The Boss's Forbidden Obsession
"I don't want a bride. I want a toy I can break. And you, little firebrand, look like you'd snap so beautifully."
Nikolai Volkov is the undisputed King of the Moscow Underworld. He is a man of ice and iron, a beast who takes what he wants and discards it when he's done. He doesn't believe in love, only power and the raw, brutal satisfaction of his darkest urges. When his mother demands he marry to secure the Volkov throne, he expects a submissive puppet.
He didn't expect Ivy St. Claire.
Ivy is everything Nikolai hates-kind, stubborn, and utterly unimpressed by his blood-stained reputation. She's his cousin's best friend, a guest in his house who treats his word like a suggestion rather than law. She has the face of an angel and the tongue of a devil, and from the moment she stares him down in his own kitchen, Nikolai is ruined.
One taste of her defiance turns into a lethal addiction. He wants to own her. He wants to cage her. He wants to hear her scream his name-not in fear, but in a surrender she swore she'd never give.
But in Nikolai's world, obsession comes with a body count. As enemies circle the Volkov empire, Nikolai must decide: will he protect the woman who has captured his black heart, or will his own shadows consume them .
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Chapter 2
The morning sun flooded the breakfast room, turning the crystal chandeliers into a thousand tiny prisms. Ivy walked in behind Masha, her head held high. She wasn't trembling today. She had spent the morning reminding herself that she was a guest of the family, and Nikolai Volkov-regardless of how he looked in the dark-was just a man.
Masha didn't look scared either. In fact, she looked annoyed. She marched right up to the head of the table where Nikolai sat, dressed in a sharp black suit, looking every bit the lethal King of the Underworld.
"Move over, Nikolai," Masha said with a playful shove to his shoulder. "You're taking up the whole table with your 'important' papers."
Ivy's breath hitched, expecting a roar of anger. Instead, Nikolai let out a low, dry chuckle. He didn't look up from his tablet, but he shifted his chair over, making room for his cousin.
"Careful, Masha," Nikolai rasped, his voice holding a warmth Ivy hadn't heard before. "One of these days I'll actually start acting like the monster people say I am."
"Oh, please. You're just a big, grumpy dog to me," Masha teased, grabbing a croissant and tossing one toward Ivy.
Nikolai finally looked up. His slate-gray eyes bypassed Masha and landed squarely on Ivy. He didn't look at her with the same warmth he gave his cousin; his gaze was heavy, possessive, and intensely masculine. He watched her catch the croissant, his eyes tracing the movement of her hands.
"Morning, Ivory," he said. The nickname was a low vibration that made the hair on her arms stand up.
"Good morning, Mr. Volkov," Ivy replied, sitting down with a calm grace that seemed to amuse him.
"Nikolai," Elena Volkov interrupted, her voice sharp as she entered the room. "Sasha is arriving at two. We have the florist coming at three. This engagement is the talk of Moscow, and I won't have you ruining it with your 'distractions.'"
Masha let out a loud, theatrical groan. "Sasha? Really, Nikolai? She's as exciting as a wet napkin. I saw her at the opera last week and she spent the whole time checking if her pearls were straight."
Nikolai smirked, reaching out to ruffle Masha's hair-a gesture so tender it made Ivy's heart do a strange flip. "Our mother thinks I need a statue by my side, Masha. Not a woman."
"Well, don't blame me when your house turns into a museum of boredom," Masha laughed, turning to Ivy. "Come on, Ivy. Let's go to the library before Nikolai's 'Ice Queen' arrives and freezes the air out of the room."
Hours later, the library was quiet. Ivy was focused on her legal research, but the stuffy air of the room made her restless.
"I'm going to find that historical archive in the east wing," Ivy told Masha, who was buried in a stack of medical journals. "I'll be right back."
Ivy walked out of the library and headed down the long, marble-floored gallery that overlooked the grand foyer. She was deep in thought, her mind a whirlwind of case laws and statutes. She moved with a natural, unpretentious confidence, her simple sundress swaying around her knees.
She didn't realize that downstairs, the front doors had just swung open.
Sasha Romanov stepped in, looking like a diamond-cold, hard, and perfectly cut. She wore a white silk dress and a fur stole, her blonde hair coiffed into a perfect bun.
