Dominican Authors Novels & Stories

Henry was very efficient. Two days later, he managed to place the information he had gathered about Dominic on Max’s desk. Then Max started reading it carefully. Dominic Deleon was Dominic's full name. He was born and grew up in London, and he was twenty years old. His great-grandfather was a politician who once held a high govt position. His grandfather was a successful businessman who owned a large corporation. As for his father, he was a businessman who made the company well.

If only she knew. Looking up, she realized that it was starting to get dark and she must return home. Serena or rather Aria her wolf ran back home and saw that the door was opened by her brother as he stood there at the doorway talking to probably one of his admirers, not intention of sounding jealous or whatever. Who would be jealous of being hounded by the opposite sex anyway? She trotted up and seemingly in a teasing way collided with her dear brother, Damon. She shouted “SORRY! Brother”, over her shoulder as she ran straight to her room after her small act of mischief.

Could it be that Dominic and Aaron were related? "Estela, is it possible that Mr. Dominic is Mr. Aaron's son?" Maricela inquired. "Huh? Maricela, don't you know?" Estela replied. Dominic is indeed Aaron's son! That explained his boldness in befriending the police and his ability to influence his imprisonment with a mere word! It also accounted for his remarkable achievements at such a young age. So, he was a wealthy second-generation individual relying on his father's status!

Dominic's voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me out of my daze. My fingers paused on the keyboard as I slowly lifted my head to look at him. His brows were drawn together, his gaze shifting from me to the file in his hand and then back to me again, as though he was certain he'd read something wrong. "A publishing company?" Dominic asked, blinking once. He lifted the file slightly. "And when exactly did you become interested in the writing world, Zevyn?" A chuckle slipped from him as he glanced back at the document. I leaned back in my chair, my fingers returning to the keyboard, tapping lazily against the keys.

She wouldn’t have brought it up if she didn’t want to discuss it. “Well, it turns out that we’re doing it all wrong,” Samaire announced. “Are you sure, baby?” he asked. “It felt quite right to me.” Samaire dipped her head to hide her smile. He liked to tease and flirt with Samaire to get a reaction out of her but she often tried to conceal it. When was she going to learn that she didn’t need to hide anything from him? “Who writes these articles?” Dominic asked. “How do they consider themselves experts?”

Domenico Copyright © K.I. Lynn This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.

Titus eagerly licks his hand before Dominic turns back to me, chatting on. I smile down at Dominic as we walk through the town, wondering passively if he’s going to be an artist like Daniel. Daniel and Jerome are gone for the moment – in Scotland, of all places, so that Daniel can get a Masters in playwriting. I grin, wondering if my big scary husband really does only produce artistic sons.

Dangerous. This wasn’t submission. Not yet. It was seduction through suggestion. And for the first time in a long time, she was the one shifting in her chair. Dominique didn’t message him again. She couldn’t. Not now. Not when the aftershock of their exchange made her feel more like Dominique than Domica—naked, vulnerable, exposed. She needed to reclaim herself. So she selected a private session from her request queue. Two men. Known regulars. They adored pain. One was an investment banker in real life. The other, a philosophy professor who liked to whimper.

Jersey asks gesturing her hands up and down and I give her a duh look. “Uh because I might want to pitch my business plan to a potential investor.” I tell her pointedly and Jersey taking this seriously closes the door to my office behind her as she comes to sit down. “Ana, Dominic is a wary man, everybody avoids doing business with him, except those from his type of line. I know you come from money but this is a whole different class. And I hear rumors that he is a very dangerous man and that he works in the underworld.” Jersey says the end like it's the biggest top secret so far.

There was just a reinforced concrete pad built into a cliffside on a speck of rock called Agios Nikolas. Dominic had bought this island years ago through a Panamanian shell company when he was still the "Ice King," back when he thought he needed a place to disappear if a merger went south or a government collapsed. It wasn't a villa. It was a brutalist masterpiece of glass, steel, and local stone, half-buried in the cliff to be invisible from the sea. As the helicopter rotors slowed to a rhythmic slap and the side door opened, the smell of wild thyme and sea salt hit me like a physical blow. It was beautiful, but it was a lonely kind of beautiful. "We’re here," Dominic said, his voice barely