Chapter: Ricci's Downfall CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVEBASSANO DEL GRAPPA, ITALYSunset bled red over the Brenta River, the sky turning to bruised purple as shadows swallowed the warehouse. My men were ghosts in the dark, snipers perched on rooftops, scouts hunkered in the reeds, Nikolai barking low orders through the comms. I crouched at the river’s edge, binoculars pressed to my eyes, Glock heavy on my hip. We’d been locked in since last night, no sleep, just adrenaline and black coffee. Ricci’s move was coming, and I was ready to make him regret every fucking step.My phone buzzed, Nico. “Catalina, my guy inside confirmed, Ricci’s rolling out. Trucks loaded, Russians leading the charge. They’re heading for Bassano now, full force.”“Good,” I said, voice like ice. “Tell the spy to pull out. No traces.”“Already gone,” Nico replied. “He’s out clean. Your call on the strike.”I switched to the earpiece channel for my crew. “Hold po
Last Updated: 2025-11-16
Chapter: Preparing For The Turf WarCATALINA’S PERSPECTIVE BRENTA RIVER, ITALY The Brenta River’s banks were dark and silent, the water a black ribbon under the moonless sky. For days, I’d been moving my men into position, silent as death, taking out Ricci’s scouts one by one, knives to throats, bodies dumped in the current. My crew slipped into their places, wearing stolen jackets with Ricci’s crest, posing as his own. Each night, we tightened our grip, setting up a makeshift base in an abandoned warehouse along the river, crates of ammo and guns stacked in the shadows. No one saw us. No one heard us. We were fucking ghosts. Dante was holding the west, just like I told him, his men ready to carve up Ricci’s smaller turfs in Treviso and Mestre. He was in position, waiting for my signal to strike, a wolf on a leash, and I knew he was itching to tear into something.
Last Updated: 2025-11-15
Chapter: A Double PlanCATALINA’S PERSPECTIVELUCCHESE ESTATE NIGHTThe study’s heavy oak door clicked shut as I stepped inside, the scent of leather and whiskey thick in the air. Dante was already there, leaning against his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the king who’d just charmed a senator into submission. His eyes locked on me, dark and intense, as I crossed the room and slid onto his lap, straddling him. My fingers traced his jaw, his stubble rough under my touch, while his hands settled on my hips, pulling me closer, a casual intimacy that felt like home.“Talk,” he said, voice low, his thumb brushing the curve of my waist.I leaned in, lips grazing his ear. “Nico’s heading to Bassano tonight to brief Carlos on Ricci’s moves. I’m backing my brother once we confirm the dates. Ricci’s Russian dogs, Roma, Kolya, Dima, are gunning for his turf. We need to make sure Carlos is ready to bleed them dry.”Dan
Last Updated: 2025-11-14
Chapter: Her Brother's Turf Is Their Target CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVEITALYMorning sun burned through the estate’s windows as I zipped up my boots, the house dead quiet without Dante. He’d peeled out at dawn for a meeting with a Senator in Rome, cutting deals to keep our empire’s shiny mask intact. I checked my phone, 9:03 AM, no texts. Perfect. Time to hunt. I was done playing spy from a distance; today, I’d stalk Ricci’s turf in Padua myself, get eyes on his slimy moves. I threw on a black leather jacket, shoved a Glock under my shirt, and tucked a blade in my boot. Ricci’s crew was still licking their wounds from the port we torched, and I’d make damn sure they stayed spooked. I hit the road, my sedan eating up the miles to Padua. The city was a circus, tourists clogging the streets, vendors slinging espresso. I parked near Piazza della Frutta, cap low, blending in like a ghost. By noon, I’d clocked one of Ricci’s lieu
Last Updated: 2025-11-13
Chapter: Playing It CoolCATALINA'S PERSPECTIVEVERONA, ITALYMorning light sliced through the curtains, hitting the bedroom floor as I stepped out of the bathroom, toweling my hair dry. I’d already showered, the steam still clinging to my skin, and slipped into a plain white t-shirt and jeans, casual, unassuming, perfect for blending in. Dante stirred on the bed, sheets tangled around his hips, his bare chest marked with scratches from last night. His eyes cracked open, dark and heavy, tracking me as I moved to the dresser.“Where the fuck are you going?” he asked, voice rough with sleep, propping himself on one elbow.I smirked, crossing the room to him, my hips swaying just enough to catch his attention. I leaned down, kissing him slow and deep, my tongue teasing his until he growled low in his throat. Pulling back, I held his gaze, lips hovering an inch from his. “I’m heading to Ricci’s territory. Surveillance. Need to see what he’s plann