"Nikolai, darling," Sasha said, reaching out to take Nikolai's hand as he met her in the foyer. "It feels like forever since we've discussed the details."
Nikolai didn't take her hand. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his posture stiff and indifferent. "It's been two days, Sasha. The details haven't changed."
Sasha opened her mouth to argue, but she stopped. She saw Nikolai's eyes shift. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking up.
High above them on the gallery, Ivy was walking past. She didn't look down. She didn't even know they were there. She was tucked into her own world, a vision of effortless beauty in the afternoon light.
Nikolai's expression transformed. The boredom vanished, replaced by a raw, naked hunger. His eyes followed Ivy's every step, his head turning slowly as she moved along the balcony. He looked like a man who had just found something he was willing to go to war for.
Sasha's stomach dropped. She saw the way his pupils dilated. She saw the way his jaw tightened. She had never, in all the years she had known him, seen him look at a woman with that much focus.
"Nikolai?" Sasha hissed, her voice trembling with a sudden, sharp jealousy. "Who is that girl? Why is she in your house?"
Nikolai didn't even blink. He continued to watch the spot where Ivy had just been, even after she had disappeared into the next room.
"She's a guest of Masha's," Nikolai said, his voice cold and final.
"She looks like a peasant," Sasha snapped, her eyes flashing with hate. "She's a distraction you don't need."
Nikolai finally looked at Sasha, and his eyes were like ice. "She's more of a woman than you'll ever be, Sasha. Now, go find my mother. I have work to do."
He turned and walked toward the stairs, leaving Sasha standing in the foyer, her fingernails digging into her palms. She looked up at the empty gallery, a silent vow of war forming in her mind.
Ivy St. Claire had no idea she had just become the target of the most dangerous woman in Moscow-or the obsession of its King.
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8.8
I am the best esports jungler in the league, but I've been hiding a severe wrist injury just to keep my team alive in the semifinals.
Right in the middle of the crucial tie-breaker game, our mid-laner deliberately walked into the enemy team and died without casting a single defensive spell.
He was match-fixing for offshore betting sites, throwing away our entire season for a massive payout.
Because of his betrayal, we had to sub in two terrified rookies, and we were absolutely slaughtered. The stadium crowd booed us out of the arena. The internet exploded with pure vitriol, trending hashtags calling me a washed-up fraud who hid on the bench to save my own stats. The media demanded I retire immediately. My physical therapist gave me a grim ultimatum: my shredded nerves only allow me four hours of playtime a day before my right hand completely locks up.
I destroyed my own body for this team, only to be sold out by a coward and crucified by the very fans I bled for. Why should my legacy end in total disgrace because of someone else's greed?
I refuse to step down. I forced the traitor out, ignored management's safe roster choices, and locked my eyes on the most toxic, universally hated streamer on the platform.
"He's a walking PR nightmare," my coach warned.
I don't care. He is an arrogant, unhinged killer in the game, and I am going to make him mine.
9.5
"My father sold me to a sixty-year-old monster to clear his gambling debts. So, I made a desperate gamble of my own."
Seventeen-year-old Isabella Rossi has two choices: become the broken plaything of a sadistic mafia Capo, or do the unthinkable. She chooses the latter. Sneaking into a high-end speakeasy, she slips an aphrodisiac into the whiskey of the deadliest man in New York—Damien Falcone, the ruthless Underboss of the Falcone family.
Her plan was simple: steal his seed, secure his protection, and run.
But you don’t drug a predator and expect to walk away.
When Damien wakes up, he doesn’t kill her. Instead, he claims her.
"You intercepted a delivery meant for my enemy. Turns out, it was you. Now, you are my Collateral."
7.6
The gunman pressed a Glock to my temple and gave my husband a choice.
"One walks out. One stays. Choose, Mr. Underboss."
I wasn't worried. I was Haven. I was his wife of ten years, his Consigliere, the woman who built his empire.
Beside me sobbed Gemma, a fragile twenty-two-year-old he had known for six months.
"Take Gemma! Leave Haven!" Connor screamed, his honor twisting into something unrecognizable.
