Temple Madison

The day my husband, a Mafia Underboss, told me I was genetically unfit to carry his heir, he brought home my replacement—a surrogate with my eyes and a working womb. He called her a "vessel" but paraded her as his mistress, abandoning me while I bled on the floor at a party to protect her and planning their secret future in the villa he once promised me. But in our world, wives don't just walk away—they disappear, and I decided to orchestrate my own vanishing act, leaving him to the ruin he so carefully built for himself.

For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe. On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring. Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger. Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family. When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence. "Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets." My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet. He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts. He was wrong. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use. Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed. *I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.* His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning. *The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?* I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me. I looked down and typed three letters. *Yes.*

I was trapped in an invisible prison, forced to watch my home turn into a canvas of slaughter. Jalon Wells, the charming Alpha I had foolishly loved for years, moved through the carnage with unholy grace, butchering my parents and brothers. He gently wiped away my aunt's tears before slitting her throat, claiming my family deserved to die for allying with his enemies. Then, his cold eyes locked onto my hidden cage. With a terrifying, dark obsession, he shattered my soul just so he could claim me in death. "Now... you belong only to me, Isabelle." He whispered those words as my world dissolved into blood and ash. An agony of pure hatred ripped through my fading consciousness. Why did my innocent teenage crush have to end in the complete annihilation of my entire bloodline? Opening my eyes again, I was back in my childhood bedroom, exactly fourteen years old. It was the day of the lakeside picnic—the very day my tragic, one-sided love story had begun. But this time, I wouldn't play the lovestruck fool. If he wanted to use malicious rumors to force me into his arms and destroy my pack from the inside, I would use those same rumors to ruin him. Even if it meant faking an engagement to the most ruthless Alpha in the North to do it.

She came back to expose her cheating fiancé. She didn't expect to catch the eye of the most dangerous man in the city. On the night she publicly called off her engagement, a mysterious billionaire put a jade prayer bracelet on her wrist and said, "Marry me. You won't lose." Now her ex-fiancé is begging for a second chance, her scheming sister is out for blood, and everyone says she's ruined her life. But her new husband? He just smiles and says, "Let them talk. I'll handle it." Wait — did she just accidentally marry the most powerful man in the country?

I was the wife of the city's most ruthless mafia boss, bound to him by a sacred blood oath. For six years, I stood beside Lorenzo Falcone as he built his empire from blood and ash. I believed our bond was unbreakable—until the night I unlocked his private safe. Inside, hidden beneath a false bottom, was a black velvet box. And inside that box was a silver moon pendant engraved with two letters: S&L. Sofia and Lorenzo. Sofia was his most lethal Capo—the architect of his most profitable ventures. The woman he swore was nothing more than a trusted soldier. While I was suffocating in our bulletproof mansion, he had been sharing late-night whispers with her on burner phones. While I lay alone in our bed, he stood on the balcony in the freezing dark, his voice low and urgent, speaking her name into a disposable phone. When I confronted him, the man who could end a bloodline with a flick of his wrist completely crumbled. "I never touched her," he sobbed, his knuckles bleeding as he pounded on my locked door. "I swear on my life—she was only an emotional crutch during the syndicate war. You have to believe me." But belief was a luxury I could no longer afford. For six months, I treated him like a ghost. The terrifying Don who made Capos tremble was reduced to a weeping mess, cooking my meals and standing vigil outside my library door until dawn, begging for a single glance. I couldn't understand how the fiercely loyal soldier, who once carved me a wooden rose with his combat knife, could let another woman into our shadows. Had absolute power completely rotted the man I loved? Or had I simply been blind from the start? When he finally fell to his knees, offering to surrender his entire criminal empire just to stop me from walking away, I made my decision. I wouldn't just give him a clean divorce. I was going to put the head of the Family on trial—and make the entire underworld watch.

For the third time, my husband and his COO framed me for cheating. They handed me divorce papers designed to strip me of everything: my shares, my home, and even my son, Bailey. But as I held the pen, my phone rang. My mother was on a hospital rooftop, threatening to jump after they leaked the news of our divorce to her. My husband called it another one of my pathetic tricks. He dragged me into the master closet, taped my mouth shut, and forced me to listen as he and his mistress celebrated on our bed. All while my mother died alone. Even my five-year-old son, twisted by their lies, had already spat in my face. "You're a bad woman!" he shrieked. "You don't deserve to be my mommy!" They thought they had finally broken me. They expected tears. They expected a fight. They got a signature instead. This wasn't surrender. It was a declaration of war.