Last Updated: 2025-11-12
Chapter: They're Predators in HeatCATALINA'S PERSPECTIVENIGHTThe port's flames were a distant glow as Dante sped the SUV through the night, the stench of smoke clinging to us like a second skin. We'd been pent-up for too long, banquets, bullets, and bullshit leaving us both throbbing with need, my pussy aching, his cock probably straining against his pants. His hands gripped the wheel like he wanted to snap it, and I shifted in my seat, thighs clenching at the heat building between my legs.Dante suddenly veered onto a dirt pull-off, brakes slamming, the car jolting to a stop. “I’m done fucking waiting,” he snarled, lunging at me. His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back as his mouth crashed onto mine, tongue thrusting deep, fucking my mouth like he owned it. I bit his tongue, hard, tasting copper, and unbuckled, shoving my hand down to grab his bulge, squeezing his thick cock through the fabric.“Backseat, bitch,” he gro
Last Updated: 2025-11-11
Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire
Warning... or Invitation? That choice is yours.
This isn’t a fairytale.
This isn’t about sweet kisses beneath cherry blossoms or soft smiles under the stars.
No.
This is raw,
This is reckless,
This is “Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire”
A collection of BL short stories carved from lust, laced with obsession, and kissed by chaos.
Each chapter stands on its own, a world where strangers become addictions, roommates cross lines, enemies blur into lovers, and the line between want and need snaps without warning.
These men don’t fall in love.
They fall into temptation.
They crash into each other like lightning against the sea, loud, unforgiving, and beautiful in their destruction.
You’ll find no gentle romance here.
Only the ache of fingertips brushing where they shouldn't, the weight of glances held too long, the gasp before the plunge.
This is for the ones who know love isn’t always tender.
That sometimes, the most unforgettable stories are the ones written in bruises and longing.
This is for those who crave stories that leave a mark, who don’t flinch when desire gets messy, when hearts bleed a little before they beat as one.
Not for the faint-hearted.
Not for the clean-handed.
This is for the bold, the brave, the ones who dare to touch the flame even if it burns.
So turn the page.
Step into the fire.
But don’t say I didn’t warn you---
Because once the embers catch, they never go out.
Read
Chapter: The Mafia Boss' Favorite Toy: Part 6The city’s underworld churned with blood and ambition, and Vincent Russo’s empire, though ironclad, wasn’t the only beast prowling the streets. Across the river, in the industrial sprawl of the city’s eastern docks, the Volkov family held court, a Russian mafia dynasty as ruthless as they were cunning. Led by Dmitri Volkov, a bear of a man with a shaved head, ice-blue eyes, and a penchant for carving his initials into traitors’ flesh, the Volkovs had been gnawing at Russo’s territories for years. Their feud was a slow-burning war, fueled by old betrayals and new greed, and the gunfire that grazed Vincent’s shoulder was no random hit, it bore the Volkovs’ signature.Dmitri Volkov was born in Moscow in 1978, during the Soviet Union’s twilight. His father, Ivan, was a KGB enforcer turned Bratva kingpin, smuggling everything from vodka to AK-47s through the chaos of perestroika. Dmitri grew up in a world of barbed wire and backr
Last Updated: 2025-11-16
Chapter: The Mafia Boss' Favorite Toy: Part 5The door to Chris's private room creaked open later than usual that night, the clock ticking past 2 a.m. Chris, chained to the headboard as always, lifted his head from the pillow, his heart skipping a beat despite himself. Vincent staggered in, his usual predatory grace faltering. Blood stained his white shirt, a dark bloom spreading from his shoulder. He clutched at it, his face pale under the dim lamp light, sweat beading on his forehead. "Fuck," he muttered, slamming the door shut behind him.Chris froze, watching from the bed. Part of him, the part that remembered the initial brutality, the forced indenture, wanted to smirk, to let the bastard suffer. But as Vincent hissed in pain, peeling off his jacket with gritted teeth, something twisted in Chris's chest. Worry? No, it couldn't be. "What happened?" he asked, his voice softer than intended, chains rattling as he sat up."None of your dam
