RUINED BY THE MAFIA CEO
"You're mine now, Brittany." He whispered in my ears. I froze. I don't remember telling him my name.
Zayne...Zayne...oh God. Now, I remember why his name sounded so familiar...but it was too late, I thought as I lost consciousness.
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Brittany's life has been full of heartbreaks and pain, from her father's death to her mother's manipulation and abuse, while using religion as a weapon.
She grews up with fear, guarding her virginity like a cloak because of her mother's constant words in her ears.
Until she meets Zayne, known throughout New York as the CEO for his ruthlessness, he turns out to be Mafia too.
Zayne claims her as his refusing to let her go. Will Brittany grow to love him and give him a chance after what he did to her?
What happens when she's the only one who can save him from enemies flocking around him?
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"I'm letting you go, doll." He mumbled as he held on to me, his eyes growing weak.
My heart twisted in my chest as tears fell down my cheeks.
No... "I don't regret a thing. You taking me was the best thing that ever happened to me."
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Chapter 2
BRITTANY'S POV
No fucking way, Brittany! You couldn't just walk off with a stranger.
But I wasn't thinking straight, I didn't know if it was Margie's words earlier or if it was the alcohol.
Or maybe I just wanted to make my mom squirm wherever she was.
And besides…if I was doing firsts, a one night stand wasn't so crazy. I was in the club, I was drunk, I sexy danced with a stranger.
Sex wasn't so bad. I nodded as I stared up at the hot stranger, giving my approval.
However, as we left the club, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell I was getting into.
But I couldn't have said no even if I wanted to. There was something so irresistible about this man and I wanted to follow him anywhere.
If he turned out to be a serial killer, at least I wouldn't die a virgin.
The drive to the hotel was blurry. My brain seemed to have stopped working and before I knew it we were in a hotel room and things were getting pretty heated.
Thankfully, he had preferred the lights off. I would have felt embarrassed, and I still had restraints.
Restraints that melted away the moment his hands were on me again.
His kisses drove me wild. He pulled me flush against him until there was no space between the two of us.
My hands dug into his hair as I clung to him, my breathing coming in fast gasps. His hands moved to unzip my dress and I stepped out of them.
And then my bra followed. His hands kneaded my boobs, massaging them, as I let out slutty moans and held on to him.
When his lips closed over my nipple, I could feel his hot breath on my skin. He lapped my nipple with his tongue, and I almost came undone right there.
I had never felt anything like that or had anyone suck my breasts like I was food he couldn't get enough of.
One of his hands moved down to my panties, he pulled them aside and slipped two fingers into me.
My legs started to tremble as he pumped his fingers in and out of me even as he sucked my boobs.
“Oh god… I moaned. How did I feel so good already? He wasn't even in me yet and I…I felt like I was going to explode from the pleasure.
I opened my eyes to stare up at him and realized he had gotten rid of his clothes at some point.
I really wasn't thinking too clearly anymore was I?
He pulled his fingers out all of a sudden and I let out a disappointed moan.
“You like my fingers in you?” He sneered.
I nodded, “god, yes.” I cried.
He started to push me against the bed in a sitting position as he got on his knees in front of me.
He maintained eye contact with me, as he spread my legs wider.
“Later. I want to taste you.” He said, licking his lips. Damn, he was so yummy.
I could barely see him but his voice, heck…his voice was enough to make any woman beg him to fuck her.
And I was on the edge of doing just that. I had never been eaten out before. What would it feel like?
I had barely articulated the thought when I felt his tongue on my clit.
I bucked once, twice as his tongue slipped inside me.
“Fuck.” I grabbed the sheets as he ran his tongue over my clit and inside and then his teeth came in and he was sucking and biting and god, was I in heaven?
Why was I thrashing? Oh, what was happening? My hips bucked again, as I remembered.
Why hadn't I done this since? Who knew having someone down there could feel so good?
My hands were buried in his hair and I feared I would scar him with how hard I was digging my fingers in.
When he came up and kissed me, I could taste myself in his mouth and it didn't feel weird at all.
He tasted good and I could barely get enough. And then he thrust into me and I saw stars.
“Fuck. Fuck. This feels…so…good.” I cried as I clung to him, holding on for my dear life.
The world started to spin and I was tumbling over the edge as he thrust into me over and over again.
The sound of skin against skin filling the room, my moans and his satisfied grunts mixing with the sound to create a weird but pleasing tempo and I wanted to stay there forever.
