THE DON'S SECRET OBSESSION ( His Bride, Her Prison)
I never wanted any part in this. But I have no choice. With a deep sigh, I force down an invisible lump in my throat, looking up at the priest.
I press my fingers tighter into the flower I am holding, hoping it hides how much I am shaking. Dreading the words the priest is about to utter.
"Do you, Ariella Cecilia Boone, take Dermos Salvatore to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The priest asks.
I blink.
I badly want to say it, badly want to scream that I am not Ariella Cecilia Boone.
My lips tremble as I force the truth down my throat, "Yes, I do." I murmur, my voice a little over a whisper.
~~~~
Ariel Hannah Boone didn't know what life had in store for her when she woke up on her twin sister's wedding day, only to find out her sister had run away.
She went into panic when her mother insisted she take her place because Dermos Salvatore was no man to joke with.
Dermos was the most feared Don in the whole of Sicily, one who killed without care. A blood thirsty murderer with no remorse.
In an attempt to save her family from his wrath, she takes her sister's place at the wedding.
Pain, suffering, and betrayal are all she knows the moment she became his. Secrets begin to unveil as she realises her family isn't what it seems.
And when whispers of her sister's disappearance reach her, she finds out the truth.
He never wanted Ariella; it had always been her.
Ariel has to choose between a love built on lies or betraying her sister and family.
She was his bride, and he was her prison, yet he would never let her go.
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Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
He sets his fork down before speaking again. "The changes are noted and will be made."
He joins his hands together. "Once we finish breakfast, I would love to introduce you to the two most important people in this house."
Something new to talk about. Finally.
"Okay, that's fine. Do I get to work as a part of the household?" I can't help but broach the subject of not wanting to be a housewife.
He is rich, yes. But I have no interest in whiling away my days here doing nothing. I hate it.
"No, you aren't. As a Donna, it's not allowed for you to work, I do the working-"
"So, what am I going to spend my life doing?" I snap, dropping my cutlery as I feel my appetite take a fast dive to Neverland.
He doesn't say anything at first, just sits there, hands placed on the table as he slowly chews on his food like he moves at his own pace, and every other person should go shit themselves.
It's so annoying.
"Listen, Ariella, we have gone over the rules, but you seem to have forgotten, so I will refresh your memory." He starts, his words calm but deadly, every word piercing through me.
Shit! I am going out of character.
"Rule number one, you are not allowed to question your Don, be it in public or private.
Two, no Donna of mine is allowed to work.
Three, do not speak when not spoken to.
Lastly, all you have to do is look pretty and bear me children when the time comes.
Obey all these rules and have a peaceful life here with me." He speaks, every word like a hot knife to my guts.
I know I should shut up; he is the Don, and he will kill me. Besides, Ariella would never complain, so I should just shut up. But I can't help the burst of words that follows.
"Look here, Dermos, this is not 2014, where women's only use is in the kitchen and to bear kids. If that's what you wanted, you should have just bought a stupid robot. I refuse to follow those ridiculous rules." I huff, placing both my arms under my boobs.
"Okay." He smiles slightly, raising his hand to make a gesture.
Okay? Just okay?
"Is that all?" I can't help but ask. I was expecting a full-blown speech.
"I can't force you to obey, so you are free to do whatever, but every disobedience comes with punishment. Ones I won't fail to deliver," he says, shrugging like he didn't just threaten his wife.
A shudder runs down my spine as I shrink back in my seat.
He didn't shout or get angry; he just calmly threatened me like he was talking about the weather, and that freaked the hell out of me more than anything.
"Carlos." He calls.
"Yes, boss?" Carlos suddenly appears from nowhere.
This guy is creepy.
"Introduce Luciana to her." He instructs, gracefully rising to his feet before strolling out like he didn't just cause chaos in me.
"Come," Carlos calls, and a set of heels starts clicking on the tiles.
