Rising From Ashes: The Mafia King's Bride
I discovered the dark secret my stepmother Beatrice had been hiding for years.
When I threatened to expose the truth to the mafia, my half-brother Angelo and step-sister Carmella locked me in an abandoned Brooklyn warehouse.
Carmella stood there in my mother's expensive silk dress, her voice sweet and venomous as she confessed how she had meticulously stolen my life and my father's love.
Angelo looked at me with cold indifference, pouring gasoline over my feet before striking a match.
"You're insane for threatening to break the code of silence," they laughed, leaving me to burn alive to protect their stolen thrones.
My own father turned a blind eye, letting his trueborn daughter turn to ash just to maintain the illusion of his perfect family.
The smell of charred flesh filled my throat. Until I died, I didn't understand. I had bled for our survival, even taking a bullet for the terrifying Moretti Matriarch.
Why did my father let the bastard children of a Chicago bootlegger steal my inheritance and murder me?
Opening my eyes again, the phantom heat of the inferno faded into a cool New York afternoon.
I was seventeen again, sitting in the backseat of a Cadillac, just returning from my three-year exile in Switzerland.
This time, I wouldn't just scream. I would marry the terrifying Prince of New York and watch my stepmother's entire bloodline burn.
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Chapter 6
Isabella POV
The scent of Damien Moretti’s expensive cologne and the terrifying weight of his gaze still clung to my skin as I returned to the Russo Estate. I had survived the Prince of New York, but the war inside my own home was just beginning.
After paying my respects to Nonna Elena, I was immediately summoned to Beatrice’s drawing room. The space was a suffocating display of gilded mirrors and velvet, a desperate attempt by a woman from New Jersey to mimic old Italian money.
Beatrice sat on a chaise lounge, sipping tea. "Isabella," she began, her voice dripping with fake maternal concern. "I hear you visited the Plaza today. While it's good to show gratitude, running to the Morettis so frequently makes our family look desperate. It lacks dignity." She set her cup down, her eyes narrowing. "You are naive to the ways of our world. Next time, I will accompany you. I will guide you on how to properly address Signora Eleonore."
She wanted to hijack my only lifeline. I kept my posture perfectly straight, my expression serene.
"That won't be necessary, Beatrice," I replied smoothly. "Signora Eleonore and Aurora Conti both insisted I visit them often. They prefer our private conversations." I let my gaze drift around her gaudy room before meeting her eyes. "Besides, living in my mother's suite again... it makes taking that bullet for the Matriarch, and the three years of exile in Europe, finally feel meaningful."
The fake smile shattered on Beatrice’s face. The reminder of her role in my suffering, paired with my untouchable connection to the Morettis, left her speechless. I offered a polite nod and walked out, leaving her to choke on her own venom.
That evening, the dining room felt like a viper's nest. My father, Luca, was absent on "business," leaving Beatrice free to unleash her fury.
"She is ungrateful," Beatrice hissed to Angelo and Carmella, slicing her steak with unnecessary force. "I try to guide her, and she throws the past in my face."
Angelo scoffed, his narrow forehead wrinkling in disdain. "She got lucky catching a bullet, and now she thinks she's a Capo. She's nothing."
Carmella placed a comforting hand on Beatrice’s arm, her beautiful face twisted in a mask of malicious innocence. "Don't be upset, Auntie. Izzy just doesn't understand the rules yet. Perhaps we need to be stricter with her. We can't have her bringing *disonore* (dishonor) to the Russo name in public."
"You're right, Carmella," Beatrice agreed, her eyes gleaming with a dark promise. "She needs to learn who runs this house."
Their opportunity came the very next morning.
I was in the Matriarch's Suite when a heavy knock echoed through the halls. A Moretti family Soldier, his face a mask of lethal indifference, bypassed the estate's guards and delivered a mountain of garment bags and a heavy, sealed envelope directly to my room.
Word spread instantly. Within minutes, Beatrice marched into my suite, flanked by Carmella, several female relatives, and her loyal maid, Gina.
"What a generous tribute," Beatrice declared, her eyes locked hungrily on the Parisian couture labels peeking from the bags. "Gina, inventory these items and take them to the family vault. It is house rules that all major gifts be managed by the Matriarch."
