
The Betrayed Princess's New Reign
I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it."
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Chapter 74
Dante Moretti POV:
The order was given. The purge began.
By midnight, the Outfit's elite cleaner squads flooded the streets of New York like a plague of black locusts. I didn't believe in mercy. I didn't believe in warnings. If you touched my family, I erased your entire bloodline from the face of the earth.
In Brooklyn, the rival family's underground casino was packed with their soldiers. My men locked the heavy steel doors from the outside. They planted C4 charges along the load-bearing pillars. The explosion turned the night sky orange. Anyone who managed to crawl out of the burning rubble was immediately put down by my snipers positioned on the rooftops.
In a luxury high-rise in Queens, the acting boss of the rival faction was frantically stuffing bricks of cash into a duffel bag.
My head of security kicked the apartment door off its hinges. The boss turned, raising a pistol.
My captain didn't say a word. He racked his shotgun and pulled the trigger, blowing the man's chest open and painting the expensive wallpaper with his insides.
By 3:00 AM, a line of unmarked black vans parked at an abandoned pier along the Hudson River.
The heavy sliding doors opened. Dozens of thick black body bags were dragged out. Heavy cinderblocks were chained to their ankles. My men pushed the bodies off the edge.
They hit the freezing, black water with heavy splashes. A few bubbles rose to the surface, and then nothing. Complete silence.
By dawn, the rival family no longer existed. The message to the East Coast underworld was written in blood: challenge Elena, and you will be buried in the ocean.
***
Elena Moretti POV:
The soft, golden light of dawn spilled through the massive windows of the Long Island estate's top-floor study.
I stood by the glass, wearing a long silk robe. I held a cup of warm lemon water in my hands, looking out over the sprawling green lawns and the distant city skyline. I had crawled out of the mud of Chicago with nothing but scars. Now, this entire city belonged to me.
The heavy oak doors clicked open.
Dante walked in. He wore a dark suit, but his tie was gone. The faint, metallic smell of gunpowder and blood clung to his clothes.
He walked to the mahogany desk and tossed a thick, blood-stained folder onto the wood. The casualty report.
Dante crossed the room and wrapped his massive arms around me from behind. He pulled my back flush against his hard chest and rested his chin on my shoulder, sighing deeply.
"The trash is cleaned up," he murmured, kissing the curve of my neck. "New York is quiet again."
I turned in his arms. I reached up and used my thumb to gently wipe a single drop of dried blood from his jawline.
I looked at the folder on the desk, but I didn't smile.
I pulled away from him and walked to the desk. I opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a large, laminated map. I unrolled it over the bloody report. It wasn't a map of gang territories. It was a political and corporate power map of the United States.
I picked up a thick red marker. I pressed the felt tip down and drew a heavy, bold circle around Washington, D.C.
Dante leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. He raised an eyebrow. "What is this, Elena?"
"Pure violence is effective, Dante," I said calmly, tapping the red circle. "But it is never permanent. There will always be another rat trying to plant a bomb."
I looked up, meeting his intense blue eyes. "I refuse to let Leo grow up dodging bullets. We have too much cash and too much power to stay entirely in the shadows."
I pointed the marker at the map. "We are going to launder the mafia's assets into the legal sector. Real estate, tech, pharmaceuticals. I want to buy the politicians who sit in the sun and write the laws."
Dante stared at me. The raw, obsessive hunger in his eyes was blinding. He worshipped my ambition.
He pushed off the desk, walked over, and grabbed my face in his hands, kissing me hard. "The entire Moretti empire is yours to command. Whatever you want, we take."
I tossed the red marker onto the map and looked out the window at the rising sun.
"I will make the laws of this country bow to us as well."
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8.6
"What do you think people would say if they found out you don't have a dick?" Christian asked, his voice low and dripping with seduction. His hand pressed firmly against my crotch, fingers exploring the flat, unfamiliar emptiness there. A devilish smirk curved his lips. "Or if they discovered these voluptuous breasts you've been hiding so well?"
A strangled moan slipped from my throat as his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing over my hardened nipples, teasing them with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Which do you think they'd call you?" he murmured, eyes gleaming. "A boy with tits... or a dickless little fraud?"
I stared into his hungry blue eyes, words failing me.
"The term you're looking for is 'girl,'" came Xavier's smooth voice from the bathroom doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over me with open interest. "So tell me, little girl... what the hell is someone like you doing in an all-boys dorm?"
Christian's smirk widened. "She wants to be devoured by boys like us." His fingers gave my nipple one last firm pinch before he leaned in closer, breath hot against my ear. "And I'll be more than happy to give her a taste."