It was the best night of my life but when I woke up the next morning, I was alone in the hotel room and Mr stranger had disappeared after riding me to the moon several times the night before.
As I gathered my clothes, I knew I would never forget this night.
How could I forget how he drove me crazy with his fingers and tongue? The way his body had fit so perfectly against mine and how his voice made me go crazy with desire?
I wanted to see him again. Who was he? Why did he leave like that? Did he not enjoy the night as much as I did?
The thought was too depressing and I tried to push all thoughts of him out of my mind as I slipped into my dress.
No more clubbing for me. Margie would have to deal with that. And certainly no more one night stands.
I quickly got into my clothes and looked around for my handbag and phone.
Several missed calls from Margie. I groaned and held a hand up to my head.
Ugh, I had totally forgotten about the drinks last night. Thankfully, the hangover wasn't as brutal as I expected.
Margie was so going to get it from me. After waiting ten minutes, the uber I booked finally pulled up and I got in.
And I couldn't help thinking about the hot stranger I spent the night with. Would I ever see him again?
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9.5
For two years, I lived as a ghost in the Horn manor, a world built on blood money where my every breath was monitored. Fulton Horn, my stepfather’s nephew and the executor of my life, held the golden leash around my neck, forcing me to play the role of his secret mistress while he paraded a socialite as his fiancée.
Everything shattered at a high-society gala when the scent of raw seafood made me vomit at the feet of Fulton’s future bride. The ballroom erupted in whispers of a secret pregnancy, but Fulton’s reaction wasn't concern—it was cold, predatory calculation.
He immediately forced me into a clinical "inspection" to ensure his "merchandise" was sound, then destroyed my only chance at escape by framing my friend in a scandal and blacklisting my credit. He dragged me to his penthouse, ripped my clothes, and told me I was nothing but a "placeholder" for his dead first love, Arlena.
I was drowning in his obsession, forced to model his fiancée’s engagement gown while he claimed he was the only one who could "protect" me.
"You are what I say you are," he whispered, "and you belong where I say you belong."
I didn't understand how he could be so cruel, or why he was so determined to keep me in a cage of secrets. But when I looked closer at the photo of the "original" girl he loved, my blood turned to ice. It wasn't a girl named Arlena. It was a picture of me from six years ago, smiling and unbroken.
I realized then that Fulton hadn't just found a replacement—he had spent years carefully destroying the girl I used to be so he could keep the broken pieces for himself. Reaching for the hidden keycard, I finally made a choice: I would find a way to kill the ghost he loved before he finished killing the woman I had become.
8.6
I spent three years being the perfect wife to tech mogul Cash Ferguson, a forensic accountant playing the role of a low-risk asset to stabilize his public image. My world shattered when I saw a live CNBC broadcast from Sundance showing Cash tenderly hoisting a two-year-old boy onto his hip—a secret son born to a socialite mistress while he was supposedly at a business roadshow.
When I confronted him with divorce papers, Cash didn't apologize; he laughed, calling me a "liability" and weaponizing my mother’s history of mental illness to claim I was genetically unfit to carry his heir. He didn't just reject the split; he locked the penthouse elevator and froze every one of my accounts, reclassifying me from a wife to a piece of disputed company property.
"You came from nothing, Isidora," he sneered, tossing a credit card at me like a leash. "Stop being dramatic. I can afford a pet, but don't think you can survive a day in the real world without my name."
The betrayal turned lethal when I discovered Cash had tracked down my mother’s stolen emerald brooch—my only connection to my past—and bought it as a gift for his mistress. He was using my trauma and my heritage to decorate the woman who had replaced me in his secret life.
I realized then that Cash had made a fatal accounting error: he forgot that I was the one who built his shadow accounts and knew exactly where the fraud was buried. He wanted to treat our marriage like a hostile takeover, so I decided to give him a market correction he would never forget.
I escaped down forty flights of stairs with nothing but a burner laptop and a plan to burn his empire to the ground. If he wanted to play dirty, I’d show him what happens when a forensic accountant initiates a liquidation protocol. I’m not just leaving; I’m going to make him crawl.
9.1
Selene Rivers was an upcoming singer and her future was bright until the moment when she received a phone call which was supposed to elevate her but ends up ruining her life.
During the night, she was declared a fraud, beat up on the street, run over by a car and charged with committing a crime she never committed. Her husband framed her. Her songs were stolen by her best friend. And the world thought that she was dead.
Selene lost her voice, her face and her child who she believed was dead at birth in jail.
