Taming The Mafia Boss - Book 1
Marco Falcone is the new boss of the Camorra mafia, raised his entire life to take this position, with his training beginning early. He endured the worst atrocities and committed many monstrosities, earning the reputation as the Demon of the Camorra. When a union agreement with the Cosa Nostra is rejected, and they decide to give the Don's daughter in marriage to a rival mafia, Marco makes a decision.
Angela Mancini never had the life she dreamed of; she was shaped and taught how to behave, how to be the perfect mafia wife. She knew it was only a matter of time before her father pushed her into an arranged marriage. But she never imagined she would be kidnapped on her big day by the Camorra boss himself, the most feared and ruthless man in the mafia.
He didn't expect the innocent and virginal princess to drive him wild with attraction. Meanwhile, she is willing to do anything to avoid being destroyed by his monstrous nature. But how could they escape their own hearts?
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Chapter 5
Angela looked at me, terrified, her hands outstretched in front of her, trying to keep some distance between our bodies, even though just a second ago, she had been nestled against me, so relaxed after being saved that I could feel every curve of her body.
It wasn't hard to find the woman in white collapsed on the floor, being trampled by everyone around her. One minute before we stormed in, she was their salvation from war or total ruin. Angela was there to marry for the *Famiglia*, and they showed how much that meant to them: nothing!
Even that bastard of a groom couldn't protect her. Filippo pushed her to the ground before running for his life, and I saw it all clearly.
"What do you want? What are you going to do with me?" she asked frantically, her voice almost breathless as she glanced at my brother Nero and Frank in the seat beside me. "I'm sure my father will pay any price to have me back unharmed. Please, don't hurt me!"
Her sweet, brown eyes turned back to me, and I wanted to smile at the irony of her words.
"As far as I know, it was your people trampling you in that church. We were the good guys-we saved you!" I said, raising an eyebrow, earning a look of outrage from her.
"Everything was fine until you threw bombs in there and attacked everyone!" she shot back, showing that maybe she wasn't just the little princess everyone thought she was.
"Sure, you were just being handed over in marriage to a scumbag who's already slept with half the city," Nero grumbled beside me, sounding bored with the topic. But when I saw her horrified expression, I elbowed him to rein it in. "What? I'm just telling the truth. As his bride, she shouldn't be so surprised by the jerk. Just last night, he was at his father's brothel screwing whores until two in the morning."
Angela gasped in shock, staring at my brother with her mouth agape, which finally seemed to shut the idiot up. He might be right about Filippo-he was no good, not even by mafia standards. But I doubted Angela was used to such crude language. Knowing about sex was probably unlikely for someone like her.
Before I could say anything, she recovered, lifting her chin defiantly.
"As if you're all pure saints! You're all the same! You all think women are property, puppets you can manipulate and do whatever you want with!" she shouted with all her fury, and I was certain those words had been bottled up inside her for a long time.
Silence fell over the car. We all sat there, stunned, staring at her, while my mind raced with thoughts of what she must have suffered at her father's hands, what Angela had seen, and worse, what Filippo might have done to her.
"I wish my wife thought like that," Frank was the first to speak, breaking the ice and making us laugh.
"My sister will never think like that. She may be a Rossi now, but she's got Falcone blood in her veins!" Nero said, and I had to agree. Melissa had always been the most stubborn of the three of us. No wonder she got married before either of us.
"God help me when our daughter is born. I hope she doesn't have her mother's temper!" he said, raising his hands to the sky.
Angela stared at the two of them, seeming overly interested in the conversation, almost as if she couldn't believe their words. Then she shook her head in disbelief and let out a sarcastic laugh, growing louder by the second until it caught everyone's attention.
"We value our women, *Angel*," I said. She narrowed her eyes, challenging me. "We may be ruthless with our enemies and traitors, merciless and tough with our men, but our women are sacred. We don't force them into anything, and that's why they marry willingly and always choose men who will honor the Camorra. Very different from the husband chosen for you."
"What do you know about Filippo? You know nothing about him or how my father treats women or the *Famiglia*!"
"I know a lot more than you, *Angel*..."
"Don't call me that!" she growled, clenching her teeth and furrowing her brow.
