Novels by Triple G

“He’s literally checking his phone for your texts during board meetings,” Mia declared, swirling her martini with practiced elegance. “That’s not professional distance, Em. That’s a man completely gone for you.” Emma sank deeper into the corner booth of Noir, the discreet cocktail bar where she and Mia had retreated for their monthly catch-up. Three months after the snowstorm kiss and subsequent Jack meltdown, Emma was still navigating the complicated waters of her developing relationship with Alek while maintaining professional boundaries at work. “We’re being careful,” Emma insisted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No public dates, minimal private time, absolutely no office... interaction.” “And how’s that working out for your sanity?” Mia arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Terribly.” Emma sighed, dropping the professional façade she maintained everywhere except with her oldest friend. “I think about him constantly. When we’re in meetings, I have to force myself to focus

“Stop fidgeting with your tie or I’ll tie you to the chair with it.” Alek shot an amused glance at Franklin, who sat comfortably in the groom’s suite of the historic Boston estate they’d chosen for the wedding. Despite doctors’ warnings about overexertion, Emma’s grandfather had insisted on being Alek’s best man—“Since I’m giving away the bride, I might as well complete the set,” he’d declared. “Just making sure everything’s perfect,” Alek replied, adjusting his cufflinks for the fourth time. “She’s not marrying you for your tie, son.” Franklin’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Though I must say, that Russian frame of yours displays a tuxedo admirably.” The door opened as Walter entered, clipboard in hand as always. “Five minutes, gentlemen. Guests are seated. Bride is ready.” Franklin stood, using his cane more for show than necessity these days. Six months of reduced stress and proper medication had improved his condition remarkably. “Well then, let’s not keep my granddaughter waiting

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Boston Blades are your Stanley Cup Champions!” The arena erupted as the final seconds ticked away, confirming what the scoreboard already proclaimed: Boston 3, Chicago 1 in Game 6 of the championship finals. Emma maintained professional composure in the owner’s box, exchanging handshakes with league officials even as her heart raced with triumph. One year. It had taken exactly one year from her public introduction as team owner to this moment of ultimate victory. The journey had tested every facet of her character—her leadership, her resilience, her ability to balance professional demands with personal priorities. “Your grandfather would be bursting with pride,” Walter murmured beside her, emotion evident in the assistant’s usually stoic demeanor. Emma squeezed his arm in acknowledgment. Franklin wasn’t physically present, having watched from his hospital bed where he was recovering from his second cardiac procedure in three months. But his strategic influen

“At least let Walter drive you home,” Alek suggested. “Emma and I can meet you at the arena later.” To their surprise, Franklin agreed without protest—a sign of fatigue more concerning than any medical report. After seeing him safely to his car with Walter, Emma and Alek stood alone on Harvard’s historic campus. “Congratulations, Ms. Mitchell, MBA,” Alek said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Thank you, Mr. Volkov, for enduring this marathon with me.” Emma leaned into his embrace, finally allowing herself to feel the full weight of her accomplishment—and the exhaustion that accompanied it. “One more celebration to navigate,” Alek reminded her. “Tonight’s game. Then perhaps we can discuss a much-needed vacation.” “Vacation?” Emma looked up at him suspiciously. “You haven’t taken more than two consecutive days off in the three years I’ve known you.” “People change,” Alek said, a curious note in his voice. “Sometimes they realize certain moments deserve special attention.” Before Emm

Emma stared at her laptop screen, the words of her capstone project blurring as exhaustion set in. The digital clock in the corner read 2:37 AM—another late night in what had become her new normal over the past eight months. Her Harvard Executive MBA program had proven even more demanding than anticipated. Combined with running the Blades through playoff season and monitoring her grandfather’s declining health, Emma had pushed herself to limits she hadn’t known existed. She rubbed her eyes, determined to finish this section before allowing herself sleep. The project analyzed innovative revenue models for professional sports franchises during economic downturns—directly applicable to her work, yet requiring academic rigor that stretched even her considerable intellect. Her phone buzzed with a text. Only one person would message at this hour. Still awake? Alek’s text read. Unfortunately. This section on alternative revenue streams is fighting me. Want company? I’m just leaving the arena

She relayed the conversation she’d overheard, watching his expression darken from concern to anger. “Wilson and Peterson,” he growled. “I’ll speak to them tomorrow.” “No, you won’t.” Emma’s voice was firm. “That would only confirm their belief that I need you to fight my battles.” “This isn’t about fighting battles. It’s about basic respect.” “The respect has to be earned, not enforced.” Emma gazed out the windshield. “What if they’re right, Alek? What if I am just trading on my name and our relationship?” “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it?” She turned to face him. “I never completed my MBA. My business experience before the Blades was minimal. I learned hockey operations on the fly.” “While developing revolutionary pricing models, community engagement strategies, and player development approaches,” Alek countered. “Emma, you’re brilliant at this job. Wilson and Peterson are threatened by competent women, nothing more.” “Maybe.” Emma wasn’t convinced. “But perception matters in leadership.

