
Nightfall - A Mafia Romance
A mafia billionaire single dad romance.
I just discovered the don's darkest secret. Wait 'til he finds out mine...
The Bratva don and I made a deal:
Spare my father. Take me instead.
But Dmitry Tsezar wasn't satisfied with my body.
He wanted everything else, too.
My obedience. My submission.
My heart. My soul.
And when that still wasn't enough, he came to take my life.
But then I found something.
Something twisted. Something wrong.
Something hidden in a locked room of his mansion, in a wing he warned me never, ever to wander near.
When I opened the door and discovered Dmitry's secret...
Everything changed forever.
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Chapter 3
"Hey, baby girl," she croons in the sickly sweet voice she uses when it has been way too long since we've spoken. "How are you?"
"Did you get a new phone?"
"Oh yeah," she says. "A couple months ago. Did I not give you the number?"
"No, but I guess I have it now."
She laughs. "That's right. You sure do. Now you have no excuse not to call me."
"What was your excuse?" I say before I can think better of it.
I don't have time to fight with my mom right now, and when she sighs on the other end of the phone, I try to backpedal.
"I was just joking."
"I know I promised I'd see you over fall break, but time got away from me," she said. "I was traveling and lost my phone and had to get a new one."
I make a noncommittal noise to let her know I get it. Even though I completely don't-and I don't really care to, either.
"Things just got crazy," she says. "But I wanted to call and make plans for winter break. I thought I could come to town for a few days. Maybe see your dorm room and you could show me the campus and-"
"Actually," I say, interrupting her. "I'm in the middle of studying for a final."
"This will only take a second," she says, her sweet voice disappearing. "Just a 'yes' or 'no.'"
"The dorms are closed over winter break. I won't be in town."
"Oh," she says, disappointed. "Where are you staying? You could come stay with me. I'm in a one-bedroom studio and Markus stays over a lot these days, but we have a futon, and I'm sure we could rig up a partition so-"
"I'm staying with Dad," I say. "We arranged it weeks ago."
Weeks ago. When my mom was traveling and too busy to talk to me. Like always.
She tries to sound offended, but even if I did come visit her for the break, she'd find a reason why I needed to leave early or why I should maybe get a hotel room instead. Her boyfriend doesn't like kids and refuses to acknowledge that I'm a grown woman and not a child who's going to get Pringles crumbs on his leather La-Z-Boy.
"Well, if your father gets time with you, then I should, too."
"I'm not a brownie you're splitting in half," I snap. "I'm a person. I choose where I spend my time. Dad doesn't get time with me. He's earned it by being there. Like a parent is supposed to be."
I really don't have time for this argument right now, but I can't help myself when it comes to my mom. She gets under my skin.
She huffs. "That's not fair, and you know it. When your father and I split up, I couldn't take you with me, and you resent me for it."
"I resent you for acting like you can waltz back into my life at any time you want," I say. "Like I said before, I'm busy studying. I have to go."
"Call me later. This isn't over."
It is over. I won't be calling her later. I have no intention of seeing her over the break.
"Bye," I say shortly, disconnecting the call.
My heart is racing the way it does every time I get in a fight with my mom. There's something instinctually wrong with having this kind of a relationship with your own parent, and my body knows it. I'm always jittery for a while after we argue. I shake my arms to dispel the weird feeling and pull my book towards me.
I've only read three words when another phone starts to ring. I don't recognize the song and then realize it's Dandan's alarm, chirping from the other side of the room.
She groans and shoves the phone under her pillow, stifling the noise but not stopping it.
"Dan." I lean around my desk. "Dan!"
Nothing. No movement or rustle. Just the slightly muted sounds of bells chiming.
Forty-five minutes until my test.
There's no point in trying to study anymore. It'll take me fifteen minutes to walk to the exam room anyway.
I sigh and pack up my books. I won't be able to use them during the test, but maybe their knowledge will leach into me like osmosis if I carry them.
That feels like my only hope at the moment.
THE SUN IS high in the sky when I walk out of my test, and I swear there are more birds singing than normal. If this was a musical, I'd skip down the sidewalk, twirl a stranger into a dance, and click my heels.
I passed.
I don't know that for sure, but I can feel it. I crushed that test.
I don't know if it was my relentless cramming or the osmosis technique, but it worked. I didn't have to skip any questions and come back to them. I didn't have to make any guesses. I made it through the multiple choice, true/false, and essay questions like a boss, and now I'm free.
Winter break awaits.
I'm walking past the rec center, heading back towards my dorm, when I stop and look through the large wall of windows into the dance studio.
I've passed it every day, multiple times per day, all semester, but I've never gone in. There were always classes in there, ranging from beginners to longtime dancers, that I didn't want to interrupt. Or I had studying to do. But now, the room is empty and the semester is over.
I'm free.
Before I can second-guess myself, I cut across the grass and test the studio door. Despite no one being inside, it's unlocked.
As soon as I walk in, the automatic lights flicker on, and I'm home.
The smell of wood greets me, and I drop my backpack in the corner and kick off my shoes on the rug.
I haven't been in a dance studio since the summer. I haven't danced since summer, either. Not even in my dorm room. There isn't enough space, and Dandan would definitely give me judgy eyes if I woke her up. So, tiptoeing across the floor and spinning feels like dipping my feet in a cool lake on a hot day. It feels refreshing, like my body is awake for the first time in months.
I've always enjoyed school and exercising my mind, but after months of studying and bending hunchbacked over my schoolbooks, it feels incredible to exercise my body.
There's a small CD player in the corner, and I hit play, hoping something is already loaded up, and immediately pop music begins to play through the speakers in the corners of the room.
I slide to the center of the room and easily transition from ballet to a more contemporary style. As I lose myself in the music, the two begin to blend until I'm alternating from fluid movements to a grand jeté and back again.
I'm completely lost in the movement when the music turns off.
Stuttering to a stop, I turn to see a middle-aged woman standing near the stereo. "You're great, but I have a class in here in five minutes."
I blanch, blushing a deep red. "Sorry," I mumble.
I jog the rest of the way to the dorms barefoot, my sneakers in my backpack, and dance into my room. In a startling turn of events, Dandan isn't there, so I turn up the music on my laptop and dance to and fro as I clean the room and pack for winter break.
When I'm done cleaning, I watch a few bootleg episodes of a reality TV show someone has uploaded to the internet and then make my way down to the dining hall for lunch. Everyone is gone by this point in finals week, so the offering is just some stale sandwiches and a cereal bar. I opt for two bowls of marshmallow cereal, assuming my dad will have made a big dinner to welcome me home.
By the time I get back to my room, I only have a few minutes until Sadie will be there to pick me up. She lives in a suburb just outside the city that's only fifteen minutes from my dad's house, so she's going to give me a ride since I don't have a car. My dad tried to convince me he could afford to get me a car, but I told him that between the cost of textbooks and my meal plan, I wouldn't have any money for gas and zero time for a job. So, he dropped it. Thankfully, Sadie has been an accommodating chauffeur.
She arrives just as I finish packing, and I turn off the lights, lock my door, and race down the back stairwell to meet her.
I expected her to be alone, but there's a large man with dark red hair sitting in the front seat. He climbs out as soon as he sees me, offering the front seat to me, and climbs in the back.
"Thanks," I say, pinching my brows together in a question as I slide into the seat.
"This is Devon," Sadie says in answer. She smiles in the rearview mirror at him. "His car is at the shop, so I offered him a ride as well."
"Sadie girl is our very own taxi service," Devon says, reaching up and laying a hand on Sadie's shoulder. Her cheeks blush.
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7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.