"Your father has more mistresses than a brothel owner! And Filippo is just as rotten as him!" I shouted, tired of trying to stay calm while she refused to see the obvious. "Neither of them is any good. None of the men in your *Famiglia* properly care for their women or value what they do for them! Otherwise, they wouldn't have left you on the floor getting hurt. They would've protected you first and thought of their own lives later. They would've died protecting you, who was saving them from a war and bringing them more allies!"
She stared at me with wide eyes, seemingly shocked by everything I said. Even Frank and Nero stayed silent, seeing that my patience had run out.
"You think you're better than them, but you just kidnapped me... and you're already saying I'm your future wife," she replied, her voice faltering, almost as if she were afraid of me-the same fear I saw in her eyes when she realized who I was.
"Yes, you're my future wife, but because I'm certain you'll want to marry me when you see what your life can become."
"And I'm certain you'll abuse me like you did the other women who fled the Cosa Nostra," she said so quietly I almost couldn't hear her. Nero and Frank leaned closer to listen better.
"What?" Yes, I knew about the women who fled, and they were all sheltered and placed in safety wherever they wanted in exchange for information. "What are you talking about?"
"You... you raped and tortured them... until they gave you all the information you wanted... and then you killed them without mercy," her chin trembled, and she looked at the two men beside me with terror, while I was still stunned, processing what she had said. "That's what you're going to do to me, isn't it?"
The car stopped, and Angela looked outside, seeming even more terrified. I was so focused on our argument that I didn't notice when we entered the estate. As soon as my driver got out and opened the door, the woman leaped off my lap and ran.
"Sir, I'm sorry, should I go after her?" he asked as we watched her run down the gravel path, clutching her wedding dress haphazardly.
"No, I'll go after her myself."
"Looks like I won't be the only one with a fiery woman," I heard Frank say as I started running after the crazy woman.
She wouldn't get far, not in those heels, and even if she weren't wearing them, there were still the gates and the guards. I had no idea what Angela thought she'd achieve by running like that. Did she really believe she could escape?
I was almost catching up to her when the complicated creature turned around, coming face-to-face with me, just an arm's length away. The little angel tripped on the lace of her dress and was about to fall when I grabbed her by the waist, spinning her body with mine, making me hit the gravel with my back to keep her from getting hurt.
Her body landed on top of mine, my arms tightly wrapped around her waist, holding her there. Her surprised gaze met mine, and even with her hair falling around her face, I could see her flushed cheeks from the run, her lips slightly parted with uneven breaths.
Damn, she was beautiful, and now she looked like an aroused little angel, ready to be fucked. Shit, I couldn't think about that now, not before I'd married her and could rub it in her father's face.
"Ready to stop acting crazy and talk like a normal person?"
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7.4
Bloody Love
7.4
Vivian Harrison used to be an ordinary nurse at the hospital, but she had the rare Rh-negative blood type.
Three years ago, she saved the life of the king of the underworld, Archie Palmer, who had been on the brink of death, with her blood. From that moment on, she had completely fallen for him.
However, when Archie awoke, he just coldly handed her a marriage contract. "I never owe anyone a favor."
The marriage, in the name of repaying a favor, became a gilded cage that confined Vivian for three years.
Archie made Vivian his wife, yet he gave all his tenderness and devotion to a vivacious and innocent woman-Cassie Fuller.
He would drive across half the city on a stormy night just to stay with Cassie because she was afraid of the dark.
He would spend a fortune at an auction to acquire a piece of priceless jewelry, because Cassie said she liked it.
Yet, all he ever offered Vivian was endless indifference and suspicion.
When Cassie suffered even the slightest grievance, he would unhesitatingly lay all the blame on Vivian and even torment and punish Vivian in the cruelest ways. "Your blood disgusts me as much as you do, Vivian."
Later, when Vivian took a fatal bullet for him and lay bleeding on the ground, he walked coldly past her, holding the frightened Cassie in his arms, without sparing Vivian even a glance.
At that moment, Vivian finally understood that this marriage was nothing but a joke from the start.
She decided that she would no longer play along with Archie.
But when Vivian, her body battered and broken, resolutely left Archie, and Archie, who had always claimed he never loved Vivian, for the first time felt his eyes sting, and frantically searched for her all over the world.
