I'd Do It All Over Again: The Life And Times Of Igor Cassini

Alex Carter has spent his life struggling to make ends meet, haunted by the unsolved murder of his parents. At 23, he finally lands a job as a flight attendant, hoping to leave his painful past behind and build a better future. But everything changes when he meets Captain Damien Russo—the most sought-after pilot in the country. Towering at seven feet tall, dangerously handsome, and impossibly charismatic, Damien is a man of mystery, admired by passengers and feared by those who know his true nature. What starts as stolen glances and secret rendezvous in airport hotels soon turns into a passionate affair. But Damien refuses to come out, keeping their relationship hidden. Alex tries to ignore the red flags—the late-night disappearances, the cryptic phone calls, the way powerful men seem to bow at Damien's feet. Then the truth crashes down like a storm. Damien Russo isn't just a pilot; he's the heir to one of the most powerful drug cartels in the world, using his position to smuggle contraband across borders. And worse—his family may have played a role in the death of Alex's parents. Torn between love and revenge, Alex is thrust into a world of luxury, deception, and deadly secrets. As rival gangs close in and the FBI tightens its grip, he must make an impossible choice: betray the man who stole his heart or risk everything for a love that was never meant to survive. One thing is certain—no one walks away from the mafia unscathed.

My ex-husband is getting married. and.... I’m the one hired to plan the wedding. My name is Arabella Paloma Garcia. Five years ago, I was arranged to marry an Italian heir with an angel’s face and the personality of something between a blizzard and a natural disaster: Rafael Vittorio Ricciardi. We spent one year of marriage arguing hard enough to make a lawyer retire early. Then his ex came back, and I left with a divorce bracelet on my finger… and a pair of babies in my belly. Now I live in San Francisco. I own a wedding planning company, I’m a single mom to two demon twins, and I’m very, very proud of the fact that the name Ricciardi doesn’t appear anywhere in my life. Until one email lands in my inbox: Ricciardi–Marino Wedding. Groom: Rafael Vittorio Ricciardi. Bride: Alessandra Marino… the woman who once became the reason I got kicked out of his life. I should’ve said no. But Alessandra is infuriating, and I want to prove I’m over Rafael. So I take the job. But he walks in with a cold stare that sends my stomach straight to the floor. No recognition. A helicopter crash two years ago wiped six years of his life. Including me. Including our marriage. Perfect. I’ll plan my ex-husband’s wedding, send him down the aisle, and go back to my life. The plan goes smoothly. Right up until the wedding day. The bride disappears. The guests are waiting. The media is already rolling. And Rafael closes the bridal suite door… drops a bomb that earns him my fist in his face: “You’re the one who going to walk down the aisle with me.”

"I need an answer, Collins. Or is your guilt eating you up so bad that..." "There is no guilt," he deadpans, the weight of his words resting on my shoulders, making them sag in sorrow. "It was only a matter of time until you found out. I want to say I'm sorry, but that would be me lying..." Blood rushes to my ears. I can't believe what I'm hearing. "What? You're... you're not — " "No," he shrugs. "You brought this upon yourself." "Excuse me? I made you cheat?" "Yes." ----------------------- When hotshot billionaire mogul Collins Black propositions her to be his wife, twenty-two-year-old, script writer Anna Whitfield believes she's the luckiest woman on earth. But things quickly go sour when one year later, she discovers that Collins has been cheating on her with her best friend, Diana. What's worse? Collins proposes to Diana on a night which is supposed to be the most important night of her life. Enraged, and frustrated, Anna begs the nearest man she can find for a kiss to spite her ex-husband. But the man who obliges isn't just any man, but the most powerful mafia don in Russia. Viktor Ivanov. [NOTE: This is an ex-husband/mafia romance. You’re guaranteed to have a swell time reading. Do enjoy]

On our tenth year anniversary, I'm making out with my husband, Don Raimondo Brocchi, in his office. Just as I'm about to secretly slip the pregnancy report into his hand as a surprise, his secretary, Anna Altamura, walks into the office. We're forced to stop our makeout session. Meanwhile, Anna shoots me a provocative look before she begins chatting with Raimondo in fluent Italese. "Don Brocchi, who do you like more in bed? Me or the Donna?" Raimondo lets out a soft chuckle. The vibrations of his voice makes my back crawl with numbness. "You, of course. After all, you're younger and tighter, amore. Meanwhile, Cassia is already 30 years old." Haughtily, Anna picks up a document before returning to her seat. What they don't know is that my Nonno hails from Sicaria. That means I understand each and every Italese word they just said. After forcing myself to calm down, I locate the invitation mailed from Anworth Institute that comes with a permanent position in my inbox. Then, I key in a short response to the person in charge. I agree to travel to the institution. Before my trip, I will make sure to terminate everything that belongs to me.

Everyone said I was Domenico Calvetti's most obedient woman. On our first wedding anniversary, he flirted with a pair of twins at the gambling table. He had lipstick smeared all over his shirt. I smiled and wiped it away with a silk handkerchief, but he swatted my hand aside. "Don't kill the mood." In the third year, the star performer from the club he ran showed up at my door with a gun pressed to my temple, demanding to take my place. Without flinching, I disarmed her using the technique he taught me and disposed of the body myself. Behind me, he held his new lover and laughed softly. "Lucia, you always know what to do." In the fifth year, he blew up the library my father left behind just to make his new flame, Marilena Rossetti, smile. That library was my mother's favorite spot when she was alive, and it held the only photographs of our family of three. The explosion made me the laughingstock of the city. People whispered, "Signora Calvetti can't even protect her own memories." Everyone believed I could never leave the Calvetti family or Domenico, but they forgot how this all started. Back then, he rescued me from my adoptive father and fell in love with me at first sight. He knelt and begged to marry me, swearing he would protect me from blood and pain for the rest of my life. For ten years, I held onto those empty words. At our tenth anniversary party, his hundredth mistress arrived. Alice Russo, fresh out of college, held a glass of red wine and poured it down my gown while Domenico watched. "Signora Calvetti, this dress is so old. Given your position, you should be wearing something better." Everyone at the party waited to see my humiliation. Instead, I lowered my eyes and dialed Domenico's father's number. "Father, the ten-year agreement is over. I won't be Signora Calvetti anymore."

All of Italy knew Kayson Moretti was obsessed with me. He was the untouchable Don of the Moretti family, a man who never lost control in public, yet he broke every rule for me. He declared his love at a gathering of the most powerful mafia families in the country, then bought an entire private island just to build me a glass-domed garden when he proposed. For years, he laid the world at my feet—power, jewels, territory, status. If I wanted something, Kayson didn’t promise it. He made it mine. That was why everyone believed I was the luckiest woman in Italy. They were wrong. Because the same man who swore he would die for me was sleeping with his private secretary behind my back. Worse, he got her pregnant. The day she sent me her ultrasound, their bed photos, and every intimate secret she thought would destroy me, I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I erased every trace I had ever left in his world. My name. My accounts. My records. My past. I staged my death. I let the world believe I had died in a private jet crash.