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.
__
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?
__
"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 4
BRITTANY'S POV
Bryan's wedding reception took place at the Bowery Hotel Ballroom and I was reminded of how rich Bryan had been.
That should have been enough to clue me in, right? But I was young, stupid and hopelessly naive when I met Bryan.
Why would I ever think a multimillionaire CEO would want a plain boring girl with parent issues?
And I thought I could last as his girlfriend without having sex with him?
But he had led me to believe that he was fine with it after I explained how much my mom's cautions still echoed in my head.
He said he would wait until I was okay, until I was able to forget my mom's voice telling me I would burn in hell for sleeping with men I wasn't married to.
“Get your head out of the gutter, girl!” Margie whispered beside me, and nudged me pulling me out of my head.
I smiled at her, a grateful smile. I didn't like thinking of my mother…
How she preached tirelessly, read the Bible to me but she didn't mind starving me or beating hell out of me when she thought I did something wrong.
I pushed all those thoughts away and walked into the hall with Margie.
“Girl, I forgot how loaded Bryan is, too bad he's an asshole.” Margie sneered and I laughed.
A waiter walked by us carrying a tray filled with glasses of champagne and Brittany snatched up two and handed one to me.
Of course the waiter didn't notice and I giggled as I took the glass from her hand and took a sip.
“Hmm” we moaned at the same time and giggled.
“Expensive stuff.” She commented. I looked around the hall, noting how there were mostly other CEO’s, models and influencers in the party.
The guest list looked pretty high profile but we managed to sneak in.
There wasn't much security and Margie somehow presented a fake invitation for both of us and mentioned something about a hacker guy she used to fuck and was still in touch with.
I had to admit, I was nervous. Would Bryan kick us out when he saw me? I mean, we were literally gate crashing his party.
But Margie said it was okay to tell his wife who I was if he tried to do that.
Cruel, but then Brittany called the shots here.
We walked around, talking and whispering trying not to blow our covers while Margie looked for a rich guy to flirt with or someone hot enough for me to hook up with.
An hour later, I was slightly tipsy and Margie was nowhere to be found and I hadn't seen Bryan either.
Wasn't it his own party? Why wasn't he here?
As I nursed another glass of champagne, someone walked up to the stage and announced the couple's entrance.
My breath caught in my throat as I watched Bryan and his wife get ushered into the hall through a side entrance.
No one would have noticed them coming in if it hadn't been for the announcement.
The glow from the chandeliers fell on them as they came up to the stage and applause erupted in the hall.
My heart twisted bitterly as Bryan's voice came through the speakers and he apologized for being late.
His wife looked dazzling, beautiful. Oh God, she wasn't just beautiful, she was sexy. She was obviously a model.
The dress she was wearing would buy out my entire wardrobe and several more.
And here I was standing here trying to fit in a cheap tacky dress. I never stood a chance.
She was the kind of woman Bryan was into. At that moment, I realized I wasn't completely over Bryan.
I turned away from the stage and asked someone for the restroom, then slipped quietly out of the hall.
I stumbled out of the hall and into the lobby, with no idea where I was going. I just wanted to be as far away from there as possible.
What the hell was I thinking? Why had I allowed Margie to drag me to this party?
And she wasn't even here…
I wasn't looking where I was going at all and the next thing I was bumping into a wall.
I stumbled backwards with a gasp and looked up.
Those eyes…could it be? No way…what were the odds of bumping into the man I lost my virginity to at a hotel in New York?
His eyes were pinned on me, taking my breath away.
Suddenly, someone walked up to me and grabbed my hand.
I turned to see a man in tattoos, looking like a gangster sneering down at me.
“How dare you bump into the boss like that? Are you a fucking spy?” He yelled.
I gasped and tried to pry myself out of his grasp.
“Leave her alone, Diego.” My hot stranger ordered. Diego reluctantly let go of me and stepped away.
“Leave.” He ordered, his eyes still on me. Diego stared between us, his eyes flashing with anger before he reluctantly left.
We stood there staring at each other, my heart beating rapidly. It was him, alright.
It was the same voice that sent heat coursing between my legs.
Seeing him more clearly now and I was finding it difficult to breathe. His stormy grey eyes were filled with something dark and possessive.
His hair was dark, his face sculpted, and tattoos covered his neck, he was jacked. His muscles bulged in the black shirt he wore.
Like they were struggling to breathe as the shirt clung to his torso like a greedy lover.
My knees suddenly grew weak and my pussy throbbed. The way his eyes darkened, I knew he knew exactly what was going on inside me.
The next minute, he had me pinned against the wall, his hands on either side of my head.
“It's you.” He growled. A shiver ran down my spine and I took in a ragged breath.
“You…must have me mistaken for someone else.” I squeaked.
He chuckled, and leaned down to whisper in my ears.
“I've never fucked anyone that felt like you, I'm definitely not mistaken.”
And just like that, common sense left me and I leaned forward and slammed my lips against his.
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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.