Badges We Don T Need No

He was dubbed the Devil's incarnate because of his fierce persona. After all, he was the feared, ruthless American Russian mafia Don Vladivostok Konstantin Kostya. Love wasn't meant for him, he had his demons until he met her. She was never enough, she was the thorn amid beautiful roses. Everything she wanted and had was taken away from her and she was ok with that, having only a boyfriend who loved her but soon that too was taken away. After she had just returned from a date with her boyfriend Zeus, she got the news. "Get ready Magaret. You'll be getting married tomorrow." Those were her father's words, he said them with coldness evident in his voice, no sign of compassion in his eyes. The moment she heard those words her world crumbled, and her heart arched as she felt her breath get stuck in her throat. And when she found out the identity of her soon-to-be husband she thought it was the end of her. Never did she think it would happen but she fell for him, the man she was supposed to hate!

Sarian’s life has never been easy, but stripping to keep her sister safe and the bills down was a small price to pay — until Don Julio Rossini walked into the club where she dances. The ruthless mafia lord isn’t just there for a show; he’s hunting her father, who stole something precious from him. Betrayed by a childhood friend and with no escape, Sarian is into Don Julio’s dangerous world, where power is currency, fidelity is fragile, and desire is a must. When Sarian fails to deliver her father, Don Julio offers her a deal, her body in exchange for her family’s safety. But as she fights to reclaim her freedom, she discovers a darker side Don Julio has adversaries who want her just as important as he does but there is something different, Don Julio is in love with her. Trapped in a deadly game of control and temptation, Sarian must decide — submit to Don Julio ’s demands or outsmart him before he consumes her fully.

Kaliya Ortiz is the illegitimate daughter of the Reyes family who handles businesses around the country. Treated like a nobody in her own family she grew up to be a quiet woman, always hidden in plain sight. Caleb Cruz is the man behind the DY group that dominated the country’s economy. A known business figure and a bachelor on top of that. Many women attempted to make him theirs but the unmoving Caleb wasn’t easy to seduce. Fate somehow seemed to toy the two and decided to play Cupid. "Will you marry me?” "What can you give me then?" She frowned, seemingly lost in thought and then said, "I can give you money." "I'm not in need of money." "Then a house?" "I already have one." "A beautiful wife." He laughed but wasn't convinced. "That certainly is a good catch but..." he trailed off. "It's tempting but no." The woman stared at him, unsmiling. "Then my body?" His smile didn't fade. "Do you want to give it to me?" An encounter leads them to a tangle of messes and to contracts and maybe… towards love.

　　When my husband’s brother died in a gang war, Luca came forward to “take responsibility” for his widowed sister-in-law, Sophia, and her son. 　　He used his connections to move Sophia’s son into a top-tier private academy while pushing my son down into the slum streets. He described it as "essential grit for a Mafia heir." He purchased Sophia a penthouse and a million-dollar car, yet stopped the support money meant for our child and me. 　　My son died in the street, beaten to death by some worthless thugs over a piece of rotten bread. As for me? My head was smashed in a back alley by a drug addict searching for the last ten bucks in my pocket. 　　Only when my spirit left my body did I see the truth: Sophia had controlled everything the entire time. 　　Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. One day before the wedding. 　　I did not lose even a moment. I called off the wedding with Luca and dialed his uncle, Vincenzo. If Luca wanted Sophia that much, fine. This time, I would give them exactly what they desired.

Yo era una chica de los suburbios que se enamoró de Damon Vitale, el padrino más temido de Nueva York. Durante cinco años, fui suya. Recibí nueve balas por él. Él besaba mis cicatrices mientras yo me desangraba por su causa. Me estrechaba contra él. Abrochaba el collar de la reina alrededor de mi garganta. Luego, una vez que sanaba, me poseía sin sentido, con una pasión que se sentía eterna. Pensé que pasaríamos nuestras vidas juntos. Pensé que se casaría conmigo. Pero en nuestra noche número 999 juntos, me dijo que estaba comprometido. Con Bianca, una princesa de la mafia de una familia rival. Me tragué mis lágrimas. Él simplemente me tomó de la barbilla, me sopló el humo en la cara y se rió. —Realmente no pensaste que podrías casarte conmigo, ¿verdad, Nora? Seamos claros. Nosotros tenemos sexo. Eso es todo. No eres una socia. Eres una pieza de arte que colecciono. Una mascota de mi propiedad. Una mascota. Eso es todo lo que él siempre quiso que yo fuera. En lugar de eso, tomé un teléfono desechable. [Acepto su oferta. Tres días. Sáquenme de este maldito Nueva York.]

"I'm Aiden Hart's secretary!" I shrieked over the phone. "Calm down, Charlie. It can't be that bad." I heard amusement in Emily's voice. My roommate's attitude did nothing to soothe my nerves. "It's not bad; it's a disaster!" I convinced. "I can't work for someone as hot as him! I can't breathe around him!" I might have been on the verge of a panic attack. I was supposed to work for his father, the well-respected sixty-eight-year-old Alexander Hart, not his youngest son! This wasn't what I agreed to! Less than a month ago, my dear friend died while working at Hart Global Corporation as the CEO's secretary. Now, I was about to replace her while investigating the truth behind her death. I thought I was prepared to enter the snake's nest, but I clearly underestimated the enemy… Aiden Hart was the purest embodiment of my sexual fantasies, and believe me, after four sexless years, I had more than too many of them twirling inside my brain. Every day, I found my boss more and more alluring, and I could only protect my weak heart by repeating my newly created mantra... "Don't fall for Mr. Hart... Don't fall for Mr. Hart... Don't fall for Mr. Hart."

