Novels by Nana A

Lucien The city never really slept, but from the 47th floor of Wolfe Holdings, it at least seemed like it did. Manhattan’s lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my private office—cold, clean, distant. The kind of view meant to inspire power. Tonight, it felt like a war map. I stood with my back to the room, fingers clutched around a glass of bourbon I hadn’t touched. My mind wasn’t on the deal closing in Tokyo or the last-minute shakeup on the board after my announcement about Isla and Leo. It was on the message she forwarded. Damon’s threat. It hadn’t been vague. It hadn’t been cautious. It had been direct and deliberate. “You think he can protect you now? He’s just a distraction. I’m coming for what’s mine.” Mine. The audacity of it made my jaw tighten, my fingers curl around the glass until the cut crystal left an imprint in my palm. I hadn’t wanted to go nuclear. I’d hoped that by stepping into the light with Isla and Leo, Damon would back off—understandi

Isla The scent of Lucien’s cologne lingered long after he left—a blend of spice and midnight, comfort and danger. I stood by the window in my apartment, arms wrapped around myself, watching the city lights shimmer in the darkness like a million secrets just waiting to be exposed. Behind me, Leo was asleep, his small frame cocooned in the covers, Lucien’s tiger plushie clutched tightly in his arms. I should have felt safe. I should have felt comforted. But all I felt was the low thrum of dread under my skin. Damon had been at Leo’s school. Not even subtle about it. Just… present. Watching. Reminding me that he still could. I exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the windowsill. I hadn’t expected Lucien to come tonight. Not after the day we’d had. The press storm, the boardroom meetings I wasn’t part of but could feel the ripple effects of, the eyes everywhere now watching me—not just because I was once the billionaire’s mistress, but because I was the woman he’d chosen to claim pu

Lucien The boardroom of Wolfe International was the height of glass and steel elegance, perched atop the sixty-first floor like a throne room built for war. I stood at the head of the long obsidian table, staring out at the skyline of Paris bathed in the glow of a late afternoon sun. My reflection in the glass was sharp, composed, impenetrable. But beneath the tailored suit and cufflinks, tension simmered. “Your press conference changed the game, Lucien,” Soraya said from her seat beside me, tapping a crimson fingernail against a tablet. “The public is on your side now. You’ve rebranded yourself overnight—from ruthless billionaire to protective father. Women are swooning. Men are backing off. The sympathy factor? Off the charts.” “It wasn’t for the public,” I muttered, though I knew it played both ways. “It was for Leo. For Isla.” I turned from the window and took my seat, steepling my fingers as the rest of the team filed in. Attorneys. PR strategists. My private investigator. Ev

Isla The echo of Lucien’s press conference still rippled through every facet of my world. I hadn’t left the penthouse since the broadcast aired, afraid of what the outside world might look like now that my most guarded truth had become a headline. Lucien had claimed us—me and Leo—with a billionaire’s flair and a father’s raw conviction. The entire world now knew I was the woman he’d lost once and wouldn’t lose again. And Leo? Leo was no longer a secret. He was Lucien Wolfe’s heir. But with exposure came fear. I sat on the edge of the chaise lounge in the sun-drenched sitting room, clutching my phone like it was a lifeline. My inbox was flooded. Journalists, talk show producers, stylists, PR agents—even distant relatives I hadn’t spoken to in years. They all wanted a piece of the story. A piece of us. Leo was blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding. He was down the hallway with Sophia, his favorite nanny, giggling as she read him a picture book for the fifth time. The purity of h

Isla The first thing I noticed when I stepped out of the town car was the flash of cameras. Even before the media found me, I felt their presence like the pressure of a storm rolling in—hot, stifling, inevitable. Lucien had warned me. “There’s no going back,” he’d said last night, his voice velvet-soft as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. “When I go public with Leo, everything changes.” He wasn’t wrong. Now I stood at the courthouse steps, my fingers curled around the leather strap of my handbag like it could anchor me through the whirlwind ahead. Lucien stood beside me, immaculately dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his expression calm but unreadable. His hand brushed the small of my back—reassuring, possessive, and entirely too grounding. Across the street, a few paparazzi shouted our names. “Lucien! Isla! Is that your child?” “Is this the real reason behind the Renwick acquisition?” “Isla, how long have you been hiding the baby?” I didn’t flinch, but my spine s