9.1
Waking up with a cold, scaly hand wrapped around my throat wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was realizing I'd transmigrated into the body of Terra Mason—the most despised woman in the entire Enclave. She drugged high-level beast-men and forced them into life-binding bio-contracts. She locked an aquatic warrior in a dry basement until his organs failed. She treated the most lethal males in the city like broken toys.
Zev, the Level 6 serpent who's currently choking me, would rather blow up his own heart than spend another day as my slave. His affection metric? Negative ninety. His trust? Zero.
Then my system activates: the Kore AI. It gives me exactly 500 credits, a medical nano-gel, and a recipe for neutralizing the radioactive poison in mutant meat. Real food. In this world, that's worth more than gold.
I save Rhys, the dying aquatic male everyone left for dead. I season a slab of purple mutant steak until Sam, a battle-scarred grizzly shifter, groans at the taste—and his trust points finally tick above zero. When my backstabbing ex-best friend tries to steal my males and destroy me, I don't scream or throw a tantrum like the old Terra. I dismantle her with the truth.
But earning their trust means more than grilling meat. A scorpion swarm ambushes us at midnight. Sam throws himself between me and a stinger the size of my arm. As he stands over the corpse, fur receding from his claws, he stares at me and whispers, "You were testing me."
Yes. I was. Because in this world, the weak don't survive. And I refuse to be weak again.
Four beast-men. Four contracts. One system. And a whole lot of steak. Let this dystopian wasteland know—I'm not the monster they remember. I'm worse. I'm the one who's going to feed them until they'd kill for me.

