Luciano's Forbidden Desire
She's sin wrapped in a nun habit.
He is the devil who makes her want to confess.
Luciano Moretti, the mafia's most feared enforcer, kills without hesitation, prays to no god, and bleeds for the Cosa Nostra.
Sister Elizabeth has spent her life behind church walls, burying her desires under layers of penance and prayer. She is supposed to be untouchable-a quiet, secluded nun devoted to faith.
But when she finds him bleeding on the altar one night, their worlds collide in a sin neither heaven nor hell can cleanse.
He's meant to marry her sister to seal a deal between two mafia empires.
She's meant to keep her vows and distance.
But temptation has a cruel sense of humour...
Because he's the last man she should want.
She's the only woman he can't have.
But one touch, one look, and everything sacred begins to crumble.
Luciano does not seek salvation. Instead, he lures her into a dangerous path, one that includes everything she is meant to avoid, and everytime she whispers "forgive me, Father," her soul sinks deeper into him.
As bloodlines clash and loyalty turns to betrayal, Elizabeth learns that the war outside the chapel isn't the only one she must survive. Because Luciano's world is built on violence and secrets, one of which binds her fate to his in ways neither of them saw coming.
Desire clashes with devotion.
Duty turns to betrayal.
And when they're both drowning in a love so forbidden, not even God can save them.
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Chapter 5
Chapter 4
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Luciano
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Where the fuck am I?
Certainly not my fucking bed!
My head feels so heavy and it takes everything in me not to yank it off. One moment I'm sending a knife through that fucking priest's throat and the other moment... I'm crawling into the church.
If someone told me I would be anywhere near the altar, I would have called them a fool.
Now look who just crawled into the temple...
I'm still struggling to remember what happened after that, everything just pops up in my head vaguely, leaving more gaps and questions.
Well, for starters, I remember getting shot. Not by the priest by the way. The man was such a weakling that killing him could count as the easiest one I've ever done. So no, he wasn't the one. It was someone else entirely, and before I could draw my attention to whoever it was, they fled like fucking cowards.
Which means I was right earlier. I was being followed. And that's a puzzle I'm willing to solve later.
The real deal is-how did I get here? I'm stitched up alright, but that does not answer the question of what am doing in a room this small, a closet that wouldn't even fit my entire body, a candle, a reading table... Is that the crucifix?
A rosary?
And what else is that?...
Fucking Christ! I just ended up in my worst nightmare.
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated and utterly aware of the pain at my sides. Whoever did the stitching was a complete amateur.
Then, I remember...
There was a woman-strawberry blonde hair, hazel eye colour, and yes... she was wearing... a nun's habit?
I took one good look around my surroundings again, then it dawned on me where I really was.
Shit!
Looking to the side of the bed, something twisted rumbled through my chest when I saw the gun I had with me earlier today. At least she didn't take this from me.
If she brought me here, then where the hell was she? Did she leave the room for me or what?
I'm still checking the room out when I hear footsteps approaching. Survival instincts kicked in and I clutched my gun tightly, ready to pull the trigger at which ever intruder walked in through that door.
Managing to get up, because this is not the first time I've been grazed by a bullet, I walked towards the door, staying by the side, waiting.
The door handle turned, and I lifted my gun, pointing. Whoever was at the other end was surely taking their time to get in, and I've never been a man of patience.
So this is surely getting on my nerves for sure.
For the first time in my life, I waited... waited for the door to open. It did and an unsuspecting woman in a white night dress slipped in, shutting the door behind her.
I didn't wait for her.
She didn't see me, because I stood at the other side of the door, so technically I'm standing behind her. I notice her eyes widen when she looked at the bed. A knowing grin creeped up my face and I knew she was looking for me.
Enough of the cat and mouse game.
She took a step forward, and I pulled her towards me, maneuvering our position in such a way that I had her pinned against the wall, and my bare chest pressing against her.
When she noticed who I was, realized that I was now awake, she tried to scream but I was fast... faster than she could ever be.
I raised my hand to her mouth, suppressing whatever noise that would have filled my ears if I didn't.