Somebody wanted her to go permanently. The job was nearly done by a gang attack, but was rescued by billionaire Ronan Blackwood, who is the best friend of her husband, and provided her with a new name, a new face, and a second life.
Now Selene is willing to reclaim all the things that had been stolen.
With a new name she comes back to the music world and reveals the lies, the betrayal, and the secrets that took her to the hell. Her revenge, however, reveals a bigger truth, that her son is alive, and he has lived under her roof all along.
As she struggles to seek justice and reclaim her life, she begins to feel something she has never anticipated, that is, love, comfort, and security in the arms of Ronan.
Her past tried to bury her.
Her opponents attempted to mute her.
But she is done running.
This is the time she will have her voice back.
This time she will save her child.
This time, it will be her own choice of the future.
9.5
Frances survived a horrific car crash, only to return to a suffocating life. Her wealthy husband, Baron, and his domineering mother were now relentlessly pressuring her to adopt a "poor, distant relative" named Jagger as the heir to their billionaire empire.
But on her way to sign the adoption papers, a violent vision flashed in her mind. The crash wasn't an accident. She saw her car in flames, while Baron watched with cold, calculating eyes. Beside him stood an older Jagger, who calmly muttered the chilling truth.
"The problem is solved."
A private investigator soon confirmed her worst nightmares. Jagger wasn't a charity case; he was Baron's illegitimate son. The family had been illegally funneling offshore money to fund his elite lifestyle. Worse, Baron's ultimate plan was to label Frances mentally unstable, lock her away in a Swiss sanatorium for life, and bring in Jagger's biological mother to take her place.
For years, Frances had played the perfect, obedient wife in their corporate marriage contract. How could they be so ruthlessly evil, plotting her agonizing death just to legitimize their dirty bloodline and steal her trust fund?
But she was no longer the fragile puppet they thought she was. At the high-stakes board meeting, with all eyes expecting her to submit, she put the expensive pen down.
"I refuse."
Instead of adopting their bastard son, she slammed down an SEC whistleblower threat, forced a new will, and introduced her own handpicked heir. The war had just begun.
9.8
"I didn't marry you for love, Elara. I married you for the land."
Five years ago, Elara Sterling wore a gold mask and shared a night of forbidden passion with Silas Vane, the "Ice King" of Seattle. Then, she vanished.
Now, she's back-not as a socialite, but as a struggling mother desperate to save her son. But Silas isn't the man she remembers. He's cold, powerful, and he just bought her father's debt.
The terms of the "Sterling Clause" are simple: Marry him for one year, and her debts are erased. But there's a catch. Silas doesn't just want the Sterling Port; he wants the son he never knew he had.
As Elara steps into a world of vipers and corporate sabotage, she must decide: Is she a wife, a prisoner, or the only woman powerful enough to melt the Ice King's heart?
In the game of power, love is the ultimate hostile takeover.
9.5
I married Clive Harrington, the coldest billionaire in Manhattan, under a strict contract that forbade any emotional burdens. When I needed a high-risk surgery to save my sight, I checked into the clinic alone, hiding the procedure from a husband who saw me as nothing more than a legal asset.
I thought I could handle the darkness in silence. But while I was blind and bandaged in my hospital bed, my biological mother called, screaming that if I didn't produce a Harrington heir by the end of the fiscal year, she would cut off the life-saving treatments for my disabled sister.
I was crawling on the cold hospital floor, desperately feeling for a cane I had dropped, when I touched a pair of expensive leather shoes. It was Clive. He was supposed to be in London closing a multi-million dollar deal, but there he was, watching his "contract wife" groveling in the dark like a beggar.
He didn't walk away in disgust. He carried me to a five-thousand-dollar-a-night VIP suite and sat by my bed, listening in chilling silence as another voicemail from my mother filled the room, calling me a "useless broodmare" who was only worth the trust fund disbursements my marriage secured.
I expected him to remind me of Clause 34B or hand me divorce papers now that I was "damaged goods." Instead, I felt his thumb brush a stray tear from my cheek, his presence shifting from a statue of ice into a predatory shield.
"I thought I was just currency to you," I whispered, my voice trembling behind the gauze. "Just an investment."
Clive didn't answer with words. He picked up his phone and called his head of legal with a single, terrifying command: "Kill the Douglas family’s credit lines. Every debt, every lien—trigger them all. If they want a war, I’ll give them a massacre."
As he leaned down to kiss my bandaged forehead, I realized the contract was dead. My husband wasn't protecting an asset anymore; he was hunting the people who had dared to touch what belonged to him.