Requiem of Sin - A Mafia Romance
I walked into the wrong hotel room...
To a naked man fresh out of the shower.
Now, I'm pregnant with his baby.
I should've left as soon as I saw him.
He was too beautiful to be real.
I got halfway to the door...
And then he saw exactly what I was trying to hide.
"Who hurt you?" he said when he glimpsed the bruises. "Let me fix it."
I should've said no.
But honestly? I deserve a little luck from the universe.
And if it wants to provide that luck in the form of a gorgeous, six-foot angel of darkness...
Well, I won't turn my nose up at that.
But nothing in this life comes without strings attached.
My angel gives me a night from heaven...
When morning comes, though, he turns into a devil.
And not just any devil.
This devil knows where I'm from.
Who I am.
What I've done.
And he's determined to make me pay for all of it.
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Chapter 3
DEMYEN
TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER
"Don't forget, you have a 10 A.M. tomorrow with Stevenson."
I don't bother tearing my gaze from the window. "Postpone it."
I was bored the moment I stepped into the town car, and I'm not going to pretend I'm interested in anything now. Certainly not meeting with Edwin fucking Stevenson, the most boring man in Las Vegas.
Bambi arches an elegant brow but doesn't look up from her tablet. It's her quietly respectful way of questioning my judgment.
"This will be the third time we've rescheduled, Demyen."
"Fine." I lean back in the leather seat with a sigh and a matching grimace. "Order a spread for brunch. I don't care as long as I can kick him out once my hangover outweighs my patience."
Her other brow joins the first. "Anticipating an exciting night? Or a rough one?"
Maybe it's more accurate to say that I'm not bored as much as I'm drained. Thoroughly and irrevocably drained. What I need is a drink, so I can scrub the day's events from memory.
Today was my older brother Tolya's scheduled appearance at the Court of Appeals to plead new developments in his case. New witnesses are willing to come forward and testify, and we're getting closer to tracking down the location of the false witness whose testimony condemned him to a life sentence. I hired the best legal defense team in the state of Nevada, a squad of fucking sharks with J.D.s, and we marched into that courtroom with a bulletproof case for appeal.
It was denied.
It seems the opinion of Judge Andrew Cartwell is that, without the retraction of the key eyewitness's testimony, my brother will spend the rest of his life behind bars for a murder he didn't commit.
Too bad the key eyewitness is nowhere to be found.
The hard part wasn't facing down the judge, or forcing myself to remain calm when the idiot banged the gavel against the blatantly obvious, or keeping my hands in my pockets so I didn't strangle every last one of those preening motherfuckers.
The hard part was watching Tolya get dragged away, yet again, bound in cuffs and reassuring me over his shoulder that it's okay. It's all going to be okay.
I was a helpless teenager all over again. Unable to protect my own brother. Unable to stand up for him.
I waited until I returned to my penthouse and stepped into the private gym, before I let the rage and despair loose. I didn't even bother changing out of the suit and into workout gear. I needed to punch things, to throw things. Feeling priceless seams rip only added to the rush.
Bambi offered to send in some "extra relief," but I turned her down. I don't believe in dipping one's pen inside the company's ink. And with the way I'm feeling, it's better for women to stay out of my way and out of my bed.
Now, I'm drained, and yet the night's just begun. I tried sleeping through the afternoon to get some of my energy back, but I just need something to jumpstart my willpower.
Nothing a few shots of bourbon and a successful night of burying myself in work can't fix.
The town car pulls to a stop in front of the casino. Even through the tinted windows, The Meridian's lights sparkle over my arm in a twinkling promise of guaranteed good fortune to come.
Well... good fortune for me, at least. Seeing as how I own the place.
"What's the headcount for tonight?"
She taps the screen of her tablet and puckers her lips as she runs through a few calculations. "Twenty-one escorts working the Main Floor, seven men and fourteen women. Although we do have a few from the new pool of recruits waiting in the wings.
Would you like me to-"
"Just one. Add them to the Main Floor and make sure we incorporate more tomorrow. For tonight, I like the numbers as they are."
I tell the press I'm not a superstitious person, but that's a boldfaced lie.
I don't fuck with Lady Luck.