Isla I watched the sunlight dance on the polished marble floors of Lucien’s penthouse, my reflection faintly staring back at me through the massive windows overlooking Manhattan. It should have felt luxurious, comforting even—but all I could feel was the tight knot in my stomach. The world had shifted. Again. First, Lucien’s bold press conference. Then Damon’s move for custody. And now… the waiting. The silence before the next storm. Leo was in the playroom down the hall, laughing softly with Marie, the nanny Lucien trusted with his life. I could hear the faint tinkling of toy blocks, the soft cadence of his little voice forming stories only he could understand. But I wasn’t there with him. I was in the kitchen, clutching a porcelain mug filled with a tea I hadn’t touched. My mind was racing, retracing every step that had led us here—every secret, every truth, every moment I thought I was doing what was best for my son. Now I wasn’t so sure anymore. The door behind me creaked s

I knew it wasn’t over. Even as Liam fell into my arms, even as Kael’s blood dried into cracks of silver across his jaw, I felt it. That deep, gnawing chill that slithered beneath my skin. That ancient instinct that screamed: Run. But there was nowhere to run. Not from him. ⸻ The sky—the mirror-sky—rippled like water disturbed by fate itself. And from it descended the figure of a king. Not a man. Not a god. Something between. He didn’t walk. He glided. Long silver robes flowed behind him like shadow-flame. A crown of twisted moonstone sat on his head, bleeding black from its tips. His eyes were pits of moving galaxies, his skin the color of thunderclouds before a storm broke. Liam stiffened in my arms. “That’s not her,” he whispered. Kael stepped in front of us. “Then who is it?” The figure smiled, slow and terrifying. “I am the First,” he said, voice smooth like venom. “The one she failed to become. The one who created the Ash Wolf… and the one who will end the line

He comes willingly. The words burned into my brain. Not just the way they were written—slashed across Liam’s windowsill in blood that pulsed with old magic—but what they meant. Liam wasn’t taken. He left. ⸻ Kael was on his feet the second I screamed. “He’s not here,” I gasped, shoving open the bedroom door. “He’s gone.” He didn’t hesitate. “Check the perimeter.” Already, the ward alarms had begun to chime low and eerie, like bells ringing underwater. Wolves were shifting across the compound, and the scent of panic tainted the air like acid rain. “His scent leads into the woods,” one scout reported minutes later. “Alone. No signs of struggle.” My knees buckled. Because if there were no signs of force… then Liam wasn’t kidnapped. He made a choice. ⸻ We followed the trail through the southern edge of the packlands, Kael on my right, Elder Rhovan at my back. I didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Didn’t breathe properly. I just ran. Through brambles. Through fog. Through fear. “Wh

I never thought I’d question Kael. Never thought I’d look him in the eyes and wonder if the soul staring back was mine—or a monster wearing his skin. But there they stood. Two Kaels. One breathing hard. Bleeding from the shoulder. Eyes wide with desperation. The other? Calm. Silent. Poised like a blade. And both of them… identical. ⸻ “Elara, it’s me,” the first one said. “I know what we whispered during Liam’s birth. You said I was your moonlight in the storm.” I blinked. He had said that. The second Kael stepped forward slowly. “And yet, when Liam was born, you were unconscious for most of it. You didn’t hear what I said. I only whispered it after you fell asleep.” I froze. Because… that was true too. My hand twitched toward the dagger in my belt. “I’m not playing this game,” I growled. “One of you is lying. And I’ll find out which.” The calm Kael raised a brow. “Then ask us something the Ash Wolf could never know.” I swallowed hard. “Where did we meet?” “Battlefi