"Do not make a sound," I warned her, raising the gun to the side of her head, pressing the barrel against her head. She gasped, eyes widening in fear-shock too perhaps, a tear rolling down her cheek but I caught it quickly, wiping it off.
She was terrified. Good.
You would be impressed by what people do when they let fear take over them.
"I'll take my hands off your lips, but first you have to promise me one thing," I started by saying, studying her face for any form of foul play. She was clean.
Just an ordinary nun.
She nodded too quickly, another tear rolling down her cheek.
Fuck! Why won't she stop crying?
I hate being close to women when they're shedding tears. It's not something that has ever gone down well with me.
Now I'm here, up close with one that looks like she might collapse in my hands.
"You won't make a sound, okay? You'll be quiet... be obedient and do whatever I ask you to do. And if you don't... I'll kill you." I use my hand to dramatize the killing part, to make the threat more effective. "Then I'll kill the rest of the women here. And you'll go to hell with their blood on your hands. Is that what you want, angel?"
She shook her head as quickly as before.
"Good girl."
Then I slowly take my hand off her mouth, leaving my gun pressed to her head, waiting for the slightest noise so I can fulfill my threat to her. But just as I had expected, she didn't make a noise.
Her eyes were fixed on mine, but the terror in them was unmistakable.
With our eyes fixated on each other, I take my time to study her closely. My earlier descriptions of her were correct.
Strawberry blonde hair.
Hazel eyes.
Pink lush lips that were made to do something else other than recite holy prayers.
I quickly push that thought aside.
She's a fucking nun... a terrified one for that matter.
We're so close to each other that her breasts are all up in my business. Even with the plain ugly nightdress, I know too well that she's got big round tits. Don't ask me how I know. I just do. Because they're pressing into my chest.
And with every little inhale and exhale she does, her chest rises and her tits jiggle a bit.
Reluctantly, I drag my eyes back to her face. She's beautiful... not the the type you say to women just to compliment them. No.
I really mean this one.
She's fucking pretty... too pretty to be tied up inside here. I'm guessing that's why they hid her in a convent, because she's definitely not safe out there.
So they hid her...
Especially from men like me.
I didn't expect nuns to be this pretty. I usually imagined them to have ugly wrinkled faces that no man would dare to look at them, making it easier for them to stick to their vows in peace.
But this one?
This one was everything my imagination didn't think about.
She let out a little whimper, halting my dirty thoughts about her.
"A-are you going to kill me?" she asked in a little angelic voice that leads the blood in my veins all the way to my cock.
I'm tempted... I'm fucking tempted to grind against her, but I force myself to pay attention.
"Did you stitch me up?" I asked, which was definitely not what I wanted to do.
But this is life, and in life we don't really get what we want always.
She nodded before answering, "Yes... I'm sorry."
Sorry?
Sorry for what exactly?
I nearly slap a hand against my face to contain my frustration and confusion.
"You brought me up here?"
"Yes."
"Then no, angel. I'm not going to kill you."
She heaved a sigh of relief, but her eyes and body told me she was still terrified. Reluctantly, I pulled myself off from her. I might not be a saint or into church affairs, but I know what happens when a man is found alone with a nun.
Honestly, I don't care who sees us. I'll just shoot their heads off the moment it happens.
The only reason I move away from her is because I'm badly injured and if the one who shot at me makes his way here, I wouldn't be able to defend us both.
"Turn around. Eyes on the wall," I ordered, and she obeyed immediately, not asking questions.
She was really scared for sure.
And when she turned, I nearly groaned out loud.
Her ass... Shit! Fuck! They're to die for.
Big, Round, and Curvy.
They're definitely not supposed to be in that ugly dress.
My eyes trail from her ass upwards, while I took steps away from her.
My body protesting with each step that I took. And when I got to the window, I stopped, taking one more good look at her.
Then it struck me immediately-this is defintely not the last time I'll see her, because she just triggered my interest.
So she can cling to her vows all she wants, I'll break them one by one.
With that thought in mind, I jumped through the window.