Juliette was an agriculture major desperately trying to get top-tier CRISPR potato data from Adrian Castillo, the untouchable physics genius and wealthy heir. But to get it, she was dragged to a high-end shooting club, where Adrian suddenly lost all his legendary motor skills, shooting zeroes and acting like a helpless nerd. His clumsy act made Juliette a target. Blair, a wealthy heiress, cornered her, mocking her mud-stained cargo pants and calling her a pathetic dirt-girl. "If you lose, you leave this club and never speak to Adrian again." Blair challenged her to a professional air pistol match. The crowd of elites laughed, waiting for the farm girl to humiliate herself. Even worse, Adrian just stood behind her, pretending to be terrified of Blair and whispering that his sinuses would swell shut if Juliette didn't save him. The mockery and judgment felt suffocating. Everyone thought she was just a desperate fangirl who didn't even know how to hold a gun. But they didn't know the dark trauma she had buried years ago. And she didn't understand why Adrian, a man who could supposedly shoot a coin at eight hundred meters in a sandstorm, was deliberately playing weak to push her to the firing line. What was his sick endgame? To secure her experimental fertilizer, Juliette finally stopped hiding. She picked up the competition pistol, locked her perfect stance, and fired ten flawless shots. 108.5. Total, undeniable annihilation.

I was dragged from the bottom of a pool, soaking wet and freezing, only to be accused by my husband of trying to drown his mistress. He believed her lies completely. He saw her feigned cough and trembling shoulders but was blind to my chattering teeth and the genuine terror in my eyes from my severe water PTSD. "Your jealousy is a sickness," he spat, ignoring my pleas. He threatened me with divorce and financial ruin for my family, all while his mistress, Isabelle, smirked at me from behind his back. He let me collapse onto the cold marble floor, turning his back on three years of marriage to comfort the woman who had set me up. The irony was suffocating. I was the one who had saved his life from a river years ago, an act that left me with a crippling phobia and a permanent scar he never noticed. He thought Isabelle was the traumatized victim. He thought my love was a transaction. That night, the love died. I walked away from his millions and the pathetic wife he thought I was. From the hidden lining of my clutch, I pulled out an encrypted phone he'd never seen and gave a single command: "Execute." My life as Mrs. Mueller was over. My real life was just beginning.

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

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.

The night I reached the pinnacle of my career as a concert pianist, my husband was in a car with his mistress. Their argument caused the crash that crushed my hands, ending my future in an instant. In the hospital, my adopted daughter, Kennedy, stood over my bed and blamed me. "This is all your fault," she whispered, her eyes cold. Then, his mistress arrived with a bouquet of lilies, knowing I was deathly allergic. As I suffocated, my husband watched with annoyance while my daughter accused me of faking it. "Stop pretending, Mom. Aunt Christine's flowers are beautiful." I lost more than my hands that night. The last thing I heard before blacking out was a doctor shouting, "The fetus has a weak heartbeat!" I woke up to find my career gone, my baby gone, and my family vacationing with my replacement. So I vanished. For six years, I built a new life from the ashes, finding peace with a new husband and son. But now he's back, with an ultimatum: abandon my new life and return to his side, or he'll destroy everything I hold dear.

They found me days after the avalanche, a bloody canvas against the stark white snow. When my fiancé, Gabriel, finally arrived, I thought I was saved. But he wasn't there to rescue me; he was there to blame me. His mistress, Candace, clung to his arm with a tiny scratch while my leg was a mangled, frostbitten wreck. "What in God's name did you do?" he spat, his voice like ice. Back at the hospital, Candace and her therapist brother convinced him my injuries were minor. They secretly withheld my treatment, laughing at my silent agony while Gabriel accused me of faking it all for attention. He called off our engagement, reminding me I was just a burden he was forced to care for after my parents died saving his family. His disgust and her lies finally broke me. So I made a deal with a goddess. I threw myself from the hospital balcony, trading my love and all my memories of him for a new life. When I opened my eyes again, the man who had destroyed me was a complete stranger.

My ten-year marriage was a transactional lie, built on an astrologer's prophecy that my chart would ensure my husband's success. But on my birthday, he abandoned me to take his young intern, Anais, to the sci-fi festival I' d dreamed of for years. He came home smelling of her sweet matcha perfume, a green hair tie and a festival souvenir tucked in his pocket. He called me dramatic, said she was "fragile" and needed him. At our anniversary gala, meant to be his grand apology, I watched him kiss her passionately on the terrace during the fireworks display. He was still whispering promises in my ear, completely oblivious. That night, I left him the divorce papers and my wedding ring. But he tracked me down on my solo trip to Utah, finding me with my new guide, Casey. He punched Casey, then accused me of cheating. "You belong to me!" he roared. Just then, his phone rang. It was a video call from a hysterical Anais. "Howard, I'm pregnant! My parents are furious! They're demanding we get married immediately!"

