Brooklyn Nine Nine Peralta Novels & Stories

"I'm attracted to you" he smiled seductively. "I don't like you, I only want to f**k you. That sexy gown makes me wanna bury myself in between your thighs" Those were the exact words Charles Monterio said to Hailey Brooklyn. * Washington DC is known to be the richest city in America. The rich dominated the town, if you perhaps find any poor ones there, they were either maids or squatters who live in a poor neighbourhood. Hailey Brooklyn could be found in this category, her parents live in Kelso, the poorest neighbourhood. Hailey is an extremely beautiful lady with a crazy attitude. Yes, she might be poor but that doesn't mean she can be stepped on. She's a jobless lady who engages herself in menial jobs just to make ends meet. During those numerous days, she came across Charles Monterio, A well-known Billionaire in the city. Charles Monterio, a devilishly handsome billionaire. One of the top ten richest billionaires in the country. He's incredibly good-looking and every woman's fantasy. He believes in only three things; Money, Power and S*x. Those three forces drove his world. His first encounter with Hailey got him craving for her sexy body which haunts him daily. Her craziness was definitely out of the world. As much as Charles craved to have Hailey on his bed, she kept running away from him, refusing to be a rich man's prey. What happens when fate decides to play a trick on Hailey? What happens when she finally gets a job which has been her everyday prayer, a secretary to the CEO who's no other than Charles Monterio? What will be Hailey's fate? Will she give in to the job or not? And if she accepts the job, will she give in to the billionaire's desire?

Synopsis: The Billionaire’s Vengeful Queen Aurora Voss-Ryder has spent ten years perfecting the role of perfect wife to billionaire Damien Ryder. On their anniversary, she gifts him a rescued AI startup worth $400 million and proof she’s the reason Ryder Corp still breathes. In return, he hands her divorce papers, a forged scandal, and a threat to leak photos of her begging. Pregnant and betrayed, Aurora walks out with nothing but a positive test and a text from a ghost: “The Voss bloodline isn’t broken. Come home.” In her mother’s abandoned Brooklyn studio, Aurora unlocks a safe containing a $12 billion secret—VossTech, an AI empire built in shadows, 51% hers if she marries within a year of her mother’s death. With joint accounts frozen and paparazzi circling, she allies with Victor Kane, her mother’s dying partner and the only man who can give her controlling interest. A paper marriage, a black diamond ring, and a syringe of custom prenatal serum later, Aurora storms the VossTech boardroom in a killer pantsuit and claims interim CEO. But Damien isn’t finished. He forges abortion records, demands custody of the unborn child, and prepares a hostile takeover. Aurora counters with offshore leaks, a turncoat mistress, and two ex-Mossad shadows in the vents. At midnight in Ryder Tower, gun drawn and city watching, she tears up his custody agreement and watches federal agents drag him away. Victory tastes like ash when Victor’s heart fails hours later. His final words warn of a “blood moon” birth and enemies still hunting the Voss gene. With her due date looming and a new message signed –E., Aurora realizes the war for her empire, her child, and her life has only begun.

My name is Clara Kelly. I was born in Brooklyn, into an Irish-American cop’s family. My father spent his whole career walking a beat out of the 84th Precinct. My mother volunteered at the parish. I was the first girl on our block to get into Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I was volunteering at a charity gala. I picked up the wrong glass of wine and ended up dumping it down the front of a man’s Brioni suit. That man was Adrian Francesco Moretti. Fourth-generation Don of the Moretti Family of New York, and one of the five families of Cosa Nostra. He chased me for four years. I said no six times. The seventh time, he stood outside my law firm in the rain until three-fifteen in the morning. I married him. Two decades in, he’d handed me the keys to the entire Moretti Family. In our world they called me “the Irish Donna,” a woman with no Italian blood who somehow held the seat. Childless by choice, the two of us. Famously in love. Until that Wednesday afternoon, when my college roommate of twenty years, my best friend Vivian Sinclair, walked into my living room with a five-year-old boy. She said the boy was Adrian’s son. She said that five years ago, she’d taken a used condom out of the wastebasket in my upstairs master bedroom, kept it frozen for three years, and done IVF. She said she was the real mother of the Moretti heir. She was the real Donna Moretti. “Be smart. Pack your bags and walk out. You might even get to keep your life.” “You’re barren. The Moretti Family doesn’t need you.” I looked at the woman I’d called my best friend for half my adult life. I didn’t say a word. She thought she was holding the winning card. What she didn’t know was that she’d just stepped onto a board Adrian and I had been laying for twenty years. I needed exactly one sentence to shatter every piece of the Donna fantasy she’d spent five years building.