen in a decade," my father, Antonio Rossi, said as he entered the suite. His voice was thick with emotion, but I could see the twitch in his jaw. Rossi International was crumbling. A series of bad investments and a sudden market crash had left us on the brink of total ruin.
Daniel Whitmore IV was the "miracle" that had saved us. A golden-boy investment banker with a smile that was too perfect and eyes that never quite reached his soul. My father saw a merger; I saw a prison sentence.
"I'm doing this for the family, Papa," I whispered. My voice felt brittle, like it might shatter if I spoke too loudly.
"You're doing this for our legacy, Seraphina. Daniel is a good man. He'll provide the security you deserve."
Security. The word tasted like ash in my mouth. What about love? What about the dreams I'd harbored of a partner who saw me as more than a pretty accessory? Daniel's kisses were always calculated, his touches polite but distant. We'd never gone beyond heavy petting, he said he wanted to "wait for the wedding night" to make it special. Now, as I stared at my reflection, I wondered if that was just another lie to keep me compliant.
The clock struck noon. It was time. My father offered his arm, and we stepped into the antechamber. The organ's deep notes vibrated through the walls, signaling the start of the procession. As the massive oak doors swung open, the sea of guests turned to face me, three hundred of New York's elite, their faces a blur of diamonds and designer suits.
I walked down the aisle, my hand white-knuckled on my father's arm. The scent of white lilies and incense filled the air, cloying and overwhelming. My heart pounded like a war drum. The faces blurred into a sea of judgment and curiosity. But then, my gaze was pulled, almost magnetically, to the back of the cathedral.
He sat in the shadows of the last pew.
A darkness that the candlelight couldn't penetrate. Broad shoulders, a suit the color of a stormy sea, and eyes, amber eyes that burned with a predatory hunger. I stumbled, my heart skipping a beat. I didn't know him, yet I felt as if he had been watching me my entire life. His stare was intense, possessive, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool air of the cathedral.
As I reached the altar, Daniel took my hands. His palms were clammy, a stark contrast to the heat I looked radiating from the man in the back. Daniel's blue eyes crinkled in that practiced way, his blond hair perfectly tousled. "You look stunning, Sera," he whispered.
The priest began the rites. "Do you, Daniel Whitmore, take Seraphina Rossi to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
BOOM.
The cathedral doors didn't just open, they were blasted off their hinges. The explosion sent a shockwave through the pews, and the triumphant music was replaced by the screams of three hundred guests. Men in black tactical gear, armed with submachine guns, flooded the sanctuary with military precision.
But I only saw the man from the back pew.
He walked through the smoke like a god of war. Eric Moretti. The "Devil of New York." Whispers about him had haunted the city's underworld, a mafia king who ruled with an iron fist and a heart of stone. His family controlled half the ports in the Northeast, their legitimate businesses a front for something far darker.
"This wedding is canceled," Eric's voice echoed, deep and resonant, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Daniel let go of my hands so fast I nearly fell. He scrambled back, his face a mask of cowardice. "Moretti! You can't be here! We had an agreement!"
An agreement? My mind reeled. What did that mean?
Eric ignored him, his focus entirely on me. He reached the altar, his height towering over me. He smelled of expensive sandalwood, aged bourbon, and the metallic tang of danger. Without a word, he reached out, his gloved hand cupping my jaw. His touch sent a jolt through me, electric, forbidden.
"You're wearing the wrong man's ring, Seraphina," he murmured, his voice a dark caress that made my knees weak.
Before I could breathe, he hoisted me over his shoulder. I screamed, pounding my fists against his back, my veil tearing as he turned to leave. The guests gasped, some standing in shock, others cowering. My father's face was pale with rage, but he didn't move, perhaps knowing the futility of challenging a man like Moretti.
"Put her down! Eric, you monster!" my father roared, but a dozen red laser dots appeared on his chest, freezing him in place.
"She was never yours to sell, Antonio," Eric growled. He carried me out into the blinding sunlight, throwing me into the back of an armored SUV. My wedding was over, and my nightmare, or perhaps my awakening, had just begun.
The SUV sped away, the cathedral shrinking in the rearview mirror. I pounded on the tinted windows, my heart racing with terror and confusion. "Let me go! This is kidnapping!"
Eric sat across from me, his amber eyes unreadable. "Kidnapping? No, Seraphina. This is salvation."
I glared at him, my chest heaving. "Salvation? From what? My wedding? My life?"
"From a man who saw you as currency." His voice was calm, but his eyes darkened with a fierce expression. "Daniel Whitmore isn't who you think he is. And neither am I."
The drive was tense, the city blurring past. I tried the doors. My phone had been left behind in the chaos. I was trapped with a stranger who looked at me like I was both prey and prize. Fear warred with curiosity. Who was this man, and why did his gaze make my skin tingle?
As we arrived at the estate, Eric's men flanked us. "Welcome to your new home," he said, his tone laced with something that sounded almost like a promise.
Little did I know that the traditions of his world, family, honor, and protection would soon test us both in ways I couldn't imagine.
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8.0
On our wedding night, my Fated Mate, Alpha Cedric, left our bed to care for his mistress. He told me our marriage was just an obligation.
But the real betrayal came months later on a rooftop.
When Rogues demanded a trade, Cedric didn't hesitate. He chose to save Jayden because of her "heart condition," handing me—his pregnant wife—over to the killers.