Gina stepped forward, reaching for the closest bag.
"Touch that, and you'll lose your hand," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it was cold enough to freeze the room.
Gina froze. Beatrice’s face flushed with rage. "How dare you speak to my staff that way! I am the lady of this house, Isabella. You will obey the rules!"
I stepped between them and the gifts, my chin raised. "These are private gifts from the mother of the Dark Don. To confiscate them is a public insult to Eleonore Moretti." I locked eyes with Beatrice, letting the full weight of my words sink in. "If the New York underworld hears that the Russo family is so greedy and short-sighted that they steal a daughter's reward from the Morettis... it won't just be gossip, Beatrice. It will be a *disonore* that invites a war."
The word *war* hung in the air like a guillotine. In our world, disrespecting a Don's bloodline was a death sentence. Beatrice paled, her authority crumbling under the absolute, terrifying rules of the Mafia. She looked at the silent, judging faces of the other women, realizing she had been publicly humiliated and outmaneuvered.
"Fine," she spat, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Keep your trinkets." She turned on her heel and stormed out, the rest of her entourage scurrying after her like frightened mice.
I had won the battle, but I knew the war was far from over.
Down the hall, in the safety of her drawing room, Beatrice paced like a caged animal. Carmella sat on the sofa, weeping softly into a lace handkerchief.
"Did you see that silver gown?" Carmella sobbed. "The one covered in crystals? It's a masterpiece. I was supposed to be the star of the St. Rose Charity Gala next week, and now she's going to ruin it!"
Beatrice stopped pacing. The humiliation in her eyes hardened into pure, venomous spite. She walked over and tilted Carmella’s chin up.
"Dry your tears, *mia dolcezza* (my sweetness)," Beatrice whispered, a cruel smile twisting her lips. "You will wear that 'Starlight' gown to the gala. You will be the one everyone looks at."
"But Izzy won't give it to me," Carmella sniffled.
"Oh, she will," Beatrice promised, her voice dropping to a deadly murmur. "I will make sure she hands it over willingly."
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8.7
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape-the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.
8.4
"Are you going to treat me like the enemy?" Raffaele asked, hovering over me like a predator.
"You are the enemy," I sneered.
He smiled. "Careful. You're hurting my feelings."
"I hope I can hurt much more than that."
His eyes darkened. "You forget-I'm the one who can break you."
I vowed never to give my heart to a man. Never let one bend me. Never let one own me.
Then a single night changed everything.
When my best friend became a target, I took her place and caught the attention of the most dangerous man in the city. Raffaele, My friend's older brother, wasn't supposed to see me. We were never meant to meet but the moment his eyes locked on mine, I became his new obsession.
I don't bend and he doesn't let go.
Suddenly caught up in a world of blood and power, resisting a man like Raffaele might cost me everything...heart, body, and soul.
He wants me, dead or alive.
7.8
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.
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.
7.9
They Faked a Marriage in Summer. But Autumn had a Plan of Its Own.
Ivy Monroe is in a bind. She's got a shot at the research grant of her dreams. There's just one catch: it's for couples only. No husband? No deal.
That's where Lake Hart comes in. He's a broody, charming filmmaker who needs quick cash. She needs a fake husband. It's supposed to be simple: pretend to be married for one summer, fool a few people, and walk away richer.
But nothing about this fake marriage is simple.
They arrive at a romantic mountain retreat and things get complicated-fast:
- Weird "touch therapy" that's way too intimate
- One tiny bed that squeaks like crazy
- "Practice" kisses that don't feel fake at all
- Judges watching their every move-and a prize on the line
Ivy swore she wouldn't catch feelings. Lake never sticks around long enough to. But the more they pretend, the more real it starts to feel.
One lie. One summer. So many sparks.
If you love:
- Fake marriage shenanigans
- Forced to share a bed (and a shower)
- Enemies-to-lovers tension
- Slow burn with major payoff
- Hilarious, messy, steamy rom-coms
Then this is your next read. Funny, flirty, and full of feels.
8.9
My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin.