Novels by B.Liora

Lucien’s PovThe alarm tripped in Lucien’s head the second Carter called.“She’s gone,” his right hand man said flatly through the earpiece. “Took the service stairs. Smart girl.”Lucien Valez closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. He stood in his study, overlooking Manhattan’s glittering skyline with bourbon sweating in his palm. He had given her some freedom, water, food, space to breathe, because she wasn’t a prisoner in his mind. She was leverage.But Cassia Monroe didn’t know the difference.“Bring her back,” Lucien ordered. By the time he reached the penthouse corridor, two of his men had her. She was thrashing between them, her violin case clutched like a weapon and her eyes wide and furious.“Let me go!” she snapped, her voice was awfully too loud for comfort, and her hair fell over her shoulders in unruly strands. Try as she could, but Lucien could not get the image of her the night before out of his head.Lucien stepped into view. “Enough.”Her head jerked toward him. For a s

Cassia’s PovCassia’s eyes flew open to blinding light. She winced and tried to move, but for a moment, she could not breathe.This isn’t my apartment. She muttered to herself as she came to. The faint smell of leather filled her nostrils and she could also smell cigar smoke. She sat up too fast, her wrists tugging against something. Her hands were tied together, but not too tightly.Wtf? She was in a penthouse. The room was opulently furnished, and she could see the sprawling city of New York from the floor to ceiling windows. Her eyes landed on a signet ring resting on the mantel beside where she lay.Cassia’s throat tightened, and she increased her struggle against the rope holding her hands. She knew that ring. It was exactly like Elena’s father’s ring. Elena had once told her that every Mafia family had one which they used in business.Elena. What did you do? Then the door opened, and in came the most dangerously beautiful man she’d ever seen.He was tall, sharply built, his pres

Lucien’s Pov“Gentlemen, your margin projections are very wrong.”Lucien Valez leaned back in his chair, and looked around him. The table in the boardroom was twenty feet of imported oak, and it was filled with a dozen executives in suits which cost less than his cufflinks. His cufflinks of course were Tom Ford, tailored so sharp that if he wished, he could have used it to draw blood.He hated sloppiness.“W-wrong?” one of the VPs, a stoically built man, stammered, adjusting his glasses.“Yes,” Lucien replied, playing with the ring on his index finger. “Because you are assuming that I’ll accept mediocrity and below par. I won’t.”“We followed your instructions for last quarter’s—”“Cut that bullshit.” Lucien raised his hand, interrupting him. “If you’re going to waste my time with excuses, I suggest you find a new employer. Valez International doesn’t operate with mistakes. We set standards.”His grey eyes flitted over the men seated around him, and he smiled inwardly. He was enjoying

Cassia’s Pov“You play like you’re in pain.”The Ritz’s ballroom was gilded and vast, the chandeliers dripping in crystal. Cassia drew her bow across the violin, the strings steady where her nerves were not. Music had always been her escape and the one thing that belonged entirely to her.The voice came from beside her as the ensemble packed up. She glanced over. David Reed leaned casually against the edge of the stage, his cello case strapped to his back.“I’m not,” she answered, tucking the violin into its case.“You sure?” His smile was crooked and charming in that messy, boy-next-door way. His sandy hair fell into his eyes as he leaned closer. “Because that sounded like heartbreak, and I think you’re too occupied for a heartbreak that deep.”Cassia smirked despite herself. “Maybe it’s just the music.You always have a way with words.”“Or maybe you need a drink.” He slung the case higher on his back. “Come on, let me walk you home.”She hesitated. David wasn’t a stranger, infact he

Cassia’s Pov“Cassia, don’t scream.”Cassia’s hand remained on the light switch. The soft glow of the light she’d just turned on filled her small Manhattan apartment, catching the chipped coffee table, the half drank cup of water on the table, and finally, the woman stretched across the couch like she belonged there.“Elena?”Elena Ramirez sat up slowly, platinum hair spilling in frightened waves over her shoulders. Her blouse was torn at the sleeve, her lipstick smeared like she’d been in a fight. Still, her pale, calculating blue eyes that had once charmed everyone from professors to bodyguards were still as sharp as ever.“God, Cass,” she exhaled, her shoulders sagging as though relieved. “I didn’t know where else to go.”Cassia’s mouth went dry. Two years. It’s been two years since she had walked away from Elena’s friendship, from the parties that ended with broken glass and constant invitations to “just one favor” for her father. Cassia had chosen music over danger in Elena's m