7.6
I thought my biggest problem was Adrian Blackwood, the arrogant guy I used to hate from a rival crime family. But things took a darker turn when I accepted a job as a nanny for a little girl, only to find myself in the dangerous world of Leo Weston, the ruthless leader of the Spanish Cartel. Leo became obsessed with me as soon as I turned him down. My "no" only made me want me more, I could feel the danger in every look he gave me. Just when my life was already complicated, Adrian came back to my life. The man I once couldn't stand is now crazy about me. And I can't deny the chemistry between us, it's intense, wild, and electric. Both men are determined to claim me, my body and soul, but I refuse to be a pawn in their twisted game of power and lust. With danger at every corner, I must navigate a world full of betrayal, drama, and steamy encounters. But the clock is ticking. Can I escape before I'm consumed by their desires? Or will I lose myself entirely to the heat of their obsession?
8.3
The last thing I remember is my fiancé, Cayden, toasting to our future. The first thing I hear when I wake up in a hospital is him telling the city's most feared Don to pretend to be my fiancé instead.
A doctor says I have severe neurological damage. Amnesia.
Then, my best friend, Vivian—the girl I considered a sister—walks in. Her hand is linked through Cayden's arm, her head resting on his shoulder. They look like a perfect, loving couple.
I hear Cayden's frantic voice in the hallway, not even bothering to whisper. "Please, Liam," he begs the Don, Liam Hewitt. "Just do me this one favor. I need a break from all her marriage talk."
Then his voice turns slick with temptation. "As her 'fiancé,' you can finally get her to sign the demolition agreement for the Owen manor. She'll do anything you ask."
My heart turns to a pile of cold, dead ash. The man I loved and the woman I trusted didn't just betray me. They tried to erase me.
When they all step back into my room, I steady myself. I look past Cayden, past Vivian, and fix my eyes on the most dangerous man in the city.
A faint smile touches my lips. "Only you feel familiar," I say to Liam Hewitt, my voice a soft, broken thing.
"Fiancé," I say, the word tasting like poison and opportunity. "I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name. Take me home."
8.7
She was his enemy. Then she was his prisoner. Now, she is his soul-bound prey.
Arielle Monet was raised to be a queen of the French Syndicate-loyal, lethal, and silent. When she is captured by the ruthless "Devil of Marseille," Girard Roux, she prepares to endure hell for her family. She waits for the rescue that will never come.
Then comes the shattering truth: Her father didn't lose her. He sold her.
Marcel Monet used his own daughter as a sacrificial lamb, a distraction to buy his escape while the wolf tore her apart.
But Girard Roux doesn't want her blood. He wants her name, her spirit, and her life. In a move that shocks the underworld, he forces a ring onto her finger and a vow onto her lips. Trapped in his ancestral estate, Arielle expects a marriage of cold revenge. Instead, she finds a world of dark, carnal hunger and a terrifying secret hidden behind Girard's golden eyes.
He isn't just a Don. He isn't even human.
As the moon rises and the beast within her husband begins to howl, Arielle faces a choice that will stain her soul: Run from the monster who bought her, or surrender to the Alpha who promises to burn the whole world down for her.
One vow will bind them. One truth will break them. One taste will change everything.
8.2
I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him—my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit—watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London—an exile disguised as a severance package—I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.
9.2
For three years, I was the one scrubbing the scent of blood from his hands and holding him while he screamed in pain. I was the one who taught Coleton Barron how to walk again after the car bomb nearly took his legs.
But the moment he reclaimed his seat as Don, I became invisible.
At his recovery gala, he draped his arm around Charly—the woman who fled when he was crippled—and laughed as he told his inner circle I was "just the hired help."
It didn't stop at insults. When Charly faked a fall, he shoved me aside with enough force to crack my skull against the pool edge.
When a bomb went off in a gallery, he looked me in the eye, saw me trapped under debris, and turned his back to carry her to safety instead.
He even held a gun to my head because she lied about me poisoning his soup.
His mother threw a check at me, telling me that tools go back in the box when the job is done. They thought I would beg to stay. They thought I was weak.
I took the five million and vanished without a word.
Three years later, I returned to New York. Not as his nurse, but as the fiancée of the only man Coleton fears.
And when he saw the diamond on my finger, the King of New York finally realized he had thrown away his only lifeline.