Two Years LaterThe Las Vegas sun beat down on the hotel pool deck as Sarah adjusted her sunglasses, watching Diego teach their son to float in the shallow end. Laughter echoed across the water as little Vincent—named in a gesture of reconciliation that had surprised everyone—splashed with toddler enthusiasm."He's a natural," Robert commented, settling into the lounger beside Sarah. "Just like his father.""And stubborn like both his parents," Sarah agreed with a smile. At eighteen months, Vincent was already displaying the infamous Castillo determination, along with his mother's analytical gaze.The Bellagio suite reserved under "Mr. and Mrs. Castillo" held none of the shocking surprise of their first Vegas visit. This time, they had come deliberately—a family vacation combined with the opening of the newest Castillo Hotels property just off the Strip."Hard to believe it's been two years," Robert mused, following her gaze to Diego and the child. "Sometimes I still expect to wake up

Rain pounded against the study windows as Sarah waited, tension coiling tighter with each passing hour. Diego had been gone for eighteen hours now, his last message cryptically brief: "Contingency implemented. Stay secure."Robert Walsh paced the room, his former FBI training evident in how he periodically checked windows and monitored security feeds."They should have made contact by now," he muttered, checking his watch again."Diego knows what he's doing," Sarah replied with more confidence than she felt. Her back ached from sitting too long, the baby restless within her.The secure phone on Diego's desk chimed—a sound so unexpected that both Sarah and Robert froze momentarily before lunging for it.Sarah reached it first. "Yes?""Package secured," came Antonio's voice, deliberately vague. "En route to secondary location. One hour."Relief washed through her. "Condition?""Stable," Antonio replied. "Minor complications, nothing critical. Primary returning separately."Diego was comi

Six months passed with surprising speed. Sarah's pregnancy progressed smoothly, her body changing as winter turned to spring. The Castillo Foundation launched to positive press coverage, its first initiatives focusing on legal support for low-income families and scholarship programs.Diego's transformation of the family business continued methodically—divesting from questionable enterprises, strengthening legitimate ones, rebuilding the Castillo name as a symbol of business acumen rather than criminal power."The Miami hotel acquisition closed this morning," Diego announced as he joined Sarah on their bedroom terrace, where she was enjoying the early summer sunshine."That's the fifth property this quarter," Sarah noted, marking the location on her tablet map. "The hospitality division is becoming our largest legitimate asset.""Clean, profitable, and excellent for networking," Diego agreed, settling beside her. "How are you feeling today?"Sarah rested a hand on her now-prominent bell

One month after Vincent's surrender, the headlines had faded, replaced by political scandals and celebrity gossip. Within the Castillo organization, however, his absence remained a palpable void.Sarah found Diego in Vincent's former office, surrounded by files and digital records, methodically reorganizing the family's enterprises."You missed lunch," she said, setting a sandwich beside him.Diego looked up, fatigue evident in the shadows beneath his eyes. "I lost track of time.""You've been losing track a lot lately," Sarah observed, perching on the edge of the desk. "Nonna is worried.""There's so much to untangle," Diego gestured at the paperwork. "Vincent's operations were more complex than I realized. Some of these connections go back decades."Sarah picked up a folder, scanning its contents with her prosecutor's eye. "This shipping company in Naples... it's a money laundering front, isn't it?""Was," Diego corrected. "I've already sold our interest. The legitimate businesses ar

Sarah kept Vincent's confidence for three days, wrestling with conflicting loyalties. Her marriage demanded honesty with Diego, but Vincent's plan, though extreme, would secure the family's future. The prosecutor in her recognized its legal elegance, even as the wife in her dreaded the impact on her husband.She found Diego in his study late at night, reviewing contracts by lamplight. His face, serious in concentration, softened at her approach."Working late?" she asked, closing the door behind her."Restructuring the shipping division," Diego explained, setting the papers aside. "Vincent's always handled that sector, but with his legal situation uncertain...""That's what I need to talk to you about," Sarah said, taking the chair opposite his desk. "Vincent's meeting with the Justice Department."Diego raised an eyebrow. "Did he share details with you?""Yes," Sarah admitted. "He's negotiating a plea deal.""We assumed as much," Diego nodded. "His lawyers will ensure minimal—""No la

New York looked different to Sarah as their private jet began its descent—familiar yet foreign, like returning to a childhood home as an adult. Four months had passed since Vegas, since the night that had changed everything.Diego squeezed her hand as the wheels touched down. "Ready?""As I'll ever be," Sarah replied with a small smile.The media frenzy surrounding Kingmaker had mostly subsided, replaced by the methodical grind of prosecutions and congressional hearings. Sarah's role in exposing the conspiracy had made her something of a reluctant hero in legal circles, though her marriage to Diego Castillo remained controversial.Antonio waited beside a bulletproof SUV as they deplaned. "Welcome home," he greeted. "Nonna is eager to see you both."The Castillo estate had transformed during their absence. Additional security measures were visible everywhere—more guards, enhanced technology, even the landscaping redesigned for better sight lines."Vincent's upgrades," Diego explained, n