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 5
The bedroom door clicked shut, muffling the distant thrum of the orchestra. Ivy stood in the center of the room, her chest heaving, her midnight-blue dress slightly twisted from Nikolai's rough handling in the library.
Masha didn't say a word at first. She walked over to Ivy, her eyes scanning her best friend with the precision of a hawk. She saw the smeared lipstick, the wildness in Ivy's eyes, and the way her pulse was hammering against the thin skin of her throat.
"He didn't waste any time, did he?" Masha whispered, but there was no judgment in her voice only a spark of fierce, protective excitement.
"Masha, I... I shouldn't have gone in there," Ivy stammered, her hands trembling as she tried to smooth her hair. "He's out of control. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me."
"Because he does," Masha said, grabbing a silk robe and draping it over Ivy's shoulders for a moment while she worked. She grabbed a makeup sponge and began expertly dabbing concealer over a faint, reddened flush on Ivy's collarbone. "Nikolai has spent his whole life taking what is 'correct' for the family. You are the first thing he has ever wanted for himself. And he has no idea how to handle that hunger."
Masha pulled a fresh tube of deep red lipstick from her vanity. "Now, listen to me. If you go back out there looking like a victim, Sasha wins. She'll smell the scent of him on you and ruin you before the night is over."
Masha painted Ivy's lips with a bold, defiant shade. "You are going to walk back down those stairs. You are going to find Luca, and you are going to act like Nikolai Volkov is the furthest thing from your mind. Let him watch you. Let him burn."
The transition from the quiet hallway back into the thrumming heat of the ballroom was jarring. The orchestra was playing a lively jazz number, and the smell of roasting meats and expensive perfume hit Ivy like a physical wall.
At the head of the room, Nikolai stood next to Sasha, a glass of dark liquor in his hand. He looked composed, the "King" back in his throne, but the moment Ivy stepped into the light, his head snapped toward her. His eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her lips, searching for the evidence of what they had just done in the library.
"Look at him," Masha whispered, leaning close to Ivy. "He's vibrating. He wants to drag you back into the shadows. Don't let him."
Instead of hiding, Ivy walked straight toward the bar. "Two glasses of the Italian red," she told the waiter, her voice steady.
"Make it three," a cheerful voice said behind her. **Luca Moretti** was back. He looked relieved to see her, his brow furrowing as he scanned her face. "Ivy! I was worried. Masha said you weren't feeling well."
Ivy took a long, slow sip of her wine, the tart liquid emboldening her. She turned to Luca and gave him a dazzling, brilliant smile-the kind of smile that made every man in the room turn his head. "I'm much better now, Luca. I just needed a moment to catch my breath. The Volkov hospitality can be... overwhelming."
Luca laughed, sliding a protective arm around Ivy's waist. This time, Ivy didn't pull away. She leaned into him, her laughter ringing out across the quiet pockets of the room.
Across the floor, Nikolai's glass cracked.
A small, spiderweb fracture appeared in the crystal as his grip tightened to the point of breaking. Sasha noticed. She followed his gaze to Ivy and Luca, her face contorting into a mask of pure venom.
"Nikolai, the toast," Elena Volkov announced, her voice echoing through the microphone.
The room went silent. Nikolai stepped onto the small dais, the spotlight hitting his sharp features. He looked like a god of war, cold and untouchable. Beside him, Sasha preened, holding her head high.
"To the future of the Volkov and Romanov families," Elena began, raising her glass. "To a union that will solidify our power and bring peace to our territories. To Nikolai and Sasha."
The crowd erupted in applause. Nikolai raised his glass, but his eyes never left Ivy. He watched as Luca leaned in to whisper something in her ear, his hand stroking the silk of her dress.
Nikolai didn't drink. He stood there, the glass frozen at his lips, a silent promise of destruction written in his gaze.
"He's going to kill him," Masha whispered. "Ivy, look at Nikolai. He's not even pretending to care about the toast."
Ivy took another sip of her wine, her heart racing. She raised her glass toward Nikolai in a silent, mocking salute. *Your move, Beast,* her eyes challenged.
Nikolai's jaw shifted. He handed his glass to a stunned Sasha without a word and stepped off the dais. He headed straight for the center of the floor, the crowd parting before him.
"Mr. Moretti," Nikolai's voice was a low, terrifying rasp that silenced the music.
Luca turned, his face turning pale. "Mr. Volkov. A lovely party."
"The party is over for you," Nikolai said, stopping just inches from Luca. He didn't look at the boy; he looked at the hand on Ivy's waist. "My mother forgot to mention-the Moretti contract is under review. I suggest you go home and tell your father to prepare his books. Now."
Luca's hand dropped as if he'd been burned. He looked at Ivy, then at the lethal promise in Nikolai's eyes, and realized that his life was worth more than a dance. "I... excuse me." He vanished into the crowd before Ivy could even say goodbye.
### **THE SILENT RECKONING**
Ivy stood her ground, her wine glass still in her hand. Nikolai stepped into her space, his presence overwhelming. He didn't touch her-not with so many eyes on them-but the intensity of his stare felt like a physical weight.
"You think you can play games with me, Ivory?" he whispered, so low only she could hear. "You think you can use that boy to make me jealous?"
"Is it working?" she challenged.
Nikolai's eyes darkened to the color of a stormy sea. "It's working so well that I'm considering burning this entire house down just to get you alone again."
"Nikolai!" Sasha's voice shrieked from behind them. She had finally reached them, her face red with humiliation. "What are you doing? Everyone is looking! This is our engagement!"
Nikolai finally turned to Sasha, his expression turning to stone. "The engagement is a piece of paper, Sasha. Go back to my mother. I have business to attend to."
He didn't wait for her response. He turned and walked out of the ballroom, leaving Sasha standing there, humiliated in front of the entire Russian elite.
Ten minutes later, Ivy was standing on the balcony, trying to let the cold night air clear her head. The rustle of silk behind her made her turn. It wasn't Nikolai. It was Sasha.
The Romanov girl looked different now-the "perfect bride" mask was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating desperation.
"You think you've won, don't you?" Sasha said, her voice trembling with rage. "You think because he looks at you with that hunger, you're special. You're not. You're a distraction. A toy."
Ivy didn't flinch. "I never asked for his attention, Sasha."
"It doesn't matter what you asked for," Sasha hissed. She stepped closer, her eyes flashing. "I know why you're here. I know about your father's gambling debts. I know the Volkovs own your family's soul."
Ivy's heart froze. "How do you know that?"
"I'm a Romanov. I know everything," Sasha said, a cruel smile touching her lips. "So, here is the deal, Ivy. Leave tonight. Disappear. Go back to your university and never look at Nikolai again. If you do, I will personally pay off every cent your father owes. Your family will be free."
Sasha leaned in, her voice a poisonous whisper. "But if you stay... if you keep playing this game... I will make sure your father never breathes another word of air. Choose, Ivy. Your heart, or your father's life."
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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.