They sound uncomfortable and annoying. I mean, raise your damn legs, woman, you don't have to screech your feet like an attention banshee just to be noticed.
A deep sigh escapes my lips as I realise it's going to be harder than I thought to be Ariella.
I raise my eyes to look at her when she finally gets closer, and gosh, she is gorgeous.
Killer shape dressed in a tight red gown that shows every dip and curve, her hair is red compared to my black one, his lips coated in blood-red lipstick, topped with a nose so painted it's surreal.
How is she this gorgeous?
"This is Luciana. The Don's bedmate." Carlos calls out, and my eyes widen as I take her in again.
She is his what?
Why the heck would he introduce her to me? Luciana glares at me in a way that is too familiar, yet I can't place my finger on it.
"You aren't much to look at." She says, venom and disgust visibly dripping down her voice.
I shouldn't feel anything; I don't matter to Dermos, but at the same time, it stings. I don't say anything as I rise to my feet, literally racing to my room.
It was at that moment that it dawned on me that Dermos didn't care about my family and me. This marriage was just a contract to him.
I realise that this is exactly what Ariella would have faced also.
I hid out in my room all day, eating lunch and dinner there. I am swamped in the book I am reading on my phone when my eyes suddenly snap to the left, catching a strange thing.
Red blinking light.
It's small, just behind my curtain; I wouldn't notice it normally, but the whole room is dark, so I can.
What the hell?
My heart thuds as I move closer, snapping the curtains open, and there a small camera lies. Without thinking, I sent my foot at it, causing it to shatter.
Who the hell installed a camera here? I am still racking my brain when a message enters my phone.
I shouldn't have looked at it; my whole brain froze as I turned to stare at the message.
The same unknown number.
"You can smash the camera, but I am still watching, and I know."
Who is this person? Does he or she live here?
This is beginning to freak me out. It is enough confirmation that nothing about this is a prank.
I am still contemplating when the door pries open, a lanky figure graces the entrance.
My heart thuds thinking it's Dermos, but once I switch on the lights, I am met with Carlos's buzz cut and cold gaze.
"What the hell!" A loud scream tears out of my lips. I literally fling my phone as my palms snap to my mouth.
"Shhhh!! Just came to tell you to leave while you still can. Leave before it's too late." He says each word cold like a bucket of ice thrown over me.
In the name of what is going on?
Before I can respond, the door snaps open as an angry voice booms.
"What the hell is going on here?"
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9.4
Michael Carter is an undercover FBI agent on a mission to take down ruthless mafia king Fernando Ramírez-the man he believes killed his sister. But getting close to Fernando means playing a dangerous game, one where seduction and power blur the lines between enemy and lover.
When Michael uncovers a shocking truth, his thirst for revenge turns into a fight for something far more dangerous-his own heart. Now, torn between duty and desire, he must decide: destroy the man he swore to take down or surrender to the one thing he never saw coming.
Love has never been more lethal.
7.6
I was arranging white lilies on the cold marble of my husband's grave when I saw a ghost.
Walking through the cemetery gates was a man who looked exactly like my dead husband, Dante.
Logic said it was his twin brother, Matteo. But a wife knows the slope of a man's shoulders. She knows the arrogant tilt of his chin.
My husband hadn't been blown up in a car bomb three years ago.
He had faked his death to steal his brother's rank, his fortune, and his mistress.
For three years, I had forced our son, Leo, to kiss a photograph goodnight. We lived in a damp, peeling apartment, surviving on the "charity" of the Family.
Meanwhile, Dante was living in a mansion, driving cars that cost more than my life, playing house with another woman.
When he came to our cramped apartment to drop off the monthly "pension" money, pretending to be Uncle Matteo, he didn't look at me with love. He looked at his watch.
When Leo ran to hug him, shouting "Papa," Dante peeled the boy's small arms off his expensive suit like he was removing a piece of lint.
"Don't call me that," he snapped. "I am your Uncle."