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7.7
Bella arrived New York City with ambitions, goals and desperate hunger to escape poverty. Raised by her single poor mother along side beloved sister Emily, Bella believed the only way to succeed and save her family from the ruthless hands of poverty was education.
After countless denial and rejection letters, she finally gained admission into one of the most prestigious universities in the country. What she doesn't realize is that stepping foot into that campus would pull her into a dangerous world of obsession, wealth, and power She never knew existed.
Benson Vale is everything Bella despised, Arrogant, untouchable and born into privilege.
As the heir to a billionaire empire, Benson is being forced to get married in order to acquire his inheritance something he dreaded with passion, but Bella crashed into his life and his tightly controlled world starts to unravel.
Lurking in the background is Angella Browns, Benson's childhood friend and the campus self proclaimed queen bee. Obsessed and possessive Angella would do whatever it takes to keep Benson all to herself even if it meant destroying Bella's life to pieces.
When tragedy strikes and secrets begins to unfold, Bella and Bensons relationship are bounded together by a dangerous DEAL - one that could either save or destroy them both.
As danger draws closer Bella must not only fight for justice but also uncover the truth behind her sisters death and choose Whether love was meant to survive in a world filled with Wealth, Power, and betrayal.
It was never meant to be love until fate made them collide.
9.1
I stood alone at the marble altar, the silence of the temple pressing against my eardrums.
It was my Mating Ceremony, but the groom was missing.
My phone buzzed with a notification: a livestream of my mate, Alpha Cain, skipping our union to welcome my sister, Eris, home.
In the video, he held her like she was fragile glass, captioning it: "True power recognizes true power."
When I returned to the Pack House, humiliated, I wasn't met with an apology.
I was met with a slap from my mother.
Eris, feigning a powerful "Alpha Aura," claimed my mere scent was poisoning her.
To "save" her, my family locked me in my room.
But the true betrayal came when I overheard their hushed whispers through the door.
"Use Vera," my mother said, her voice chillingly practical.
"She recovers fast. We can drain her blood weekly for Eris. She can stay as a servant to raise Cain and Eris's pups."
My blood ran cold.
They didn't just neglect me; they planned to harvest me like livestock.
They thought I was the weak Omega they exiled to the North years ago to peel potatoes.
They had no idea that in the North, I wasn't a servant.
I was Commander V, a warrior forged in ice and blood.
I reached under my bed and pulled out my black tactical duffel.
"Screw the meatloaf," I whispered.
I wasn't just leaving. I was going to war.
7.1
For ten years, I disguised myself as my dead twin brother, fighting bloody mob wars to build the Falcone family's bootlegging empire.
When the war ended, I thought I could finally take off the men's suits and be Anya again.
Instead, my parents stole my victories to secure my father's power, demanding I disappear forever.
When I tried to expose the truth, my family dragged me into a soundproof basement.
My younger brother forced a metal funnel past my teeth and poured corrosive chemicals down my throat, dissolving my vocal cords into a blistered ruin.
They chained me to a freezing pier, whipped me bloody, and let the men I used to lead spit on me as a jealous traitor.
Then, under the guise of a family reconciliation dinner, my mother drugged my wine.
While I lay paralyzed but fully conscious on my bed, my brother took heavy iron pliers and crushed all ten of my fingers, bone by bone.
They wanted to ensure I could never hold a gun or write the truth again.
I had slaughtered for them, bled for them, and craved only their love.
In return, they pulverized my body and painted me as a hysterical madwoman just to keep the crown I had won for them.
The foolish girl who wanted a family died in that agonizing pain, leaving behind only a ghost.
Dragging my mangled, bandaged body into the rival Romano family's charity gala, I collapsed at the feet of their ruthless matriarch.
"I invoke the sacred code," I rasped through my chemically burned throat. "I demand a Vendetta."
8.7
I died in a mangled wreck of metal and fire, abandoned by the man I thought was my soulmate. But instead of the void, I woke up pinned against a cold marble wall, staring into the turbulent, storm-gray eyes of Damian Vincent.
This was the night I destroyed my life. In my past world, I spat in Damian's face and ran into the arms of Eddie, a parasitic loser who was secretly plotting with my cousin Jill to strip me of my inheritance.