After I fell while pregnant, my six-year-old son, Nico Bertelli, did not come to help me. When I woke up, the baby in my belly was gone. At my hospital bedside, Nico hid behind my husband, Roberto Bertelli, and mumbled, "Mommy, I thought you fainted on purpose to get my attention. You've pretended to pass out a few times before just to stop me from going out with Ms. Pelosi." Roberto chimed in coldly, "You're always pulling tricks to get attention. Nico doesn't even trust you anymore. You need to take a hard look at yourself and figure out why he prefers being around Martina Pelosi over you." I was completely heartbroken. The day after I was discharged, I went home, packed up everything that belonged to me, and left behind only two documents: a divorce agreement and a letter terminating my parental rights.

I loved Adriano Ferraro—yeah, that Don—for five freaking years. He wasn't just my fiancé; he was my anchor in a world where loyalty got tested, and weakness got you killed. We had it all mapped out—dreams, plans, a future we actually thought we owned. Until I lost our baby. I reached for him, shaking, desperate for anything. But comfort never came. Instead, it was her. His stepsister, propped up. "Don't buy her act. She's just fishing for attention—again." That snake smiled like she just won a prize for emotional torture, dripping venom while fanning the flames. And Adriano? He bought it. He turned away. In that moment, it hit me—I wasn't just grieving. I was completely alone. The kid I carried, the future I built in my head? Gone. And so was I. I walked out. On him. On the Ferraro Family I was stupid enough to think I could belong to. All I left behind was silence. Empty space where we used to be. Now Adriano's drowning in regret, but it's too damn late. The life we should've had, the love we should've built? Dust. And her? The stepsister who ruined it all? She's paying for every lie.

Descubrieron a mi prometido con mi propia hermana la misma noche de nuestra fiesta de compromiso… en una bodega privada, cruzando todos los límites. Mi apellido quedó manchado. Mi nombre, arrastrado por el suelo. Y yo… convertida en la burla de toda la mafia de Chicago. Entonces, como salido de la oscuridad, apareció Don Lorenzo Falcone. Frente a todas las familias, sin titubear, me pidió matrimonio. Con una sola jugada, limpió mi honor… y selló una alianza mucho más peligrosa. Durante cuatro años, me trató como a una reina. Intocable. Intensa. Suya. Pero había algo que él no podía darme: un heredero. Una vieja herida lo condenaba. Hasta este año. Gracias al médico de confianza de la familia… quedé embarazada. Y desde ese momento, su atención hacia mí se volvió obsesiva. Devota. Absoluta. Creí que lo tenía todo. Que ese hombre frío y poderoso era mi salvación. Mi refugio. Mi único aliado. Hasta que una noche… escuché lo que nunca debí. —Jefe, Arabella te ama. ¿Cómo pudiste hacerle esto? —dijo su mano derecha, con rabia contenida—. Manipulaste al médico… cambiaste los frascos… la convertiste en la portadora del heredero de los Moretti. ¿Todo porque Isabella no soportaba el dolor? El bebé nacerá en dos meses… ¿qué piensas hacer? Silencio. Y luego… su voz. Helada. Cruel. —Cuando nazca, Isabella se lo llevará. Es la única forma de asegurar su lugar con los Moretti. —¿Y Arabella? —Le diré que el bebé murió. Mi mundo se rompió en ese instante. —Seguirá siendo la señora Falcone —añadió, sin emoción—. Tendrá todo lo que quiera. Así que eso era yo para él. Un medio. Un cuerpo. Un sacrificio. Mi “protector”… siempre perteneció a otra. ¿Ese hijo que crecía dentro de mí, manchado por su mentira? No lo quería. ¿Y ese matrimonio construido sobre traición? Se terminó.

Yo era la princesa de la familia Hillrose. Él era Blair Falcone, Don de la familia Falcone. Una combinación perfecta. Éramos la pareja de poder de la ciudad de New Horizon, la envidia de todos en el bajo mundo. Hasta tres días antes de nuestra boda. En un momento, estábamos perdidos el uno en el otro, su cuerpo moviéndose dentro de mí, sus labios dejando un rastro de fuego sobre mi piel. Al siguiente, él estaba anunciando tranquilamente: —Flora, hay algo que tengo que decirte. Legalmente, ya tengo una esposa. El viejo me casó con ella hace seis años. Es la hija de un hombre que recibió una bala por él. —Si puedes vivir con eso —continuó—, nuestro matrimonio sigue en pie. Tal como estaba planeado. Lo miré, incrédula. —¿Y yo qué? ¿Qué fueron nuestros seis años? Dio una lenta calada a su puro. —Sé de qué va esto. Entonces, ¿qué vas a hacer? Mi mano se movió instintivamente hacia mi vientre. Él no lo sabía. Iba a contarle mi feliz secreto esta noche: estaba embarazada. Pero ahora, no iba a decirle ni una maldita cosa.