My grief turned into ice. He chose another woman's comfort over his own son's hunger.
I grabbed Leo's hand and walked out the door.
"You walk away, and you get nothing!" Dante shouted after me. "You'll be on the street!"
I didn't stop. I walked straight to the black SUV idling at the curb.
The window rolled down, revealing Salvatore Vitiello. The Don. The most lethal man in the city.
"Get in, Elena," he commanded.
I opened the door and slid onto the leather seat next to the devil himself.
As we drove away, leaving my husband in the dust, I realized I had just traded a liar for a killer.
And I didn't regret it for a second.
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.
7.6
My ex-husband, Reese Beaumont, sent me divorce papers on our anniversary, five years after I walked down the aisle to join him. I signed them with a red lipstick and sent them back to him, with a short note which read: "I am not going to give you the liberty of thinking you still own me."
Now, one year later, he is standing in my office, the smug look in his eyes gone, and for some reason, still wearing our wedding ring.
"You're still mine, Roxanne. You didn't sign the divorce papers, and you seem to forget that you're nothing without me."
A soft chuckle escape my lips, right as my fake fiancé walks in, holding our one-year-old son. The son Reese never knew I was pregnant with.
"Funny," I mutter. "Because I don't remember you being in control of the game."
Now, he's everywhere, showing up at my gallery and outbidding my fake fiancé at my auctions. Telling the media we are on the road to reconciliation.
But I am not the same woman who cried for him one year ago.
I am the woman he never expected to walk out the door. And the one he'll always regret letting go.
9.2
I was sold to Damien Russo, the ruthless Don of Chicago, as collateral in a shipping route transaction. I was expected to be a silent, obedient bride in a cold, loveless marriage.
But the moment I stepped into the Russo estate, I realized my new family wanted to completely destroy me.
My mother-in-law, Eleonora, and her arrogant relatives immediately targeted me. They set traps in the solarium, mocked my late mother's heritage, and tried to force me into humiliating submission using their strict mafia traditions. They wanted to break my spirit so Damien would replace me with the bride they actually wanted—a purebred mafia princess. They expected me to cower in fear, isolated and helpless, while the whole family watched my public humiliation and waited for my downfall.
Did they really think I was just a fragile girl who would cry and run away? They completely underestimated the survival instincts of a woman who grew up in this bloody world. I learned long ago that tears are worthless.
"My rules are simple. Vendetta is a two-way street."
Instead of breaking, I smiled. I weaponized their own legendary ancestors and the sacred promise of an unborn heir to trap the Matriarch in her own rules, forcing her into a suffocating silence. If they wanted a war for the throne, I would gladly show them exactly why I am the undisputed Mafia Queen.
9.2
I discovered the dark secret my stepmother Beatrice had been hiding for years.
When I threatened to expose the truth to the mafia, my half-brother Angelo and step-sister Carmella locked me in an abandoned Brooklyn warehouse.
Carmella stood there in my mother's expensive silk dress, her voice sweet and venomous as she confessed how she had meticulously stolen my life and my father's love.
Angelo looked at me with cold indifference, pouring gasoline over my feet before striking a match.
"You're insane for threatening to break the code of silence," they laughed, leaving me to burn alive to protect their stolen thrones.
My own father turned a blind eye, letting his trueborn daughter turn to ash just to maintain the illusion of his perfect family.
The smell of charred flesh filled my throat. Until I died, I didn't understand. I had bled for our survival, even taking a bullet for the terrifying Moretti Matriarch.
Why did my father let the bastard children of a Chicago bootlegger steal my inheritance and murder me?
Opening my eyes again, the phantom heat of the inferno faded into a cool New York afternoon.
I was seventeen again, sitting in the backseat of a Cadillac, just returning from my three-year exile in Switzerland.
This time, I wouldn't just scream. I would marry the terrifying Prince of New York and watch my stepmother's entire bloodline burn.