I stared at her—at me. And for a second, even I doubted my own reflection. She wore my face like a crown. My skin. My scars. My voice. Every detail mirrored, down to the slash across my collarbone, the glint in my right eye when I was angry, the way my shoulders squared before a fight. But this version of me? She smiled too easily. Too cruelly. “Kael,” I said, my real voice shaking. “That’s not me.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He was caught—his mate’s scent coming from two directions. “What the hell are you doing?” I snapped, stepping forward. “You know me.” The copy turned to him, brushing her fingers down his arm. “Do you?” she purred. “Because I remember everything. The way your breath hitched the first time you saw me shift. The night I stood in the rain after Liam was born. The way I said your name before I ever knew it.” Kael jerked his arm back. “Stop.” She laughed, low and sultry. “See? He doesn’t know. You severed the bond. You gave me a door. Now I can be

I used to think fear was sharp. Like a knife. But now I know the truth. Fear is slow. It’s the creeping, crawling dread in your gut when everything’s quiet—too quiet. It’s the heaviness in your limbs when your instincts are screaming, but there’s nowhere to run. It’s what you feel when your son, your entire world, starts to cry in his sleep—and you know he’s not dreaming. He’s remembering. ⸻ Liam sat up in bed before dawn, drenched in sweat, lips moving like he was still speaking to someone in a dream. I rushed to him. “Liam. Baby, it’s okay. I’m here.” His little hands clutched my arms. “She… she showed me.” “Showed you what?” He looked up at me—and in that moment, I saw ages behind his eyes. “Everything.” ⸻ I took him downstairs to the war room before anyone else could wake. The only ones already there were Kael and Elder Rhovan, both with bloodshot eyes and tension carved into their faces like battle scars. Liam walked in like he’d aged ten years overnight. “She’s

There’s a silence that only comes after a bond dies. It’s not just the absence of a voice in your head, or the echo of a heartbeat in your soul. It’s the kind of silence that makes the world feel too big. Too cold. Like every breath you take is being watched by something ancient and waiting. That’s how it felt after I broke the tie with Kael. Like a door had slammed shut behind me. And in front of me? A path I had to walk alone. ⸻ Liam stirred in my arms. His eyes fluttered open—clear. Soft. No more shadow in the irises. “Mom?” he croaked. “I’m here,” I whispered. He blinked, confused. “I had a dream. You were glowing.” I smiled, even though my chest felt hollow. “I was just fighting a goddess. Nothing major.” He giggled softly, then winced. “My head hurts.” Kael stepped beside us—cautious now. The invisible line between us was gone, and we both felt it. “How is he?” he asked. “Free,” I said. “For now.” Kael nodded once. No words. No touch. We were strangers wearing

The city of Palermo wore its scars like medals—proof of survival, testimony of war. The Falcone estate, once charred and silent, now stood rebuilt in marble and steel. Stronger. Harsher. A monument not to tradition, but to transformation. Inside, under the high vaulted ceilings of the grand hall, Camilla Falcone walked toward her destiny. She wore no crown, no jewels—just a sleek black suit, tailored like armor, and a presence that commanded silence. Every seat was filled. Heads of syndicates. Underworld kings. Government ghosts. Even Veronica, now at the helm of the Italian arms operation, stood tall beside Luca. Reza and Aurora flanked her like sentinels. At the far end of the room, Riccardo waited, his suit midnight-black, his eyes fixed on Camilla with a quiet reverence. The storm between them had settled, leaving only steel trust and silent understanding. She stopped at the center of the room. “Are you ready?” Aurora asked from the side. Camilla took a breath. “I was born

The first sunrise after victory should have brought peace. Instead, it brought fire. Camilla was still in the Berlin safehouse when the message came through—encrypted, fragmented, and wrapped in a digital cloak only Aurora could peel back. The red alert flare in Aurora’s voice was unmistakable. “They hit Palermo,” Aurora whispered. “The estate… it’s gone.” Camilla’s stomach dropped. “Casualties?” “Minimal. Veronica had moved most of the household two nights ago, just in case. But the message was clear. They waited until you secured the syndicate.” Riccardo’s jaw clenched. He was already on his feet, grabbing his coat and keys. “Who?” Camilla asked. Aurora hesitated. “You won’t believe it.” Camilla’s eyes narrowed. “Try me.” “The Black Key. The splinter faction Cassian once disavowed. They’ve gone rogue. And they’ve formed an alliance—with Dagonet.” Riccardo’s expression darkened. “That bastard survived?” Aurora nodded. “Worse. He’s leading what’s left of the anti-Falcone l