The giveaway is the elegant statue of the goddess herself carved over the archway of The Meridian, welcoming gamblers to my establishment. I prefer the high rollers. Nothing like a rich fool with money to lose. But I do take a certain sort of secret delight at seeing the average Joe rejoice in a win now and then.
Bambi's roster of escorts isn't simply an additional service we offer. It's also our way of keeping tabs. When you know what your big spenders like, it becomes very easy to tempt them into doing it on camera. And when they know that you know... well, safe to say their business will remain ours for as long as they live.
It's almost shocking how many powerful men have very particular tastes they'd never breathe to their closest friends or, heaven forbid, their innocent wives.
And not just corrupt politicians-athletes, too, and tech whizzes, and bad men with businesses almost as depraved as mine.
Also-federal judges.
Now, that was an unexpected surprise.
"Add a few more security personnel to the High Roller Lounge." I tap a finger on my chin as I think. "Make sure they're wired. And let's extend VIP hospitality to Mr. Cartwell. Keep him happy and keep him rolling. Just make sure every word he breathes is recorded and transcribed."
I open the door and step out onto the plush crimson carpet of The Meridian's main entrance. It's a bit of an old Hollywood touch I wasn't sure about at first, but after seeing people stop and take selfies and follow it inside to try their luck at the slots, I decided to keep it. I did make sure the material wouldn't catch on any stiletto heels-the last thing I need is a personal injury lawsuit splashed all over the headlines.
Good thing, too, because I don't see the woman standing next to the car. The door nearly slams into her, but she manages to stumble backward without falling.
I ignore her. No harm, no foul, and not my fault or my problem.
But I do catch a glimpse of her in the corner of my eye. As I do, some faint spark of recognition ignites in the back of my mind.
"Is she one of ours?" I murmur to Bambi as I help her out of the car.
Bambi steals a quick glance and shakes her head. "Not on our roster." "Hm."
"Want me to look into it?" She loops her arm through mine and leans in close so it looks like we're sharing an intimate secret.
"Don't bother. Just thought I recognized her."
Bambi looks like she wants to press further, but she lets it go. Instead, she smiles cordially at the attendants as they open the glass doors for us and smooths a hand over her silk jumpsuit with a sigh. "Ready?"
I don't answer. I simply lead us into the Main Floor and let the cacophony of the casino envelop us.
Time to get to work.
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9.6
In the two years after I married Daniel Carter, my private photos had gone viral nine times, and Daniel had been taken into custody ten times.
Because every time his mistress, Emily Morgan, was unhappy, she would leak my private photos all over the internet.
I, Claire Parker, never let it slide. I reported every shady business Daniel was involved in and personally sent him behind bars.
That lasted until an unexpected kidnapping. I took a bullet for him, one aimed straight at his heart, and he shielded me beneath his body, taking the brunt of the explosion for me.
After we survived, the man who had always been so cold-blooded knelt before me, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.
"Honey, let's leave the drama behind. I just want a peaceful life with you."
Right in front of me, he ordered his men to send his mistress out of Northhaven and never let her appear before him again.
In the third year after we reconciled, I carried my eight-month pregnant belly and brought him lunch.
But on the way there, I was hit by a car. The hospital issued three critical condition notices, yet they still could not save the baby.
Daniel rushed over, but he did not even spare me a glance. Instead, he pulled the woman who had hit me and her child into his arms, soothing her in a low voice.
"Don't be scared. I'll protect you and the child."
Only then did I realize that the woman who had hit me was the very mistress he had sent away three years ago.
When I demanded an explanation, Daniel brushed it off as if it were nothing. "She didn't do it on purpose. Don't take it out on her and her son. You can have a baby another time."
At that moment, I finally understood. They had gotten back together long ago.
I looked at him and nodded. "Don't worry, this will never happen again."
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."
8.7
I make my living binding monsters to their promises. But Silas Malphas is the one monster I never should have touched.
As a Thread-Binder, I can see the glowing, invisible strings of loyalty, debt, and lies connecting everyone in the city's supernatural underworld. It makes me the ultimate contract lawyer-and the perfect infiltrator.
