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?
__
"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 7
BRITTANY'S POV
I had no idea if I fell asleep again but when I came through a few moments later, I found Zayne staring at me.
The look in his eyes was obsessive and possessive and bordeline insane. Why was he staring at me like that?
Like I was a piece of meat he wanted to tear apart. And why the hell did I find it ridiculously hot?
I scrambled away from the edge of the bed, my heart beating against my chest.
I needed to move away, not because I was scared of him but because I was scared he would realize what I was thinking.
"I still don't know why I'm here...aren't you going to feed me at least?" I asked, trying to keep my voice soft.
I remembered what he said earlier about being rude, even though I wasn't, and I had a feeling it was the reason he strangled me earlier too.
I rubbed at my neck unconsciously as I remembered and noticed his eyes following my movement.
Was I being delusional or was that guilt I saw in his eyes? Nah, I was definitely being delusional.
Zayne had what you would call dead eyes. There was a saying that you could always tell what a person was thinking or feeling from their eyes.
But I couldn't get anything from Zayne. The only time I saw something in his eyes was when he was strangling me.
He had looked...crazy for a while and as if he was enjoying it but hating it at the same time.
It made no sense...
"I'll have Penny bring you some food later." He said.
I frowned.
"Who's Penny?" I asked.
"Your personal maid. She'll help you with whatever you need." He replied.
Why was he talking like I would be staying here for a long time? I mean he already said I was never leaving here earlier but maybe that was code word for I just wanted to spend a bit more time with you?
"I'm not staying here...what I need is to go back home, to talk to my friend..."
His lips twitched and his eyes grew even harder.
"Come here." He ordered. I sat still, my heart jumping in my chest.
"Come here or I'll come over there." He ordered. I wanted to say no. He had no right to order me but damn, his voice...everything in me was leaning towards him already.
What was he? Was he human? He had to be some kind of supernatural creature with the ability to cast spells on their victims.
And he must have cast a spell on me from the moment we met at that club in Los Angeles.
What else could explain all these? I moved slowly to the edge of the bed and he slowly wrapped a hand around my neck.
I didn't get scared this time. Something about the way he did it this time had an entirely different effect on me.
My eyes bored into his as he leaned towards me and ran his tongue along the side of my neck.
I gasped lightly and gripped the sheets.
"Weren't you listening to a word I said? You're never leaving this place." He growled.
I couldn't think though...his hand tightened around my throat as sucked on my neck leaving hickeys no doubt.
And just like that, he moved away and pushed me away and got to his feet.
I glared at him as I rubbed my throat which was sore. "What the hell was that for?" I snapped, forgetting what he said about minding the way I talked to him.
His jaw twitched.
"You don't seem to have understood the situation you're in, doll." He said.
'Doll', how insulting. Why was he calling me a doll? I didn't even look like one, so why? And more importantly...why on earth did I like it so much?
"Tell me then. Make me understand. You've been speaking gibberish so far." I said as I folded my arms across my chest and met his stare head on.
His lips twitched and I blinked. Huh? Was that his idea of a smile?
I laughed. "Is that your idea of a smile, Zayne? I can call you Zayne right?" I asked, to be sure before he made another fuss about being rude.
He arched a brow at me.
"You aren't very smart are you?" He said. My heart sank. Did he just call me stupid?
"Do you know who I am? This is the last time I'll warn you about your tone."
My fists clenched, to hell with him! What the hell was this? Why did he keep talking to me like that...
"You're not going anywhere. I kidnapped you. Is that clear enough for you?" He sneered.
"You can't do that. That's illegal..."
His eyes bored into mine, holding my gaze.
"Actually, I can. No one is going to oppose a Mafia Don. I can do whatever the hell I like." He said.
I suddenly felt dizzy and I felt the walls closing in on me. 'Mafia Don'. The rumors were true then.
Not only was he Mafia, he was the leader of a Mafia group. And from the look of things, he probably controlled all of New York. That's why he was so confident.
No one would touch him. I was doomed. No one would find me, not Margie, and certainly not anyone.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice breaking.
"Because I can't get enough." He mumbled. I blinked. "What?"
He walked closer to me again and pulled me towards him with one hand.
His other hand snaked its way under my dress and before I could think about what he was about to do, he slipped two fingers into my pussy.
I drew in a sharp breath as my eyes widened.
"What...are...what are you doing?" I stuttered.
"I want more of this, doll. I couldn't get enough. I'm going to keep you until I finally get enough."
My mouth fell open. What the hell? So this was about sex? Women were really just sex toys to him.
"I don't want this, let me go..."
I trailed off, a moan escaping my lips as his fingers moved inside me. He scoffed, and I bit down hard on my lip when he continued to finger me.
"Really? Why are you so wet for me then? Your nipples are pushing hard against your dress...please, you want this just as much as I do." He mocked.
He increased his pace, his fingers digging deeper and deeper into me until I couldn't help but let the moans out.
"That's it, doll. Moan for me...like the dirty little toy you are..." he growled.
To my embarrassment, I widened my legs wanting more...as I grabbed hold of the sheets.
"You're so fucking responsive...spending all that money to keep tabs on you wasn't a waste after all." He mocked and pulled his fingers out of me.
I gasped at the sudden loss and stared up at him in shock, embarrassment and pain.
He kept tabs on me?
"What?" My voice sounded like I was choking. I was, humiliation was choking me.
He stared down at me with disgust, as he licked my juice off his fingers.
"Pray I get tired of you quickly, that's the only way you're ever getting out of here." He said and with that, he turned and walked out of the room for the second time that day.
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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.