LOGINJon Moretti is a vicious criminal with a host of powerful enemies, including the notorious Polanksi family who will stop at nothing to exact their revenge. As Jon falls for Zoe Walsh, a naive waitress at the criminal club, SubTerra, the Polanski's find the perfect opportunity to avenge their brother. What they fail to realize is just how far Jon Moretti is willing to go for love.
View MoreDangerous.
Patrons and staff of SubTerra used only one word to describe Jon Moretti; dangerous. He was one of many dangerous men who walked through the clandestine establishment, and yet Jon Moretti was the one they warned her about. Career criminals, thieves, arsonists, gang members, murderers… the club was a prestigious hub, built specifically to give these menacing people a place where, ironically, they could feel safe. A place they knew police officers wouldn’t be barging through the door to arrest them, thanks to a low-key business agreement between the owner, Frank Muscovado, and some crooked government officials with the power to sweep the booming business under the rug.
So, when people had warned Zoe about Jon, she had laughed. Not because she hadn’t believed it, but because they were hypocrites. They, themselves, conversed and associated with a vast array of these dangerous people. Hell, some of them were those dangerous people. It hadn’t mattered to Zoe anyway. She had had no intention of falling in love with Jon, but it had been inevitable. Her feelings for him had been an unavoidable tidal wave that had hit her with a force she could never have expected.
Cooped in a dingy train carriage, bars welded sloppily onto the windows and the door padlocked shut, Zoe realized all those people had been wrong. Yes. Jon was dangerous, but not in the way everyone thought. The dirt beneath her hands was damp, the lack of fresh air forcing the musty smell far up her nostrils. Curling her legs up beneath her, salty tears slipped down her pink-tinged cheeks. Her sniffling breath blew out coolly in front of her, a desperate attempt to calm herself down. The only sound permeating the quiet space was the intense thrumming of her heart, rattling against her rib cage. The eerie silence forced her to re-evaluate every decision she had made up to this point, analyze it, wonder if she would’ve done things differently.
She wouldn’t.
Jon Moretti was terrifying. He was a muscular monster of a man with dark eyes and a crooked nose. To most people, he was unforgiving; stern features on a hard face, but to Zoe, he was loving and gentle. He cared about her. It was obvious in everything that he did. Every single thing. There was not a fiber of her being that believed he could ever hurt her. Even now, somewhere beyond the steel bars and suffocating silence, in the midst of an unfeasible situation, Zoe felt her panic twist at the thought of Jon risking everything to save her. Because she had no doubt he would.
Only now, locked inside the makeshift jail cell, did Zoe realize exactly how dangerous Jon could be. The danger was found in the precarious enemies Jon had amassed over the years; their complete lack of regard for innocent human life, their sheer determination to get him, hurt him in any way possible.
The most dangerous thing about Jon Moretti was those who sought revenge on him.
Nothing could’ve kept me away from you.The words tinkled in her ears, radiating down to thrum the chords of her heart. Blue eyes lifted, scanning his fatigued features for any sign of injury. Aside from the darkening beneath his eyes, a side effect of a lack of sleep, she found him unharmed. He smiled widely, white teeth peeking out from beneath plump lips, and Zoe was completely caught off guard. She’d been away from his handsome face for far too long.“I’ll leave you two alone to have some breakfast.” Clara cleared her throat behind them, the cheeriest voice she’d had all week sounding through the room. “You’ve had a long drive, Jon. You must be starving.”“Please join us, Mrs. Walsh. It’d be a shame for you to eat this spread cold.”Gazing between his broad smile and her mother’s Cheshire grin, Zoe felt her cheeks tinge pink. He was so charming, it was ridiculous. Her mother obliged, scooting out the seat opposite them and grasping a plate from the warmed stack. “Oh, call me Clara
Four days.It had been four long, torturous days since Zoe had last heard from Jon. He’d called, late at night and almost incoherent. She’d been so frightened, so worried something had happened to him or was about to. He’d sworn he was okay, but the off kilter way he spoke, the emotion quivering his hoarse voice, had led her to believe otherwise. He promised he’d be with her soon but that they needed to lay low for a few days, to ensure everything had gone according to plan. Zoe had agreed, although she knew she wasn’t in a position to argue. Disconnecting the call, she had somehow felt worse than before she picked up the unknown number. The only small comfort it provided was knowing Jon was safe and that she would see him sooner, rather than later.Now, however, strew across her bed, half-enveloped in the sage sheets, the comfort had well and truly dissipated. The sun rose slowly, a golden inchworm crawling its way up into the powder blue skin, its rays stretching across the dew-ridd
Four drinks down and the nausea was abating with every sip of his smooth scotch, but as his pocket buzzed, the crushing weight of dread returned, weighing down wide shoulders. His hands fumbled to answer the phone. “Hey. No, I’m still here. I’ll head out now. Nah, that’s fine. Just don’t take too long, yeah?” Forcing a chuckle, he ended the call, shoving the phone deep into his pocket. His face, now ashen, turned to Booker. “She’s freshening up.”“Alright, kid, it’s show time. Try to bring some damn color back to yet face,” the old man paused, massaging Jon’s shoulders like a trainer would for a boxer. “She has to believe it, son. Remember that. This ain’t worth shit if she don’t believe it.”“It’s not her I’m worried about believing it,” Jon swallowed, hard. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you on the other side, Book.”Unable to stifle the laugh rumbling in his throat, Booker shook his head. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatics, my boy. It’s not a funeral. Leave Harley’s men to me.
Stiff in the armchair, dark eyes watched Booker mosey across the less than crowded floor. He stood upright, knuckles cracking beneath his rough palms as he let out a sharp exhale, waiting for the old man to join him in the shadows. “You spoke to her?” he murmured. “She’s okay?”Booker released a drawn out wheeze, the exertion of his short trek evident. “She’s fine. Worried ‘bout ya, but fine. You’re a lucky man, my boy.”“You’re telling me,” Jon agreed, rubbing his weary face. “Can’t say the same thing for her though.” Narrowed eyes honed in on the brunette behind the bar, an agitated growl burbling in his throat, hatred roiling in his stomach. “Especially not after tonight.”“If you’re goin’a go through with this, kid, ya gotta wipe that look off yer face.”“I’m fucking trying,” Jon muttered, teeth clenching in his set jaw as Elizabeth glanced toward him, a smirk dancing on her over-lined lips. “Alright,” he sucked in a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with. Do you need me to go ove






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