THE BEAUTIFUL MAFIA BOSS

PROLOGUEAlessandra Franco POVOf all the things on my to-do list today, getting myself kidnapped was not one of them.I count five of them. Maybe six, but I can’t be sure. Three guards watch over me today because this was supposed to be a routine cash pickup. My men are quickly incapacitated. Before I even have the chance to blink or draw the gun hidden in my jacket’s inner pocket, someone throws a bag of thickly woven black cloth over my head and disarms me.I can’t see a thing. The bag smells sour with sweat. My hands are forcefully bound behind me with what I can only assume are thick zip ties. I scream bloody murder, kicking and thrashing with all my might as someone grabs me by the arms, lifts me off the pavement, and promptly throws me into the back of a—car. They slam the door and the noises of the city become muffled, barely audible over my frantic breathing. Did these sons of bitches seriously throw me into a trunk? Do they know who I am?The rumble of a car engine, the sque

“Like I said,” Barry Maximo says, balling his hands on the desk, “it’s not going to happen. My daughter is independent. She has a free will.” He slams a fist on his desk. “She will marry when she’s ready and who she bloody well wants.”The patience vanishes from my father’s features. He stands. His smile is intact, but the quiet authority of his voice as he towers over Maximo leaves no uncertainty as to the outcome of this conversation. “Take some time to share the happy news with her. I can see it won’t be today. What’s another few months if it’ll help her get used to the idea? However, make no mistake. The wedding will happen. You made the bargain, and I’ll hold you to it.”Maximo jumps to his feet. He opens his mouth but wisely thinks the better of whatever he is going to say and shuts it again. He’s got money, but we’re the ones bargaining with fear. Our threats are never empty.The door is yanked open, cutting into the tense atmosphere.A thickset woman with short auburn hair wea

Luna Belle POVI turn my face toward the voice, and then everything inside me goes still. The guy leaning on the wall next to the door is both the most arresting and scariest male specimen I’ve seen. With a square jaw and strong nose, his angular face is strikingly handsome. Yet at a certain angle, there’s a harshness to those lines. Tall and broad with hair as black as coal and skin with a Mediterranean coloring, he looks like a character who emerged straight from a fantasy book. From a different world. He can be either a fallen angel or a demon, depending on his mood.Right now, with the tilt to his lips, he leans toward the angelic side, but rather an archangel with a sword decapitating dragons than an angel with soft white wings. If he scowls, he’ll look more like a demon. He’s so beautiful, so utterly perfectly created, that something twists in my stomach. He’s dark like the ocean and breathless like water. That’s how I’d describe him if I could only use one word.Water.However,

“Hmmm.” He contemplates my answer, studying the road in the headlights of the car. “That will certainly win you her agreement to marry you, but emotions are fickle. You can’t trust love alone to seal such an important deal. From what I’ve heard, she’s close to her father. If he doesn’t consent, she may refuse to marry you for not wanting to disappoint him or evoke his disapproval. If Barry Maximo was the only stumbling block, it would’ve been easy enough to simply get rid of him, but if he dies before you’ve taken possession of your share of the company, Bryan Andrade will inherit everything. No,” he muses. “We need Barry Maximo to agree. We need a much stronger incentive than love.”I hit the brakes and slow down to the speed limit as we approach the golf estate. A guard signs us in at the gates.Drumming my fingers on the wheel, I contemplate our situation. Barry Maximo isn’t pulling out of the deal he made only because he doesn’t want his princess to marry a lowly, filthy Filipino-

Leonardo Sebastian Franco's POVAn hour before dawn, I pull on a tracksuit and search my hotel room for items suitable for a kidnapping. I settle on the laundry bag and one of my socks. The thick black bag won’t let light through, and the sock won’t leave marks. Then I scribble a note on the hotel stationary to inform my father that I’m going for a jog on the beach. After slipping the note under his door, I snatch a pair of golf gloves from the kiosk in reception on my way out.In the car, I pull the address I’d taken from the HR records at Barry Maximo’s office up on the GPS. Selecting the shortest route, I head out to an affluent neighborhood on the outskirts of Kabankalan and park in front of a modern house that overlooks the valley.The morning is misty, the sun battling to break through the clouds on the horizon. Cows graze on the green hills behind the sea. I switch on the car heater to defog the windscreen. While I wait, I fire off an email from my phone, instructing our best m