"You are stronger," he said as he pushed me toward them.
I fell from the building. I survived, but our unborn pup didn't.
Instead of comfort, I woke up to handcuffs. Cedric believed Jayden’s lies that I staged the kidnapping for attention.
He threw me into the dungeon, shackling my wrists with silver cuffs that burned my flesh, while Jayden poisoned my food with wolfsbane.
He stripped me of my title and dignity, never realizing that the "fragile" woman he protected was the true monster.
He didn't know about the glowing rune on my chest counting down the seconds I had left. He didn't know I was the legendary White Wolf, and my time was up.
On my final night, I asked for one last ride on the Ferris wheel where we first met.
At midnight, as Cedric rushed back to the amusement park, he didn't find a body. He found only my empty clothes and a text message on the seat.
"Don't look for me, Cedric. I'm giving my wolf back to the moon."
As he watched the security footage, he finally saw me dissolve into stardust and ascend to the sky, leaving him alone in a world that suddenly felt too quiet.
8.6
"What do you think people would say if they found out you don't have a dick?" Christian asked, his voice low and dripping with seduction. His hand pressed firmly against my crotch, fingers exploring the flat, unfamiliar emptiness there. A devilish smirk curved his lips. "Or if they discovered these voluptuous breasts you've been hiding so well?"
A strangled moan slipped from my throat as his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing over my hardened nipples, teasing them with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Which do you think they'd call you?" he murmured, eyes gleaming. "A boy with tits... or a dickless little fraud?"
I stared into his hungry blue eyes, words failing me.
"The term you're looking for is 'girl,'" came Xavier's smooth voice from the bathroom doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over me with open interest. "So tell me, little girl... what the hell is someone like you doing in an all-boys dorm?"
Christian's smirk widened. "She wants to be devoured by boys like us." His fingers gave my nipple one last firm pinch before he leaned in closer, breath hot against my ear. "And I'll be more than happy to give her a taste."
7.1
"Don't tease me again or else you really want it. There are no safe words in my bed."
He is rumored to know a thousand ways to disarm and pleasure a woman, and I am Olivia, the nymphomaniac.
In a quest for revenge against my childhood bullies, I got locked into an unhappy marriage, with an untamed brother-in-law. Colt Fletcher, the morally-grey, rebel biker is ever excited by danger and prefers life on the edge. And from the moment he laid eyes on me, I became his forbidden want.
I should know better, to steer clear of deadly desires like these but when fate forces us to live under the same roof, share the same boardroom, and every accidental touch burns, my resolve begins to collapse.
But scandals don't stay buried, and my husband is the devil. The price of this betrayal is death. I must choose between my husband who owns my name, and his brother who owns my body.
7.3
She was sent to destroy him.
A man feared in the shadows, a mafia lord whose name alone commanded power and blood. Serafina Dunes had one mission: send Rapheal Dekoms to hell.
Murdered by her husband's mistress, Yuanita Serra was ripped from life before her time-only to be reborn as a missionier, and her first task was to kill Rapheal Dekoms. But fate had other plans. What was meant to be a deadly mission became a dangerous game of desire and hate, where every glance and every touch ignited a fire she couldn't control-and threatened to unravel everything he had ever built.
8.5
Aria had always been a driven, ambitious woman. As a rising star in the tech industry, she had no time for games or drama. Her relationship with Ethan, her longtime boyfriend, had been convenient but lackluster. That is, until the fateful night she caught him in bed with her childhood best friend, Jasmin.
Heartbroken and enraged, Aria confronted them both, demanding answers and explanations. Mark tried to manipulate her, but Aria was done listening. In a fit of anger and despair, she left with no destination in mind and ended up in a hotel bar, drowning her sorrows in an expensive whiskey. It was there that she first encountered Luca kings, a dangerous and handsome mafia boss.
But Aria's new life took a shocking turn when Luca revealed a dark secret: Her father, a powerful corporate executive, had been responsible for the death of Luca's mother. It was a brutal murder years ago, covered up by Aria's influential family.
Luca vowed revenge, and Aria found herself caught in the middle. She was torn between her loyalty to her family and the undeniable attraction she felt towards Luca. As the tension mounted, Aria knew that she would have to make a choice - one that would change the course of her life forever.
8.0
For five years, my husband kept me in a dog cage because he believed I murdered his fiancée, my stepsister Kinsley.
He stripped me of my dignity, my name, and my humanity, all to avenge a woman who wasn't even dead.
When Kinsley finally returned, alive and smiling, I thought my nightmare was over.
Instead, she framed me again.
Right in front of Courtland, she pushed my little brother down the stone steps of the estate.
I held my brother's broken body in the rain, screaming for help.
But Courtland just stood there, shielding Kinsley under his umbrella, looking at me with cold indifference.
He chose the monster over his wife.
That night, I realized love wasn't enough to save me.
So, I stood on the edge of the hospital roof and let gravity take me.
I wanted him to mourn. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to burn.
Three years later, at a gala in New York, the Ice King dropped his champagne glass.
He stared at me—the woman in the red dress, the fiancée of his rival.
I looked him dead in the eye and smiled like a stranger.
He cornered me later, his voice trembling with rage and obsession.
"Death is the only divorce in my world, Anastasia. And you are still very much alive."