9.3
She sells flowers. He spills blood. And he will stop at nothing to make her his. Elena Rossi has always lived quietly among roses and lilies, dreaming of love as gentle as the petals she arranges. She thought she found it in Daniel, the man she planned to marry. Until her wedding day when a dangerous stranger walked into the church and shattered everything. Adrian Volkov is a king in the underworld, a man feared for his ruthlessness and power. But to him, Elena is not just a prize. She is an obsession. A storm he cannot live without. And he will burn the world and anyone in it, to claim her. Torn from the life she knew, Elena resists him, manipulates him, and even runs from him. But Adrian is relentless. His love is dark, his touch both punishing and tender, and his obsession inescapable. When betrayal and bloodshed close in, Elena must face the truth: She doesn't just fear him. She doesn't just hate him. She loves him. Petals and Blood is a haunting, passionate tale of obsession, betrayal, and the dangerous kind of love that blooms in shadows.

8.0
"IS IT TRUE?" Grayson's voice thundered through the room.
"Yes!" Tessa said softly. "Yes it is!"
"So you've been cheating on me, haven't you?" He spat.
Her hands trembled. "No, I swear, it's not like that."
He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising her wrist as she squealed in pain.
"Then whose baby are you carrying, huh?" His voice was ice cold.
Tessa shivered, tears blurring her vision.
"I don't know."
**********
Pregnant with the powerful Roman Blackwood's child, while engaged to his unstable stepbrother - Tessa Quinn becomes the key to a ruthless inheritance war where love has no place.
As secrets unravel and danger closes in, Tessa must protect her unborn child while trapped between love, vengeance, and men who want to own her fate.

9.4
My retirement was finally approved, and I was supposed to be sipping drinks on a sunny beach.
Instead, a cold system voice forced me into a nightmare scenario: "Cursed Mates Who Want Me Dead." I woke up in a stinking cave, trapped in the body of a psychopathic tribal princess.
The memories that flooded my brain made me sick. The original owner of this body had forcibly marked seven of the continent's most powerful beast-men and reduced them to tortured pets. She had ripped the shimmering scales off Jordi the Merfolk prince, gouged out a proud wolf-man's power crystal, and snapped an eagle-man's magnificent wings.
Now, Jordi was a mutilated, terrified mess hiding in a corner. He was so traumatized that he tried to slit his own throat just to escape me. His sister was actively trying to assassinate me.
To make matters worse, the system warned me that if I didn't heal these seven ticking time bombs, my soul would be erased. Yet the future timeline clearly showed that these men would eventually unite, burn my tribe to the ground, and dismember me alive.
I was paying for a monster's sins. Every time I tried to show mercy, they thought it was a sick new torture method. Words were useless, and my very presence was a trigger.
But I am a Tier-S operative, and I don't play the victim. I forced the system to unlock my powers and strapped on my tactical gear.
"Stay here and don't starve."
I left the trembling Merfolk behind and walked into the deadly primitive forest, heading straight for the powerful Oasis Tribe to take back his stolen scales by force.

8.0
For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world.
But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle.
The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch.
When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son.
"Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing.
And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down.
I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile.
The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe.
It was time to resurrect my true identity—the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.

9.0
My father was dying in the ICU, and our family company, the Martin Group, was on the verge of total collapse.
While I was desperately trying to sign the consent form for his life-saving surgery, my fiancé, Eston, sent me a text.
"I told you not to be stubborn. The company is mine by Friday. Beg me, and I might pay for the funeral."
He had been secretly looting my family's assets from the inside, waiting for me to break so he could steal everything. He thought I would crawl back to him in absolute despair, surrendering my father's legacy just to survive. The sheer weight of my helplessness crushed my chest as the heart monitor next to my father's bed let out a frantic, high-pitched scream.
The betrayal tore through me, but the despair quickly hardened into a cold, sharp stone.
Why should I let the man who ruined me dance on my family's grave? Why should I let him walk away with everything while I lost the only family I had left?
I wiped away my tears and blocked his number permanently.
Then, I stepped out into the freezing Manhattan rain and went straight to the top floor of the Maxwell building.
I threw my remaining shares onto the desk of Ellwood Maxwell—the apex predator of Wall Street, and Eston's untouchable, ruthless uncle.
"I want you to marry me," Ellwood said, pushing a marriage contract toward me. "That is the only way your company survives."
I picked up the pen. If Eston wanted to destroy my life, I would become his aunt and make him bow.