Novels by J. Cross

BelaTHE BRASS lock on my pantry door clicked softly into place.I sat alone on the edge of my narrow cot, my bare knees pulled tightly against my chest, staring at the dark wooden door Seb had just closed.The quiet room still smelled of cedar, leather, and sweat. My inner thighs were sore, throbbing with a deep, liquid heat, and my core still felt stretched, filled with the ghost of his heavy, unyielding touch.His last words echoed inside my head like a bell ringing through a graveyard.“Can you still remember the day we got married with paper rings, Cara?”My breathing came in short, raspy hitches. My hands trembled as I clutched the faded grey cotton of my maid dress, pulling it over my bare skin.Tears burned the backs of my eyes. I was torn between the terrifying, possessive Don of Milan standing over me today and the ghost of the boy I had loved six years ago.I closed my eyes, and the dark walls of the pantry dissolved completely.Six years ago.The Southern sun was bright and

BelaIT WAS four in the morning, and the darkness inside my narrow pantry room was absolute.I lay awake on my small, stiff cot, staring up at the shadow-draped ceiling. My body still ached from the terrifying, public madness of the last two days—from the suffocating tension at the opera house to the burning parchment of Alejandro’s invitation resting on the dining table.Outside my door, the quiet penthouse felt like a bomb waiting for the lit fuse to reach the powder.A faint sound broke the silence.The brass lock clicked softly. The heavy wooden door swung open without a whisper, revealing a tall, broad frame silhouetted against the dim hallway light.Seb stepped inside.He had stripped off his suit coat and tie. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his tanned, muscular forearms.In his right hand, he carried a small silver bowl of warm water and a soft white cloth.My heart slammed into my ribs. Panic surged t

BelaTHE PENTHOUSE was suffocating in the early morning light.My throat still burned, and the heavy marks Seb had left on my neck and thighs at the opera house throbbed with a constant, hot ache.Every step I took down the marble hallway pulled at my bruised body, a silent, terrifying reminder of how he had taken me behind the velvet curtain while high society sat just feet away.I entered the grand living room carrying a silver tray with warm coffee and fresh fruit.Seb sat at the head of the glass dining table, dressed in a dark grey tailored suit. His dark hair was styled back, his face carved out of unyielding, lethal stone.Beside him sat Don Bernardo, reading the morning paper, while Alessandra lounged in a plush velvet chair, sipping an espresso in her red silk robe.Alessandra hadn't yelled at me since we returned from La Scala. She hadn't thrown anything or ordered me to scrub the floors.Instead, her dark eyes tracked my every move with a sharp, terrifying stillness that ma

SebALEJANDRO VANCE didn't back down.The crowd’s laughter echoed down the main hall, but in the dim backstage corridor, the air turned to toxic ice.Alejandro’s handsome face was twisted into a dark, heavy scowl, his brown eyes burning with a sharp, protective rage as he looked at my unbuttoned collar, then past my shoulder to the closed red curtains of the VIP box.He knew.Alejandro took two heavy steps into my space, dropping his refined billionaire facade completely.“You son of a bitch,” Alejandro spat softly, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. “She was crying. What did you just do to her in there, Sebastian?”I didn't draw my gun. I simply smoothed down my cuffs with precise, calm movements, letting a cold, mocking smirk touch my lips.“She is my slave, Signor Vance,” I rasped, my voice deep and unbothered. “She obeys my orders. If you want to ask her about her duties, go ahead. Ask her yourself.”I turned, reached out, and pulled the heavy red velvet curtain ba

SebTHE INTERMISSION bell chimed throughout the opera house.Hundreds of wealthy patrons poured out of their VIP boxes, spilling into the grand marble halls to sip champagne and talk about business.I walked beside Don Bernardo and Alessandra, nodding politely at syndicate leaders, but my mind was not on them.My eyes were searching the crowd for Bela.She had been sent backstage five minutes ago to return Alessandra’s silk wraps to the dressing room. As I stepped past the heavy velvet curtains into the dimly lit backstage corridor, I saw her.She stood near the tall wooden doors, her grey maid dress looking small against the gold walls. Standing right in front of her was Alejandro Vance.Alejandro was leaning in close. His hand was resting gently near her shoulder, his lips inches from her ear as he whispered to her.Bela looked terrified, her dark eyes wide, her lower lip trembling as s

BelaTHE GRAND opera hall of La Scala glowed beneath enormous crystal chandeliers, their golden light spilling over six tiers of private VIP boxes wrapped in red velvet.The air smelled of expensive perfume, French champagne, and polished leather. Below, the orchestra played a slow, beautiful melody, but I felt as though I were standing inside an execution chamber.I stood two paces behind Alessandra in the Moretti VIP box, holding her heavy velvet coat and gold opera glasses.My simple gray maid dress made me feel painfully out of place among women dressed in sparkling silk gowns and dripping with diamonds.Beneath my high collar, my throat was still raw and bruised from Seb’s hands, hidden beneath a tightly wrapped cotton band.Alessandra sat in the front row wearing a bright red silk gown and expensive rubies.Beside her sat Seb.He wore a sleek black tuxedo and dark bow tie, looking e