My "escape" turned into a slow-motion suicide. My brother Donavan died in a horrific car crash while racing to save me from another one of my messes. Damian, consumed by a toxic mix of grief and vengeance, crushed the Nelson family empire until my father was a broken man. I spent years as a drugged-up social pariah, finally dying alone while the people I trusted laughed at my funeral.
The most bitter realization didn't hit me until the end. The "controlling monster" I spent years fighting was the only person who ever truly protected me. I had traded a man who would burn the world for me for a man who would burn me for the world.
Opening my eyes three years in the past, I find myself back at the airport, the rain lashing against the windows. My brother is pleading with me to run, and Damian is standing there, braced for the slap he thinks is coming.
But I don't strike him. I press my palm to his burning cheek and give him the only piece of my soul he couldn't buy.
"I'm not going anywhere, Dami. Keep this as my collateral."
The game has changed. This time, I'm not the victim-I'm the one holding the match.
7.2
I was dying in a rusted warehouse, paralyzed in a wheelchair while the man I loved and my own stepsister watched with smiles on their faces. The air smelled of old oil and damp concrete, and my vision was fading into a milky haze.
Dillon, the man I’d sacrificed everything for, smoothed his custom suit and pulled out a syringe filled with a clear, lethal neurotoxin. Beside him, my stepsister Bianca toyed with my mother’s sapphire ring—the one they’d just pried off my hand while I was too weak to even make a fist.
She leaned in and whispered that my father’s trust fund was already offshore and that they’d sent my husband, Kade, to the wrong coordinates to ensure he’d only find my corpse. Dillon slid the needle into my vein with the chilling efficiency of a man who had done this before.
"This will stop your heart in thirty seconds," he said, sounding as bored as if he were explaining a tax form. Ice flooded my chest, and my lungs seized, fighting for oxygen that wasn't there. As the warehouse lights blurred into white streaks, an explosion echoed in the distance. Kade had come for me, but he was too late.
I died staring at the ceiling, my heart giving one last violent kick of pure, unadulterated hatred. I had been such a fool, believing Dillon’s lies and running away from the only man who actually cared for me. I died with a single thought: if I ever get another chance, I will drag you both to hell with me.
Then, there was nothing. And then, there was air.
I sat up gasping, my silk pajamas drenched in cold sweat. The rusted beams were gone, replaced by a vaulted ceiling and the glittering Manhattan skyline. I grabbed the digital clock on the nightstand—it was five years ago, the exact night I first tried to run away with Dillon.
The bedroom door slammed against the wall, and Kade Mullen stood in the doorway, looking dangerous, furious, and very much alive. I looked at my shaking hands, then at the man I had once hated. This time, I wasn't going to run. I was going to make sure Dillon and Bianca lost everything.
8.4
Juliette was an agriculture major desperately trying to get top-tier CRISPR potato data from Adrian Castillo, the untouchable physics genius and wealthy heir.
But to get it, she was dragged to a high-end shooting club, where Adrian suddenly lost all his legendary motor skills, shooting zeroes and acting like a helpless nerd.
His clumsy act made Juliette a target. Blair, a wealthy heiress, cornered her, mocking her mud-stained cargo pants and calling her a pathetic dirt-girl.
"If you lose, you leave this club and never speak to Adrian again."
Blair challenged her to a professional air pistol match. The crowd of elites laughed, waiting for the farm girl to humiliate herself.
Even worse, Adrian just stood behind her, pretending to be terrified of Blair and whispering that his sinuses would swell shut if Juliette didn't save him.
The mockery and judgment felt suffocating. Everyone thought she was just a desperate fangirl who didn't even know how to hold a gun.
But they didn't know the dark trauma she had buried years ago. And she didn't understand why Adrian, a man who could supposedly shoot a coin at eight hundred meters in a sandstorm, was deliberately playing weak to push her to the firing line. What was his sick endgame?
To secure her experimental fertilizer, Juliette finally stopped hiding.
She picked up the competition pistol, locked her perfect stance, and fired ten flawless shots.
108.5. Total, undeniable annihilation.