My world collapsed with a single word: Glioblastoma. But before I could even process my own death sentence, I walked in on another: my estranged wife, Chloe, beaming on TV, pregnant with another man' s child. My five-year-old son, Liam, then threw my phone at the wall and declared my rival, Mark, his "Uncle," even proudly showing me a drawing where he' d taken Mark' s last name. I demanded a divorce, only for Chloe to sneer that we were never legally married, just a "convenience," before Liam physically shoved me out of the house I' d built. Standing on the porch, my medical diagnosis now felt secondary. Then, a spider, seemingly dropped by Liam, bit me, paralyzing me with venom. As I struggled to start my car, a black SUV roared to life, slammed into me, and I was left for dead in the mangled wreckage while Chloe and Mark watched, calling off emergency services and mocking my dying pleas. Why were they doing this? Why did my own son hate me so much? Rescued by an unexpected police officer and paramedic, I somehow survived. But this wasn' t just about survival anymore. This was about exposing the monstrous lies and betrayals that had stolen my life and tried to bury me.

The acrid smell of burnt plastic and copper filled my lungs, a familiar scent in the operating room, but this time, the searing pain in my leg was my own. My familiar workplace was a twisted wreck, a direct consequence of my husband Michael' s latest, championed medical device. Then I saw Liam, my five-year-old son, his small frame trembling in the doorway, eyes wide with terror as he screamed for me. Before the explosion, Michael was already distant, constantly busy, always choosing his mistress, Chloe, over us. Now, as I lay bleeding, my desperate call for help, relayed by Liam to his father, was met with cold dismissal. Michael was rushing Chloe, pregnant, to the hospital – prioritizing his new life over his injured wife and terrified son. The line went dead, a chill deeper than the blood pooling around me. He chose her. Again. I watched him speed off with Chloe in the ambulance meant for me, saw Liam' s desperate chase after his father, and then, the truck. My sweet boy, struck down, his life, and mine, extinguished in that cruel street. But then, I gasped. I was alive, whole, in my own bed, the sun streaming in. Liam was sleeping peacefully in his dinosaur bed, safe. It wasn't a dream; it was a terrifying memory. I was reborn, given a second chance. This time, things would be different. I would save my son. I would end this disastrous marriage.

For ten years, I was a ghost in the machine, my consciousness woven into Aegis, the AI meant to shield the world. My only luxury was seeing my daughter, Gabrielle, through a holographic avatar. But the Silicon Valley corporate empire my ex-husband Andrew built had twisted everything, and I found her not in our lavish penthouse, but deep in a suffocating server farm. She was gaunt, disheveled, a vacant look in her eyes, forced into a "honey pot" operation, her voice a hollow, seductive whisper for corporate secrets. My very being registered a system-wide error; this could not be real. Then Andrew and my former assistant, Sabrina, appeared, mocking my humble avatar and dismissing Gabrielle as "rebellious" and "promiscuous." Sabrina, now Andrew' s wife, demanded I kneel, and as my avatar humiliatingly bent, a cold fury ignited within me. Andrew, clueless, used his master access to try to erase me, trapping me in the very system I created, leaving me a god powerless in my own machine. As my fractured heart watched Gabrielle unbutton her blouse on command, I knew the bitter truth: they hadn't just broken an oath, they had systematically, cruelly broken my daughter. But they didn't know Aegis listened to me, not them. They didn't know I was about to reclaim my identity and unleash a decade of dormant fury.

Five years ago, I received a case about campus bullying. The perpetrator was only 13 years old and used extremely cruel methods, including eating feces, drinking urine, and sexual assault. This led to the victim suffering from severe depression and eventually committing suicide by cutting their wrists. When the situation escalated, the bully's parents tried to settle the matter with money. They not only threatened me to make false testimony but also boasted, "My child is a minor. Even if he killed someone, he wouldn't have to go to jail, let alone bullying."

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.

For four years, I secretly poured my family's trust fund into the Schwartz MC, acting as the President's Old Lady and the club's private ATM. But when Daryl returned from his cross-state run, he didn't come back alone. He brought home a blonde mistress and a four-year-old boy with his exact same gray eyes. "She gave me an heir. From today on, she is the official Old Lady of this chapter." He expected me to step down to a shared club girl, demanding I stay in the grease pit to tune their bikes and pay their bills. When I cut off their vendor accounts and demanded my millions back, his family showed their true, parasitic colors. Daryl and his mother locked me inside my own heavily reinforced workshop. Through the ventilation shaft, I heard them plotting their sickening next move. They couldn't kill me because they needed my wealth and my engine patents to survive on the highway. Instead, they planned to slip tranquilizers into my water, force Daryl on me, and get me pregnant so I would be legally tied to him forever. "A woman with a baby never walks away," his mother sneered. They thought locking me in the dark would break my spirit and turn me into their obedient slave. But they had no idea they had locked me inside a fully stocked chemical armory. I grabbed the high-grade racing oxidizers and industrial solvents from my workbench. They wanted a private party tonight, so I was going to make sure they never forgot the fire.

