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 5
CHAPTER 5
My head snaps back automatically, causing an unexpected shriek to escape my lips as Dermos stands at the door, gun pointing at me.
"Don, it's nothing. I heard screaming, so I came to check on her." Buzz cut lies through his damned teeth as he turns to glare at me, daring me to say otherwise.
Slowly but surely, he lowers his gun before nodding at Carlos, then they walk out together, leaving me stunned, confused, and alone.
What the hell has Ariella gotten me into? Was she being threatened, too? Was that why she ran? Did she find out how crazy these people were?
Suddenly, I don't really blame her anymore. My legs give out as I slump to the floor, pressing my lids as my lips tremble.
I refuse to cry. I can't cry.
No matter how many times I repeat the mantra, soft tears run down my cheeks as I cry for the life I am now in.
Forced into a world I know nothing of, a world filled with danger.
What the hell am I going to do?
The tears don't stop as I cry my heart out, somehow drifting off at the same time.
~~
My eyes flutter open, and the blinding light penetrating the curtains causes me to shut them back.
A sharp groan leaves my throat as I push the heel of my palm on the hard tiles, using it to get myself off the floor.
I can't believe I slept on that hard ground; the ache I feel in my shoulders and back says I really did sleep there.
Stretching, I reach for my phone, turning it on to see it's after ten in the morning. No maid came to wake me up today.
What happened to eating before the day even broke? But who's complaining?
I am so glad for this. Without thinking, I slump on the bed, rolling to get comfortable before drifting off again.
I finally get out of the room after one pm, rushing to the kitchen to get some food.
After eating to my satisfaction, I decided to take a tour.
The whole mansion is so huge, it should have more than twenty rooms here, if not more.
As I wander around the mansion, staring at everything painted in gold and white, I can't help but wonder about the use of a house this big.
There is literally a cinema, gym, swimming pool, different offices, a dance studio, and literally everything in here.
Who even uses the dance studio? Not my business, though.
The guards and maids keep bowing their heads, calling me Mrs Salvatore as I pass by. It's really weird because I know I am not the real Mrs Salvatore.
"Oh my goodness!!" A screech finds its way out of my lips as a body slams into me.
"Mrs Salvatore! I am so sorry. Please forgive me, it wasn't intentional, I wasn't looking. Please don't punish me, please." The maid who bumped into me did not even stop to breathe.
I turn my head to really look at her, she looks so pale with eye bags that look too evident on her skin. Dressed in a short skirt and a tight top that looks like a small move would cause it to rip apart.
But what really gets to me is the way her eyes are full of so much fear.
"It's okay. What is your name?" I ask, unable to help myself.
"Bella, my name is Isabella, but everyone calls me Bella." She stutters, shuffling on her foot.
"Isabella. You can go." I say, turning to leave.
Her eyes widened as a gasp tears through her lips like that's the last thing she expected me to say. Bella's reaction causes a crease to form between my eyebrows.
What exactly has she been going through here? What exactly do people go through here?
I shake my head, not wanting to think about it, hoping that Ariella had nothing to do with it.
Without a last glance, I turn and head to the backyard I saw before I got bumped into.
I fail at the task. All the while, as I wandered, I couldn't stop thinking about her. There is just something I couldn't pinpoint, and it left me feeling disturbed.
After a while, I decided to ask Dermos to make her my personal maid.
That is, if he would agree to such.
"And what might the almighty Mrs Salvatore be doing here?" That sharp, vile voice causes me to halt my steps.
I raise my head only to meet the cold brown eyes of Luciana, her arms folded under her boobs as she glares hard at me, not caring to hide how much she hates me.
"Oh, my bad. I was just taking a tour." I murmur, moving to the side to bypass her, but what I see has me nearly tumbling to the floor.
Girls. Lots of them, dressed in little to nothing. Just wearing panties with no bras to cover up, they line up in front of a different house, different from the mansion.
This one stood two storeys tall as the girls moved about, strutting about in revealing outfits.
"What in God's name is happening here?" I blurt out, letting my palm slap over my mouth to force the bile rising up my throat back down.
"Oh, you can't take a little beauty, can you?" Luciana taunts, smacking her bloody red lips at me.
The sound resonates in my ears, irritating me to no end. I can't help the bitterness I feel towards her deepen.
"What do you mean by that?" I snap, turning to glare at her.
I can't look at those girls anymore. That's a serious invasion of privacy.
"Oh, don't act like you don't know Dermos has a whore house that I run. Me, not you, it's a job meant for Donna, but he knows you aren't fit for such." She snarls, the venom in her voice spiking.
I shake my head, refusing to believe her. Ariella knew about all this? Is that why she left?
The more I find out, the harder it is to believe. It can't be.
" You will never be good enough for anythi–" She is still speaking when I zone out her words, turning to leave.
I can't hear any more of this. I feel disgusted. My husband owns a whore house.
Did he traffic them? Are they here on their own will– no, it can't be. No woman will freely want this type of life.
I am so in my head when a sharp pain shoots through my skull, causing a scream to tear out of my lips as I plunge forward headfirst into the grass.
I raise my hand to feel the back of my head, only to feel hot, thick liquid spurting out.
My voice cracks as I try to scream, instead another sharp pain pierces through my back.
"Hel–" my voice cracks, a darkness overcomes me.
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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.