The Blind Don's Unwanted Ghost Wife
I died on a filthy bed in a back-alley clinic.
I willingly sacrificed my own corneas so the Mafia man I loved could see the light of day again.
But my soul was forced to stay behind, watching another woman claim my sacrifice as her own.
Dante reclaimed his throne as the Mafia boss. Believing the lie that I had abandoned him, he unleashed his vengeance upon my family.
"Where the hell is she hiding?"
He shattered my brother's hands and drove my mother to her death. He absolutely refused to believe the fact that I was already dead, convinced instead that I was just cowering from his wrath.
It wasn't until my medical records were thrown right in his face that Dante finally realized whose eyes he was using to look at the world.
The truth drove him completely insane.
He burned the whole world down just to beg for my forgiveness.
"Gianna, please wait for me!"
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Chapter 1
I died on a filthy bed in a back-alley clinic.
I willingly sacrificed my own corneas so the Mafia man I loved could see the light of day again.
But my soul was forced to stay behind, watching another woman claim my sacrifice as her own.
Dante reclaimed his throne as the Mafia boss. Believing the lie that I had abandoned him, he unleashed his vengeance upon my family.
"Where the hell is she hiding?"
He shattered my brother's hands and drove my mother to her death. He absolutely refused to believe the fact that I was already dead, convinced instead that I was just cowering from his wrath.
It wasn't until my medical records were thrown right in his face that Dante finally realized whose eyes he was using to look at the world.
The truth drove him completely insane.
He burned the whole world down just to beg for my forgiveness.
"Gianna, please wait for me!"
Chapter 1
Gianna's POV
Dante was torturing my family, all because he needed my heart to save the woman who had stolen my eyes.
He sat on the edge of a leather sofa in the middle of a dim warehouse. As the Don of the Cosa Nostra, his reign emanated a palpable, suffocating pressure.
His large hands absentmindedly stroked the sleek fur of a small white cat. Yet, his eyes were locked onto the bleeding man strapped to a metal chair.
My brother, Leo.
Leo groaned, his head hanging low. Thick drops of blood dripped from his chin, each one landing with a distinct, sickening splat on the concrete floor.
Dante leaned forward.
"I have a hundred ways to break a man, Leo," he murmured dangerously low. "And I'm running out of them."
With a slight flick of Dante's wrist, a burly soldier stepped up and kicked the back of Leo's chair, sending him crashing to the floor.
I surged forward like a futile torrent of spirit, trying to throw myself over my brother's battered body.
I tried to shield him, but I was nothing more than a phantom.
My soul passed right through his trembling frame.
Because I was dead—now nothing but a ghost. Aside from bearing agonizing witness to it all, there was absolutely nothing I could do.
Leo coughed, spitting out a glob of saliva mixed with blood. He looked up at the Don. "Gianna... is gone," he mumbled, repeating the exact same phrase he had been chanting for hours.
Dante let out a cold, mocking scoff. "Lies," he spat, taking the truth as an unforgivable sign of disrespect.
"You refuse to take the easy way out? Fine." He raised a hand, signaling his men to resume the beating.
Heavy steel-toed boots slammed viciously into my brother's ribs with dull thuds. Leo's agonized screams echoed through the warehouse.
Every guttural cry felt like it was tearing my own nonexistent flesh wide open.
I screamed, begging them to stop, but this cold, heartless world had no room for the pleas of the dead.
Leo weakly lifted his head. "Gianna is gone," he repeated, his voice so hoarse it was barely a whisper.
The white cat on the sofa suddenly hissed. Dante grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and tossed it aside. He clenched his jaw, his eyes turning feral.
"Administer the electricity," he ordered.
His men clamped the frayed wires onto the metal chair, then flipped the switch.
Leo's body convulsed violently against his restraints.
He lost control of his bladder, a dark stain spreading rapidly across his pants as white foam bubbled from the corners of his mouth.
Dante stood up and walked right into my brother's line of sight. "Where the hell is she hiding?"
Dante continued to sneer, "Your sister is a two-faced traitor. Frankly, I couldn't care less where she ran off to."
He leaned in closer, making no effort to hide his cruel intentions.