Berlin was cold in a way that crept into your bones. The kind of cold that reminded Camilla of her childhood—of concrete walls, broken promises, and the quiet determination of someone who had no one but herself. She stared at her reflection in the hotel mirror, hardly recognizing the woman in front of her. Gone was Camilla Falcone, the notorious queen of Italy’s underworld. In her place stood “Elisabeth Weiss,” a carefully constructed identity, forged in weeks of cyber infiltration and covert artistry. Aurora had overseen every detail—from the forged passports to the Austrian accent that slipped so easily off Camilla’s tongue now. Her backstory was clean. Her financials, credible. Even her connections had been fabricated with the help of Reza’s global network. Still, she didn’t need fake papers to command power. Camilla adjusted the pin on her lapel—an innocuous piece of jewelry that doubled as a mic and a tracker—and turned to Riccardo. He stood at the edge of the room, arms cro

The sun rose slowly over the Falcone estate, bleeding gold through the cracked clouds. But there was no peace in the warmth. Not yet. Camilla stood in the war room, eyes fixed on the wall of screens detailing Cassian’s connections. What began as a revenge plot had revealed something far more insidious: a hidden syndicate, fractured but alive, embedded in systems far beyond Cassian Vale. He hadn’t been the head of the serpent—only a fang. Riccardo entered, dressed in black, his voice gravelled from the smoke of the night before. “The men are ready. Say the word, and we hit their holdings in Milan, Paris, and São Paulo.” Camilla didn’t turn around. “Too easy. We strike too hard now, we scare them into hiding. No. I want the heads.” Riccardo moved closer. “Then we need bait.” She finally looked at him. “We already have it.” Reza Talhoun arrived at noon, dressed like a diplomat, eyes like a warlord. He’d brought the final puzzle piece with him—a dossier compiled by Mossad detailing

The storm didn’t break in thunder—it came in silence. The estate’s perimeter alarms buzzed softly, just enough to alert those attuned to the undercurrent of danger. Inside, Camilla was in the study with Leo, helping him with a puzzle. His brow furrowed in concentration, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth. She smiled faintly—such innocence, such peace. A knock at the door. “Camilla,” Aurora called, her voice clipped, urgent. Camilla stood, a quiet shift in her posture. She opened the door to find Aurora holding her tablet out, a satellite feed flickering to life. Several black SUVs had pulled off a side road not far from the estate—too far to trigger external defense, too close for coincidence. “They’re not moving,” Aurora said. “Just sitting.” “Waiting,” Camilla murmured. “He’s here.” Aurora glanced toward the hallway where Leo was now humming to himself. “You want me to move him to the bunker?” Camilla hesitated. “No. We do this differently.” Down in the security win

The morning sun filtered through sheer curtains, casting a warm, deceptive glow across the Falcone estate. Peace, for all its glory, was fleeting. And Camilla knew better than to trust the quiet. She stood on the balcony outside her suite, dressed in black slacks and a silk blouse, sipping espresso as her eyes scanned the horizon. The city had returned to motion—but beneath its surface, shadows stirred. Behind her, Riccardo emerged, his shirt half-buttoned, tie slung loosely around his neck. “You didn’t sleep,” he said, not as a question but a quiet statement of fact. She didn’t deny it. “Something’s coming.” “Trouble?” “Opportunity wearing a mask.” He stepped beside her, following her gaze toward the eastern industrial district. “You think they’re regrouping?” “I don’t think,” she replied. “I know.” Downstairs, the war room was alive with tension. Enzo, Aurora, and a few trusted lieutenants were already seated. The map had been updated. Red circles marked unusual activity i