How Do No Country For Old Men Quotes Portray Moral Decay?

BOOK ONE OF THE OBSESSION SERIES. ~~~~~~~ "Who hurt you?" Antonio's deep voice cut through the air like daggers. Isabella lowered her eyes timidly, holding on to her wounded arm. "It was Master Pedro." Mario, his bodyguard, answered instead. Antonio said nothing more. He uncrossed his legs and grabbed the large butcher knife on the table. "Wait here." He murmured to Isabella. He stormed into the gambling parlor, his face set in a deep scowl, his eyes burning with rage, his grip tight on the knife. When Pedro spotted him, he grinned and waved. "Antonio, have you come to join us?" Antonio marched up to him, grabbed his hand and chopped it off. Pedro's painful scream echoed all over the gambling room. "Don't touch what is mine!" … Orphaned at a young age, Isabella Valdez always thought her aunt Sophia who raised her wanted her to have a good life. But it was all a lie. She was being sold off. At the auction center, tied to a stake, she watched as the crowd of men bargained loudly, each trying to buy her for the highest amount. Until a deep, emotionless voice spoke calmly from the crowd. "A hundred thousand pieces of gold." … Don Antonio de Marino is the ruthless El Capo of La Vendetta Oscura, the powerful and most feared mafia organization in Las Vegas. His world revolved around three things: Wealth. Power. Revenge. But nothing could have prepared him for the chaos that came with the innocent Isabella Valdez. … This is a Mafia dark romance story and strongly rated 18. COMING SOON. BOOK TWO: THE BODYGUARD'S OBSESSION BOOK THREE: THE DEVIL'S OBSESSION

If you’re filthy minded, step inside the doors of Dirty Angels and order a drink. Dirty Angels is a cocktail bar where desire, power, and bad decisions collide. Everyone who walks through its doors is hiding something, and everyone wants something they shouldn’t. The story unfolds through rotating points of view, each character given five chapters at a time to reveal the dirty business they’re involved in. Mafia deals. Billionaire secrets. Bad boys with dangerous appetites. Obsessions that refuse to stay buried. Each arc can be read on its own, but together they weave into a larger, darker story as the full truth behind Dirty Angels slowly comes into focus. At the centre are Marisol and Ethan, locked in a volatile enemies-to-lovers dynamic neither of them is willing to name. Around them orbit lovers, rivals, and predators: a mafia ex who won’t let go, a billionaire with too much power, a shark lawyer who knows exactly where the bodies are buried, and a found family bound together by loyalty, desire, and shared secrets. Dirty Angels attracts those who crave the forbidden. Boundaries blur. Power shifts hands. Desire takes many forms, and not everyone is looking for love. Some will find it anyway. Others will burn everything down on the way. Tropes & Themes: Enemies to lovers • MM • MMF • FF • Power dynamics • Daddy energy • Age gap (all adults) • Step-relations (adults) • BDSM themes • Obsession • Found family • Dark desire

Police officer L. Vos saved Sofia Sullivan five years ago from the father of her child, Gael Cliff, a wicked man, who threatens to harm her and her son. After his brave action, L. Vos sacrificed his own life to keep her safe, making deals within a very dark world and quitting his job to become someone else. She didn't know what happened to him after she was saved; she only wanted to see him one more time to thank him. When their worlds meet again, the beautiful Sofia feels that her chance to say thank you has come, but she never thought she would find the same man being another person. There was nothing left of that good officer. Nonjocular look nor kindness. Now he exuded impertinence and coldness. However, despite the shock of the encounter, life kept under its sleeves a great attraction, as strong between them as the power of the dark secrets he always hid. What will Sofia do when she discovers the truth of that coldness? How will Leonel keep her away and safe from all that darkness? This is a novel of drama and action, romance and eroticism, where the evil of the good reigns to preserve life.

I'm a half-baked forensic examiner whose only redeeming quality is the ability to understand animals. The crime scene is inside a lavish villa. The lady of the house lies dead on the floor with a blunt-force injury to the back of her head so deep that her bone is visible. The safe has been pried open, and a million dollars in cash has vanished without a trace. Clear shoe prints mark the backyard wall, evidence that someone has climbed over it. "This one's clear as day. This is a textbook robbery-homicide. The suspect is likely a young male, around six feet tall, has a prior theft record, and knows how to cover his tracks. Check the surveillance footage in the area and look into places where he might've moved the stolen cash." The director of the forensic science center, Egbert Woodward, has been in the profession for three decades and is a widely respected authority. The officers at the scene nod in unison and begin taking notes. I'm the only one who stares at the 30 flies circling the ceiling for a full 3 minutes before taking a step forward and piping up, "Dr. Woodward, this isn't a robbery-homicide. It's a crime of passion. The murderer is the victim's husband!"

After my younger brother died, my parents and grandfather all killed themselves. Each of them died in a different way, but they shared one thing in common: Before their deaths, every one of them had read my brother's suicide note. And in that note, there was only a single sentence. Reporters fought for a chance to interview me. The police interrogated me overnight. Countless people wanted to know what that sentence said. But I never told anyone. Until the tenth anniversary of my brother's death, when I saw a figure standing in front of his grave. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of excitement. Because I knew my turn had finally come.

In the VIP lounge of an underground casino, Maeve, the Falcone family's princess, had been plied with too much hard liquor. Fueled by alcohol, someone goaded her into revealing the most shameless thing she'd ever done to win over the Don. She swirled her glass, pointed at me dealing cards behind the table, and threw her head back with a laugh. "Seven years ago, when Declan was in a coma after a shootout, I took his private phone. And I deleted the distress message that bitch sent him. Every last trace of it. Then I replied in his name: You're a burden. Go die." "You'll never guess what happened next. That idiot stood outside the safe house all night in a downpour, like a stray dog. I almost died laughing…" The room erupted in crude laughter. Only the man enthroned at the head of the table remained silent. The crystal whiskey glass in his hand shattered with a sharp crack. Blood mixed with the amber liquor, trickling over the veins on the back of his hand before dripping onto the carpet. His murderous, bloodshot eyes were locked on me. I calmly dealt the last hole card in front of him and offered a clean, white silk handkerchief. "Don Declan, you should wipe your hand. Blood on the felt is bad luck." After all, some stains never wash out.