"I'm only hunting her down because Francesca's heart is failing." He paused. "I need to carve open Gianna's chest and give her heart to someone who actually deserves it."
My soul stood completely alone in the vast void between worlds.
I remembered the day I first met him.
I remembered falling in love with this fierce, fiercely protective Mafia heir. I also remembered that brutal cartel ambush.
Blinded and confined to a hospital bed, he was completely stripped of his power and his future.
I defied my own family. I sought out an underground mob surgeon and willingly sacrificed my own corneas, just so Dante could see the light again.
I died from a severe infection in that filthy, illegal clinic.
On my deathbed, I begged my mother and brother to swear to a twisted version of omertà.
I forced them to lie.
I made them say I fled to Europe because I couldn't stomach the bloody Mafia lifestyle anymore.
I even begged my closest friend, Capo Matteo, to erase all my medical records.
I did all of this so the man I loved wouldn't have to carry the heavy sin of my death.
But my soul never left.
I was tethered to him, trapped as a silent, helpless spectator.
I watched his childhood companion, Francesca, step into the light. I watched her claim my bloody sacrifice as her own.
I watched helplessly as she used her failing heart to manipulate his misplaced rage, pointing it directly at my loved ones.
Dante squatted next to Leo. The sound of scraping metal echoed through the warehouse as he gripped a heavy pair of steel pliers.
"Word is, you're a painter," he said, staring deadpan at Leo. "If you lose your hands, will you still be so eager to protect Gianna?"
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9.3
THE KING IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE MONSTER.
Five years ago, Julian Thorne was the golden heir to London's most powerful banking dynasty. Then, his own brother paid to have him murdered.
The world mourned. The family moved on. And his brother claimed everything Julian left behind-including Isolde Sterling, the icy, breathtaking heiress to the shipping empire.
But Julian didn't die. He survived hell, forged in the brutal underground fighting pits of the East, and now... the ghost has returned home.
He crashes his brother's engagement party with a scar on his face, violence in his veins, and a single vow: Burn it all down.
He will strip his family of their fortune. He will expose the dark conspiracy that rules the city. But his sweetest revenge? Stealing the bride.
Isolde knows she should run. The man who returned is a predator-cold, lethal, and terrifyingly seductive. But when he looks at her with those dark, possessive eyes, she realizes the terrifying truth: she doesn't want to be saved. She wants to burn with him.
Revenge is a dish best served hot.
8.2
I hovered in the corner of the damp Runt Quarters, powerless as a ghost, watching my five-year-old daughter take her last breath.
She died of a fever that a simple medicine could have cured.
But my husband, Alpha Elroy, refused to pay for it. He was too busy dining with his mistress to waste resources on a "runt."
When he finally arrived, there were no tears.
He picked up my daughter’s small body like a bag of trash and tossed her into the incineration pit meant for criminals.
"Stop hiding, Annis!" he roared at the empty woods, thinking I was alive and watching. "Your trick didn't work. The runt is dead."
I screamed at him, clawing at his suit, but my hands passed right through him.
Days later, his mistress gave birth to a son. But the baby was born with a fractured soul, dying.
The doctor said only a bone marrow graft from the White Wolf bloodline could save him.
Elroy didn't hesitate. He looked toward the incineration pit.
"Retrieve the girl's body," he commanded his warriors. "Her bones will save the future Alpha."
He intended to butcher our daughter's corpse to save his illegitimate child.
Enraged, he hunted down the Rogue who had secretly stolen Emma's body before it could burn.
"Give me the body!" Elroy demanded. "And tell Annis to stop spoofing her credit cards in Europe and show her face!"
The Rogue looked at him with cold pity and threw a coroner's report at his chest.
"Annis isn't in Europe, Elroy."
"She has been rotting in a shallow grave for six months. Your mistress paid for the bullet."
8.1
I spent forty hours hand-beading a gown for a woman who was currently sleeping with my husband. My fingers were raw, my vision blurred, and the needle had just driven deep into my index finger, leaving a drop of blood on the silk.
Braxton walked into our penthouse, rain dripping from his suit, and didn't even look at me. But the scent hit me instantly—Bulgarian rose and white musk. It was the custom perfume Griselda, my own sister, commissioned in Paris.