My mission is simple: secure a job in the inner circle of the House of Malphas, the city's most ruthless monster syndicate, and steal the Primal Ledger from their lethal heir.
Silas Malphas commands the shadows themselves. He is arrogant, dominant, and terrifyingly elegant. But the most dangerous thing about him isn't his power-it's that when I look at him, I see *nothing*. He is a void in the magical spectrum. No debts. No loyalties. He is completely unreadable.
I was supposed to betray him. But as I am dragged deeper into his golden cage of high-stakes negotiations and blood-soaked boardroom politics, the lines between my mission and my dark attraction to the Beast begin to blur.
When a rival faction launches a deadly coup and my cover is blown, I am left with a terrifying choice. To survive the night, I must forge a blood-oath contract with the very monster I was sent to destroy.
I'm no longer just his lawyer. I'm bound to the Beast.
8.8
I am the best esports jungler in the league, but I've been hiding a severe wrist injury just to keep my team alive in the semifinals.
Right in the middle of the crucial tie-breaker game, our mid-laner deliberately walked into the enemy team and died without casting a single defensive spell.
He was match-fixing for offshore betting sites, throwing away our entire season for a massive payout.
Because of his betrayal, we had to sub in two terrified rookies, and we were absolutely slaughtered. The stadium crowd booed us out of the arena. The internet exploded with pure vitriol, trending hashtags calling me a washed-up fraud who hid on the bench to save my own stats. The media demanded I retire immediately. My physical therapist gave me a grim ultimatum: my shredded nerves only allow me four hours of playtime a day before my right hand completely locks up.
I destroyed my own body for this team, only to be sold out by a coward and crucified by the very fans I bled for. Why should my legacy end in total disgrace because of someone else's greed?
I refuse to step down. I forced the traitor out, ignored management's safe roster choices, and locked my eyes on the most toxic, universally hated streamer on the platform.
"He's a walking PR nightmare," my coach warned.
I don't care. He is an arrogant, unhinged killer in the game, and I am going to make him mine.
8.2
At my ten-week ultrasound, I was supposed to be celebrating the future of the Falcone family. I was Isabella Falcone, wife to the most powerful Don in the south.
But when the nurse called my name, the man who stood up beside his pregnant mistress was my husband.
In the sterile silence of that waiting room, he chose her. He later confessed he was being blackmailed by her family-a weakness that was a death sentence in our world. That night, he moved his mistress into our home, into my bedroom, and locked me away like a prisoner in the staff quarters. He wasn't imprisoning his wife; he was guarding an asset. He needed the legitimate heir I carried to save his crumbling empire.
His betrayal was absolute when his own mother and my adoptive parents arrived while he was away. They forced me to sign divorce papers, then told me they were taking me to a clinic. His mother pulled out a gun and pointed not at my head, but at my stomach.
"We're terminating this complication," she said coldly.
As they dragged me from the house, my world went dark. But through the haze, I saw a fleet of black cars blocking the gate. An army of men poured out, led by a face I had only ever seen in a photograph. Days earlier, locked in my room, I made a single phone call to the only man more powerful than my husband: my biological father, the head of the Chicago Outfit. And he had come to collect his daughter.
8.6
After being rejected by her beta husband, who humiliated and rejected her Luna's position with his true mate right after taking over the pack, Cassandra knew she needed to come out of this marriage to save her dignity. For that, she chose to seek the help of the strongest alpha in return for training his female soldiers. She entered into a contract in return for help, but who would've known this contract with the most dangerous alpha would be the biggest sin of her life, questioning her morals? "When you are in my pack, you need to smell like one of ours," Alpha Callisto whispered before pushing her against the wall with his body pressing hard into her. "But Alpha, that wasn't the part of the deal!!" Cassandra squealed, her breathing heavy in nervousness. How could he think of doing something like this to a married woman? "Well, poor you, I forgot to mention I don't follow the rules," He said before biting into her neck, right beside her mark. Will Cassandra get back her pack with the help of this sinister alpha, utterly unaware that he was the same alpha she slept with all those years ago? Will the alpha help her, or would she just be tortured in his sinful ways because of the way she stole not only his virginity but his sense of smell, too?