LOGINLondon was supposed to be freedom. A clean start far from the bruises, the shouting, and the father who made my childhood a nightmare. For two quiet years, I built a small, safe life with books, cold nights, and nobody to fear. But safety ends the moment danger knocks on my door. One unforgivable mistake. And suddenly I'm not just found by the devil in a suit-I'm sold. Straight into the hands of Antonio Rosa, the ruthless Don of New York. Antonio Ruling New York with iron fist, blood, and zero mercy has always been therapeutic. People don't hand me their daughters on a whim-they hand me their fear. But when a useless man tries to buy his life with a trembling girl, I take the deal... if only to teach him a final lesson. Daisy Harrison is supposed to be my warning to him. The man who couldn't care less about her. My leverage. My future wife in name only. Something pretty to destroy while the world watches and does nothing. But the moment she lifts her chin at me, all fire and defiance, I know I've made the most dangerous mistake of my life. Because I don't fall. I don't feel. I don't love. Yet here I am... losing control over the one woman I was never meant to keep.
View MoreSundays were meant for softness.They were made for mugs filled with tea that went cold because you forgot about it, blankets that are pulled up to your chin while rain hit against the windows. Sundays were for getting lost in books and pretending the rest of the world had agreed to leave you alone for a day.I had planned to do all of that. But right now I'm staring out of my bedroom window, trying and failing to look nonchalant as I see if my stalker - who hasn't even made any attempts to get noticed - is waiting around for me to leave my home. "Daisy!" Sloane yelled from downstairs. "You need to come here. Right now."There it was. The wrongness. The other shoe dropping from a quiet morning. Her voice wasn't panicked, but it wasn't casual either. It had that careful tightness she used toward her mother when she knew she had to tred carefully on what to say so she didn't I took the rest of the stairs two at a time.Sloane stood just inside the front door, arms folded, her weight
She never looks behind her.That was the first thing that pissed me off about her.Most people do. Not immediately — not when they think they're imagining things — but eventually. A glance in a window to catch a shadow. A slight turn of the head. A stumble meant to bait whoever's there into revealing themselves. Something dramatic.Daisy Harrison does none of it.She doesn't know someone is after her for her father's debts. For weeks, I've had my men tail her every move. Not once has she questioned her sanity. Not out loud anyway. Every CCTV frame I have watched, they capture her strength in stride. No falter. No glance over her shoulder. She's either oblivious or indifferent to her safety — and that's the second thing that pisses me off about the woman I am currently watching from the shadows.I learned about Daisy in fragments at first — photographs sliding across my desk back in New York, timestamps scribbled on the back: where she went, who she was with. Quiet reports, delivered w
I don't know who is following me.Man. Woman. One person or several. I just know that something has been there long enough to learn my rhythms. My patterns and my routines.You don't need eyes to feel that kind of attention. It settles between your shoulders, presses against the back of your thoughts, making you feel crazy. I've lived with worse. This is quieter. More patient.It's been weeks.And yet, I don't look back.Looking back gives things shape. And I'm not ready to give it one. That would make them know I feel their presence lurking which gives them ammunition so I carry on with my daily tasks. Playing dumb. The bell above the bookstore door rings softly as I lock up for the night. Familiar. Gentle. A sound that belongs to safety, even if safety is mostly an illusion I indulge in for the sake of routine.I rest my forehead against the glass for a second longer than necessary. This is why I love my job as a bookstore woman. It's a world that pulls me inside and I don't have
Marcus circles me like he’s bored of me already.That’s how I know I’m doing better. I'm getting there. I feel it in my bones.“Again,” he says, flat. Not loud. Not impressed. “From the top.”I reset my stance. Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees loose. Weight balanced—not leaning forward like I used to. My hands come up automatically now, palms half-open. Ready. They don't shake like they used to. They aren't sweaty anymore.I don't have to think about it anymore, I just do it.“Go on,” Marcus adds, tilting his head. “Unless you’ve decided tonight’s the night you quit.”I snort under my breath and step forward.He lunges without warning—fast, controlled. I catch his wrist, pivot like he drilled into me, and drive my elbow back toward where his ribs would be if he weren’t already shifting out of range. He blocks it, of course. He always does. But this time my balance holds. This time I don’t stumble. I keep track on his weak points. His left arm is his strongest arm so I always take my a






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