7.4
I thought my life was over when my sister died, leaving me to raise her two babies in a world that wanted to swallow us whole. Then I made the mistake of a lifetime: I left a bold, humiliating voicemail for the one man I should have feared most.
Anton Oryolov.
The ruthless king of the Oryolov Bratva. A billionaire monster who rules the city with ice in his veins and blood on his hands.
I expected him to fire me. I expected him to destroy me. Instead, he gave me a choice that felt like a death sentence: sign a contract and become his.
The rules were simple. I belong to him. I live in his shadows. In exchange, he protects the children. But as the doors of his mansion locked behind me, I realized the "forced proximity" wasn't just a business arrangement. It was a cage.
He thinks he can use me as a pawn in his dark mafia games. He thinks the children are just leverage to keep me in line. But he's starting to look at me with a hunger that isn't in the contract, and I'm seeing a man beneath the monster that I never expected to find.
In the Cruel Paradise of the Bratva, loyalty is a lie and love is a weakness. Our deal is signed in ink, but it's going to end in blood.
He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now, he wants my soul.

7.6
Top DEA agent Kaitlynn Bruce woke up to a heavy, chemical lethargy, only to realize she was trapped in the body of a weak, abused war widow.
Before she could even process her new reality, she heard her sister-in-law counting cash, selling her unconscious body to a local thug for a measly two hundred dollars.
The thug dragged her new seven-year-old son, Cason, into the bedroom.
"Mommy!"
When the boy reached out, the man brutally kicked his small body into a wooden doorframe, leaving him gasping and bleeding on the floor.
Memories flooded Kaitlynn's mind. Her predecessor was a pathetic doormat whose husband's military pension had been bled dry by these greedy in-laws, leaving her children to starve and suffer endless abuse.
But as Kaitlynn looked at the bleeding boy's dark, unnervingly alert eyes, a chilling piece of DEA intelligence clicked in her mind.
Cason Richmond.
The name, the town, the abusive aunt—it all matched the classified files of the "Director of the Hive," the most ruthless and feared cartel puppet master in the criminal underworld.
How could this battered, starving child be destined to become the ultimate monster she used to hunt?
The original widow's tragic death was supposed to be the catalyst that pushed this boy into total darkness.
But Kaitlynn Bruce was not a victim.
Adrenaline burning through the drugs, she cracked the thug's neck with a brass lamp and choked the sister-in-law against the wall.
Looking down at the boy who was supposed to become a global nightmare, she made a vow. She was going to rewrite his script, even if she had to burn the whole world down to do it.

8.7
"You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly.
Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!"
"You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now."
"Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him.
Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly.
"I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly.
She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud.
"Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!"
"You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine."
"I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!"
Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked.
Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly.
Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..."
"I can't," he whispered.
And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.
***************
Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark.
But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den.
The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows.
Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive.
Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down?

7.8
Elena Voss was sold like a debt receipt.
Her greedy aunt and uncle handed her over to Damien Blackthorn-New York's untouchable billionaire tech mogul by day, ruthless Mafia Don and Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack by night-to settle a family debt they never asked her to pay.
The moment their eyes met in that rain-soaked alley, the fated mate bond ignited like wildfire. For one reckless night, he claimed her body and soul, whispering "mine" against her skin while the Moon Goddess sealed their destiny.
Then came the betrayal.
On their first anniversary, he paraded his pureblood fiancée through their penthouse, let her kneel for him in the study while Elena watched from the shadows, and divorced her in front of the entire pack.
"Wolfless trash," he snarled. "You were never more than payment."
Heart in pieces and two tiny heartbeats growing inside her, Elena fled. She vanished into Seattle's gray drizzle, changed her name, cut her hair, and built a quiet life as a single mother. She swore the Blackthorn name would never touch her twins-Leo and Luna, the secret heirs he didn't even know existed.
Five years later, the children's first uncontrolled shifts rip through their small apartment like lightning. The only place that can teach them control and keep them hidden from rival packs is back in New York-back under Damien's shadow.
The Alpha Don who once threw her away is now obsessed.
The fated bond never died; it only waited. He feels her every laugh, every tear, every protective growl she gives their children. He'll burn his empire, his alliances, and his pride to drag her back.
But Elena isn't the broken girl he discarded anymore.
She's a mother with claws.
A luna who learned to bite.
And this time, if he wants her forgiveness, he'll have to beg on his knees.
Pregnancy. Divorce. Secret babies. Billionaire alpha. Mafia power plays. Revenge that burns slow and sweet.
Some bonds can't be broken.
Some rejections come with claws.
And some second chances are paid for in blood.