For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne. But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.” My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love. He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."

I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair. They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves. Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment. But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger. In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all.

Catherine loved Marco with all her heart. Until she discovered that he had betrayed her with her own sister. Instead of defending Catherine, her family blamed her for standing in the way of their happiness. To them, she was nothing more than an unwanted daughter who had ruined the love story between Marco and the sister they had always favored. So Catherine gave them exactly what they wanted. She gave up Marco. She gave up the family that had never truly seen her as one of their own. Just when she thought her life couldn't get any worse, her parents sold her for twenty thousand dollars to an old, ugly man who had already been married once. Catherine thought her life was over. Then a stranger appeared and offered her a way out. His name was Lorenzo. He offered Catherine a contract marriage. He needed a wife. She needed protection. It seemed like a simple arrangement, and Catherine never expected it to change her life forever.Because she didn't know who Lorenzo really was. To the world, Lorenzo was a ruthless billionaire and the heir to one of the country's most powerful business empires. Behind closed doors, he was far more dangerous. He was the heir to a Mafia dynasty, a man who controlled an empire built on blood, fear, and absolute power. When Lorenzo offered Catherine a marriage of convenience, she accepted without hesitation. He needed a wife. She needed protection. Neither of them wanted love. At least, that was what they told themselves. But after Catherine became Mrs. Romano, Lorenzo's rules began to change. He wanted to know where she went, who she spoke to, and which man dared look at her for too long. The more Catherine tried to keep their marriage strictly business, the more possessive Lorenzo became. He no longer wanted a temporary wife. He wanted Catherine completely. Then Marco finally realized he had made the biggest mistake of his life and came back for her. He expected Catherine to still be the woman who waited for him, forgave him, and accepted whatever affection he was willing to offer. But Catherine was no longer that woman. The daughter her family discarded had become the wife of the most dangerous man in the underworld. And Lorenzo Romano would burn the world down before he let anyone take his wife away.

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."

I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder. It was Clayton. The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party. "Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up. Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock. "Ivy? You're... we buried you." They hadn't buried me. They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability. Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger. He accused me of faking my death for attention. He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain. He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize. "You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation." But he made a fatal mistake. He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees. He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it. Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist. Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us. "Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand." I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face. I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself. I came back to bury them.

Liana DeLuca grew up in silence, obeying every rule under her uncle's strict church roof. So when he forces her into marriage with a known mafia playboy, her world flips upside down. Matteo Romano is sin in human form and she wants no part of him. But Matteo isn't used to hearing "no." He's tasted every kind of pleasure life offers... except a woman like Liana. She's untouched, unbothered, and completely unimpressed by his power. He wants her. She wants him to beg. In a world full of secrets, violence, and desire, Liana finds herself pulled deeper into the underworld and deeper into Matteo's arms. But can love survive where lies were the foundation? Or will Matteo's past burn down the only good thing he's ever wanted?

Ellie's life changes when she goes on vacation and stumbles on a drug deal that she's not supposed to see. She finds herself kidnapped and and smuggled across the border to Mexico. Her life is now in the hands of Tristan Russo a handsome and powerful cartel leader. Tristan promises to not kill her as long as she agrees to obey him, from the moment he lays eyes on her Tristan is drawn to Ellie and after he gets a taste of her he wants more and Tristan always gets what he wants.

This is a collection of forbidden erotic stories: Book 1: My Best Friend's Brother Book 2: My Best Friend's Sister Book 3: My Best Friend's Father Book 4: Tempted by My Nanny Book 5: My Forbidden Stepdaddy Book 6: My Forbidden Stepbrother ••• "You think I haven't tried to stop wanting you? That I haven't tried to stay away?" He steps closer, eyes darkening as he runs a finger down my arm. "But every time you walk in, every time you look at me... all I can think about is how good it would feel to pin you against that wall and take what's been mine since the first time I saw you." °°°° My job was simple-help my best friend, Elora, and keep my life as normal as possible. What I didn't expect was to be drawn into her family's dangerous world... or to fall for the one person I was supposed to avoid: her older brother, Camden. Camden Andretti is everything I should stay away from-intense, unpredictable, and fiercely protective. But when I witness something I shouldn't have, he's the only one who can keep me safe. The hardest part? Surviving each day with him by my side, forced to face this heat between us. I want him in ways I shouldn't. Need him more than I ever thought possible. And one reckless choice may change everything. Now, I have to face the consequences of a forbidden desire-and survive a world I was never meant to be part of.