Last Updated: 2025-11-15
Chapter: The Mafia Boss' Favorite Toy: Part 4Chris awoke to the cold bite of steel around his wrists, the chains rattling softly as he shifted on the king-sized bed. The private room was a far cry from the basement dungeon, plush carpets, silk sheets, and a massive en-suite bathroom with marble fixtures, but it was still a cage. The chains were bolted to the headboard, long enough to let him shuffle to the toilet or sink if nature called, but not far enough to reach the locked door. Vincent's doing, of course. The mafia boss had "upgraded" him after that first brutal claiming, muttering something about keeping his new asset comfortable. Comfortable? Chris snorted, tugging at the restraints. They dug into his skin, a constant reminder of his indenture. Five years of running, and now he was Vincent Russo's personal fucktoy.By day, Vincent ruled his empire with an iron fist. Meetings in boardrooms that doubled as war rooms, barking orders to underlings who trembled
Last Updated: 2025-11-14
Chapter: The Mafia Boss' Favorite Toy: Part 3Vincent Russo was forged in the fires of Sicily's ancient vendettas, transplanted to the concrete jungles of New York City when he was just a boy. Born in Palermo in 1985, under a blood moon that the old nonnas whispered was an omen of power and peril, Vincent was the firstborn son of Giovanni Russo, a mid-level caporegime in the Cosa Nostra. Giovanni had clawed his way up from the slums, marrying into minor nobility through Vincent's mother, Isabella, a stunning beauty with raven hair and eyes like polished obsidian, whose family traced back to feudal lords. But nobility meant nothing in the mafia; loyalty and brutality were the true currencies.Vincent's earliest memories were of gunpowder and garlic. At five, he watched from the shadows as his father executed a traitor in their villa's courtyard, a single shot to the head, blood pooling on the terracotta tiles. "This is family, Vincenzo," Giovanni growled, wiping the pist
Last Updated: 2025-11-13
Chapter: The Mafia Boss' Favorite Toy: Part 2Chris Jackson wasn't always a ghost in the shadows, slipping through the cracks of the city's underbelly like smoke. Born in the gritty outskirts of Chicago, he grew up in a crumbling rowhouse that smelled of stale beer and regret. His father, a washed-up boxer named Mallory Jackson, had once dreamed of glory in the ring but settled for breaking jaws in back-alley brawls for the local mob. Mallory's temper was legendary, fists flying over spilled drinks or imagined slights, and Chris bore the scars of it from a young age. Bruised ribs from "tough love," a crooked nose from the night Mallory caught him sneaking out at fourteen. "Life's a fight, kid," Mallory would slur, reeking of whiskey. "Hit first or get buried."Chris's mother, Elena, was the fragile counterpoint, a former dancer who'd traded pirouettes for waiting tables at a dingy strip club. She loved her son fiercely, shielding him from the worst of Mallory's rages, b
Last Updated: 2025-11-12
Chapter: The Mafia Boss' Favorite ToyVincent Russo's empire sprawled across the underbelly of the city like a venomous spiderweb, ensnaring the desperate and the foolish. For five long years, Chris Jackson had been a fly buzzing just out of reach, dodging the sticky threads of debt and retribution. His men scattered like roaches under light, combing the alleys and dive bars. It didn't take long. Chris was cornered and taken away.The office doors burst open, and Chris was hauled inside, his feet barely touching the marble floor. The room reeked of cigar smoke, expensive cologne, and sex. Vincent sat sprawled in his massive leather chair behind a desk cluttered with ledgers and a gleaming Beretta. But he wasn't alone. A voluptuous woman, some escort or hanger-on, Chris couldn't tell, straddled him, her red dress hiked up to her waist. She rode him with wild abandon, her moans echoing off the walls, tits bouncing as she ground down on his cock.His hands gripped h
Last Updated: 2025-11-11
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