He walked out of the warehouse with another woman in his arms, leaving me to be butchered.
I didn't wait for the bullet. I threw myself through a glass window into the freezing canal.
I survived the fall, but the life inside me didn't.
After five years of failed IVF, the miracle baby I hadn't even told Connor about was gone.
While I lay in a cold hospital room, bleeding out the remains of our child, my husband was buying diamond earrings for the woman who had set me up to die.
When the doctor tried to sedate me for the surgery, I grabbed his wrist.
"No anesthesia," I commanded.
"But the pain..."
"I want to feel it," I said, staring at the ceiling. "I want to feel every scrap of him leaving my body."
I burned that pain into my soul. Then, I went home, poured gasoline over our wedding bed, and lit a match.
Two years later, I returned to the city.
Connor thought I was dead.
But when he saw me on the arm of his mortal enemy, wearing the crown of a rival Queen, he realized his mistake.
He didn't just lose a wife. He started a war.
8.1
I died once. Betrayed, broken, and discarded by the most powerful man in New York.
Now, I'm back. Reborn on the very day my husband, Dante Moretti, handed me an expulsion agreement. But this time, I know his secret. The coldness in his eyes isn't cruelty; it's a slow-acting poison, a betrayal creeping through his veins, fed to him by those closest to him.
This time, I don't cower. I meet his icy command with a slap and an ultimatum: I carry his heir. To cast me out is to sentence his own bloodline to death.
He is the untouchable Don, a king on a poisoned throne, fighting a war within his own mind. I am the ghost of the queen he tried to break, armed with the memories of our enemies' every move.
I won't be a pawn in their game again. I will dismantle them all, from my treacherous sister to the viper he calls a mother. I will be the queen he needs, even if he fights me every step of the way.
It's a vendetta.
8.1
Trigger Warning: This book is extremely dark, containing themes of obsession, strong sexual content, abuse, and psychological manipulation. Read at your own risk.
"I'll delete the pictures depending on how obedient you are. You have to do everything I say. If I want you to become a dog, you get on your knees and bark. Do we have a deal?"
Pierce leans down to Malakai's height, his lips brushing the shell of his ear, close enough to taste his fear.
"You don't want her to know what a dirty little creep you are, do you?"
Malakai Kreston is the preacher's perfect son. Quiet. Obedient. The kind of boy no one looks at twice.
But Malakai has a filthy secret. And he'll do anything-anything-to keep it buried.
Enter Pierce Masterson.
Wealthy. Attractive. Pierce doesn't just want Malakai's secret. He wants Malakai. All of him. His fear. His obedience. His body. His mind.
Pierce wants to own it, and lock it away where no one else can ever touch it.
Kai has always been the hunter-watching from the shadows, obsessing in silence, taking what doesn't belong to him.
Now someone is hunting him.
And Pierce doesn't play fair. He plays dirty.
How far can you run when the devil already knows every dark corner of your soul?
In a game of predator and prey, the lines blur. The roles reverse. And the most dangerous thing isn't the boy who holds the blackmail-
It's the moment Malakai stops wanting to be free.
9.6
[R-18 | MATURE CONTENT]
Sasha thought saving a stranger would be the most dangerous thing she'd ever done.
She found him half-dead on the shore of her quiet island-bleeding, unconscious, and with no memory of who he was. Out of kindness, she brought him home, cared for his wounds, and gave him a place in her life.
Days turned into months.
The mysterious man with dark eyes and quiet strength slowly became her everything. In the small warmth of her seaside home, they built something that felt real-something that felt like love.
Until the morning he disappeared without a trace.
No goodbye. No explanation.
Years later, Sasha learns the truth.
The man she saved isn't a helpless stranger.
He is one of the most feared mafia bosses in Russia... and his amnesia was never real.
Now she's trapped in his world-far from the sea she calls home-and the man she once loved offers her a dangerous deal. One that ties her fate to his once again.
Was every touch just part of his plan?
Or is the ruthless mafia king hiding the same man who once held her like she was his entire world?
Sasha only knows one thing for certain.
Saving him was never the mistake.
Falling in love with him might have been.
After all... she accidentally adopted a mafia boss.