I had spent three years as a ghost in my own marriage, sewing costumes for the woman who had haunted my vows since day one. Braxton didn't bother to hide it anymore; there was a smudge of her coral lipstick on his collar. He didn't offer an explanation, only a command to finish the gown for the Met Gala so I wouldn't embarrass them.
My mother called moments later, her voice sharp with the usual dismissal. She didn't care that I was bleeding or that my husband was cheating with my sister. She only cared that I was "falling behind" on Griselda's gown.
I sat in the silence of that cold, marble cage, staring at the needle in my hand. For years, I had swallowed every insult and stitched every lie, believing I was the capable one who had to make them happy.
But as the clock ticked, a door inside me finally clicked shut. I wasn't just tired; I was finished. I set the needle down, picked up my phone, and dialed my sister’s number to tell her she’d have to find someone else to bleed for her.
8.3
When Eli is forced to enroll at Blackwood Academy, he thinks it is just another remote boarding school. But on his first night, he realizes the terrifying truth.
This school is a prison.
Trapped in endless, deadly time loops, students are forced to complete cruel, supernatural trials. Ghosts, cursed hallways, hidden rules, and unspeakable creatures hunt them after dark. The only way to stay alive is to solve mysteries, earn credits, and obey the academy's twisted commands.
No one remembers how they arrived.
No one has ever graduated.
No one leaves alive.
Eli must team up with other desperate students to uncover the academy's century-old secret. If they fail, they will be trapped in the nightmare forever.
At Blackwood Academy, survival is the only exam.
8.7
I make my living binding monsters to their promises. But Silas Malphas is the one monster I never should have touched.
As a Thread-Binder, I can see the glowing, invisible strings of loyalty, debt, and lies connecting everyone in the city's supernatural underworld. It makes me the ultimate contract lawyer-and the perfect infiltrator.
My mission is simple: secure a job in the inner circle of the House of Malphas, the city's most ruthless monster syndicate, and steal the Primal Ledger from their lethal heir.
Silas Malphas commands the shadows themselves. He is arrogant, dominant, and terrifyingly elegant. But the most dangerous thing about him isn't his power-it's that when I look at him, I see *nothing*. He is a void in the magical spectrum. No debts. No loyalties. He is completely unreadable.
I was supposed to betray him. But as I am dragged deeper into his golden cage of high-stakes negotiations and blood-soaked boardroom politics, the lines between my mission and my dark attraction to the Beast begin to blur.
When a rival faction launches a deadly coup and my cover is blown, I am left with a terrifying choice. To survive the night, I must forge a blood-oath contract with the very monster I was sent to destroy.
I'm no longer just his lawyer. I'm bound to the Beast.
8.3
My cousin Hailey paid a dock worker to assault me just to ruin my engagement.
To survive the military-grade aphrodisiac she poisoned me with, I stumbled into a walk-in freezer and threw myself onto the only source of cold I could find-a man paralyzed by unnatural hypothermia.
It was a desperate, primal exchange of my heat for his ice just to keep my heart from stopping.
But when Hailey threw open the heavy iron door, leading my fiancé and the entire Bolton family to witness my "shame," her triumphant grin instantly vanished.
She hadn't caught me with a low-life thug.
She had caught me straddling Demetrius Maddox, the ruthless Iron King of Chicago.
The air in the room dropped to absolute zero. My grandmother screamed in horror, and my father turned the color of ash.
Hailey, blinded by jealousy, tried to double down. She pointed a manicured finger at the deadliest man in the city and called him a "nameless muscle" I picked up to defile the family name.
She didn't realize she had just signed her own death warrant.
I didn't cower. I realized this was the only chance to survive the family that wanted me dead.
I walked up to the Devil himself, my body still humming with the poison, and looked him in the eye.
"Kill me, and the cold inside you wins," I whispered, knowing he was dying from the inverse of my own poison. "I am the only doctor who knows how to cure you."
Demetrius tightened his hand around my throat, his dark eyes assessing my worth.
"Prove it," he growled.
I turned back to my trembling cousin and signaled the enforcer to hand me the whip.