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The Delano palatial estate was large, and that was an understatement. Almost a hundred rooms, Beatrice boasted to anyone who cared to listen, which was a bit of an exaggeration, of course!Set at the end of a winding drive lined with ancient oaks, the mansion stood in grand, gentle defiance of time—vast, sprawling, and full of life. Its architecture was an elegant patchwork of eras: a wide front with high-arched windows and ivy-clad stone, wings that had been added over generations, and a warm, terracotta-tiled roof stretching out in all directions like the skirts of a noblewoman settling into her chair.The grounds unfolded endlessly around it—rolling lawns broken by old fountains, sun-drenched courtyards, flowerbeds in glorious disarray, and wide terraces where vines clambered over wrought-iron railings. A hedge maze curled like a secret to one side, and orchards stretched into the distance on the other, the trees heavy with fruit in the summer haze. Stone paths wandered without hur
Piers Delano was furious. He was, as Claude would have said, Hopping Mad. And that, for the young mob Boss, was an unusual occurrence.His normally cool demeanour had vanished, and he was puffing away on a cigarette furiously as he stared out at the dark night slipping away outside his tinted window.The cars in his cavalcade shot across the countryside, but he was oblivious to anything but the thoughts swirling around in his head.He adored his mother, much more than he respected his father. And that was the simple truth. He would lay his life down to keep Mumma safe. And happy.All during his growing years, he had watched Lucien Delano as he moved from being a man who was barely civil to his first firstborns, to the man gradually came round to cherishing his daughters and sons. And now, to an adoring, indulging grandfather, who doted on his grandchildren. But…Some wounds do not ever heal.Piers had grown up, seeing the distress on his young mother’s face, had heard her sob quietly
Bianca headed in the direction of the Craps table, determination in her stride. Barry was close behind her, and three of the other wingmen tailed her discreetly.The craps table was alive, a glowing island of green felt under bright overhead lights, surrounded by a semi-circle of players — some casual, others clearly veterans. Chips clacked in eager fingers. The air pulsed with energy, conversation, and the occasional roar of laughter.A sharp-faced stickman, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black vest, leaned forward, his long wooden stick poised like a conductor’s baton. “Coming out!” he called, voice cutting through the hum of the casino floor.At the centre of the action stood the shooter — a woman in a sequined black dress, focused and smiling invitingly. She selected two red dice from a neat row that the stickman had offered moments ago. The rest were swept away by the stick’s graceful swoop. She shook the dice in one hand with a practised flick, then hurled them across the ta
A suspicion had been growing within her mind ever since the first night when Piccolo had sauntered in, like he owned the place.He was after something, and was reporting to someone else.Bianca had already gotten the information she had asked for from Ria Delano. The toad of a brother of Roxanne’s still lived at his late father’s mansion. With his string of mistresses, all of whom he kept changing at the drop of a hat.And almost every night, after showing up at the Casino, Nico Piccolo would go alone, accompanied only by his chauffeur, to a desolate little cabin hidden in the heart of the woods bordering Thomastown and Hollowford.Ria’s men had not been abo to identify just who lived there, for the cabin had a high voltage electric fence around it. Shielding it from people who approached. And a team of fierce Rottweilers who would bark in a frenzy if any stranger approached.Ria had shrugged apologetically as she informed Bianca,“My men did not want to reveal themselves. But whoeve
When Bianca walked into the Casino, she was instantly aware of the muted hum of activity in the place. She had begun to enjoy turning up before it was crowded with the people who arrived, eyes gleaming, an air of anticipation around them. A greed. A hunger.Now, the huge Casino was deserted. And Bianca loved it.She walked around, musing.In the afternoon, a casino feels like a stage before the curtain rises — hushed, dimly lit, holding its breath.The overhead lights are low, not yet dazzling. A soft amber glow spills across the silent slot machines, their screens looping idle animations, spinning cherries and sevens that no one watches. The roulette tables are deserted, the green felt pristine, numbers waiting for fate to spin them into relevance. Blackjack and baccarat tables lie still, chairs tucked in, cards not yet dealt.There’s an almost sacred stillness to the place. The carpet muffles footsteps — a deep, patterned red that has seen countless fortunes lost and won, though
The Don stood still for a moment, his sharp eyes locked on his opponent, the silence between them thick with promise. Then, with deliberate calm, he peeled off his shirt, exposing his raw masculine energy.From her uncomfortable position on the floor, Tatjana stared, transfixed. She wanted to sigh, to swoon over him, at this piece of carved manliness… rippling muscles, flat board abs…The Assassin’s large hand was around her throat, but she was unaware of anything but the Alpha male presence of Lucien Delano.He exuded virility, almost animal-like. The ruggedness, the predatory masculinity in his stance, feet apart, ready and alert, as he stood, stripping down to his expensive trousers, kicking off his shoes, it made her swallow in unabashed desire.All Tatjana wanted to do was swoon at his feet, beg him to make rough love to her…She was still bound, her wrists hurt, and so did her cheek and ear, still ringing from the blow the assassin had delivered. But young Tatjana was oblivious