Don T Be Sick

Era la asesina más hábil de Don Alexander y su Consigliere, pero también su esposa secreta. Durante los cinco años que duró nuestro matrimonio oculto, él nunca permitió que nuestro hijo lo llamara papá. Siempre decía que las familias enemigas nos vigilaban todo el tiempo y que mi hijo y yo éramos su única debilidad; juraba que lo hacía para protegernos. Yo le creí y lo ayudé en silencio a manejar todos los asuntos de la familia, hasta que su primer amor, Bella, regresó con un niño de cinco años. Él reservó todo un parque de diversiones para que ellos se divirtieran todo el día. Ese día era el cumpleaños de mi hijo, y él se empeñó en esperar a que su padre volviera a casa, mientras sostenía un pastel que ya se estaba derritiendo. Perdí la esperanza e hice una llamada: —Ayúdame a cancelar mi identidad y la de Leo; borra toda nuestra información. Pero cuando mi hijo y yo nos esfumamos, el poderoso Don se volvió loco y buscó por todo el mundo algún rastro nuestro...

I poured out my heart to him, telling him everything and not leaving a single part out of it. "Please, Don Xander, I will be grateful if you could grant me just this one wish" I begged desperately, my voice cracking at the end, even though I tried so hard to stay strong. He tilted his head to one side and smirked. "I can do that for you" he said, and my eyes beam with happiness immediately. "But..." He trailed off, swirling his drink in his hand. "What do I get in return for helping you? After all, it's all about give and take" My jaw dropped instantly. His playboy attitude playing in my head. "I... I can't... I mean, I'm sorry Don Xander but I'm not the type of girl who sleeps around with men. If it's okay with you, I can work for you instead" I suggested. He wave his index finger, shaking his head. "No, Bella" he said in a low, husky voice. Then, he rose from his seat and walked towards to me, his movement graceful and deliberate. I shivered, still seated as he crouched beside me. He leaned closer to my face and I tilted my head to look at him in the eyes. "If I will help you..." he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. "You must give me something in return" "What do you want?" I asked in a low voice. His eyes gleamed with intensity. "I want you, Isabella" he whispered, his lips grazing my ear. I jerked back, shocked by his request. "Don Xander!" I exclaimed, my voice trembling.

“Go on, Grenade. Pull the trigger.” An annoying smirk was plastered on his face, as he leaned on the wall. My heart contracted, and my eyes stung. A click of my gun, and all these would be over. This was the mission I'd worked so hard on. “Wasn't this what you wanted, Grenade? Wasn't this your plan all along, when you snaked into my life, pretending to be who you weren't? Why are you hesitating, then?” “For the last time, Dante, my name is West. Don't ever call me Grenade.” I hissed. He advanced towards me slowly. “I don't care if I die now, Grenade. But don't you ever let the King of Hearts fall into the wrong hands. Give it to me.” His tone was soft, yet there was no denying the order behind it. “You wish.” *** West, the most powerful undercover agent for Lucchese, is suddenly given a mission by her Capo. She is to infiltrate a powerful Mafia group in Italy, and make the boss let down his guard around her. And then, she has to bring back 'The King of Hearts,' a powerful computer program that's capable of destroying, and changing the world. But she must never fall in love with him. However, her mission isn't going to be as easy as it seems. Especially as she unravels the secrets surrounding her birth, discovering that her whole existence is a lie. In the midst of all, the cold hearted West finds herself falling for Capo Dante, the head of the 'Ndrangheta, and her enemy. There was one rule, and one rule only… The King of Hearts must never ever fall into the wrong hands. But…who was the bad guy? (#1 The Mafia Princess Series)

—Ayúdame a fingir mi muerte y a organizar una identidad completamente nueva. —Doña —el hombre estaba claramente conmocionado—. ¿Por qué? El Don la adora. Toda Sicilia sabe que... —Eso no es asunto tuyo —lo interrumpí—. Me voy en cinco días. Al salir del mercado negro, la pantalla LED de la plaza todavía mostraba imágenes de mi fastuosa boda con el Don Alexander hace tres años, una ceremonia que costó más de quinientos millones de dólares. Todos pensaban que Alexander me amaba profundamente, y yo también lo creía. Hasta esta tarde. En nuestro tercer aniversario de bodas, regresé a Sicilia temprano y me escondí en la sala de descanso de la oficina de mi esposo, queriendo darle una sorpresa. En su lugar, vi a su secretaria escondida bajo su escritorio. Mientras el subjefe, Marco, informaba sobre las pérdidas de la operación de contrabando en el muelle, Isabella estaba arrodillada entre las piernas de Alexander, desabrochando hábilmente sus pantalones. Su cabeza subía y bajaba. Después de que Marco se fue, Isabella sonrió seductoramente. —¿Podría tu Doña atenderte de esta manera durante una reunión? La voz de Alexander estaba llena de deseo. Sus manos amasaban los pechos de ella. —Sophia es demasiado convencional, demasiado aburrida. Tú eres mucho más emocionante en la cama, pequeña zorra. Me cubrí la boca, completamente devastada. Pero cuando finalmente me fui, el Don, que me había considerado aburrida, fue quien se desmoronó por completo.

Drei Tage vor unserer Hochzeit wurde mein Verlobter, Raphael Russo, bei einer Schießerei zwischen rivalisierenden Banden getötet. Man fand nicht einmal eine Leiche. Während ich in Trauer versank, blitzten plötzlich Kommentare vor meinen Augen auf: [Wach auf, Mädel! Der Sarg ist leer! Er hat seinen Tod vorgetäuscht! Das Schwein ist abgehauen zu dieser hinterhältigen Schlampe Chloe – die nur so tut, als wäre sie krank!] [Während du dir auf der Beerdigung die Augen ausheulst, vögelt Raphael Chloe im Hotelbett die Seele aus dem Leib.] [Wenn er zurückkommt, wird er behaupten, er hat eine Amnesie. Du wirst nichts ahnen und ihm verzeihen. Du armes Ding…] Einen Monat später ging die Nachricht von meiner Hochzeit mit dem Mafia-Boss Marcello Falcone durch ganz New York. Raphaels rechte Hand stellte mich wütend zur Rede. „Wie konntest du den Boss so verraten?“ Ich klammerte mich fester an Marcellos Arm und lächelte. „Eine Frau kann nicht ewig trauern, oder? Ich bin sicher, Raphael würde sich im Jenseits für mich freuen.“

One year ago, Frank Luccasio, the heir to the future Don of Newborough's underworld, saved me when I attempted to commit suicide. He cleared my school debt, admitted my younger sister, Ariana Romano, into rehab, and hired the best doctors in the world to treat my mom's cancer. His only request? I had to become his mistress. I thought Frank was a gift from God—that he was a beam of light illuminating my dark world. When he got ambushed by assassins, I used my body to block the fragments caused by the explosion for him. As Frank scooped my blood-drenched form into his arms, he screamed hysterically, "Isabella!" But… my name was Selena… After I got admitted into the ICU, the real Isabella Messina returned to Frank's life. Knowing that I was just a replacement, I sensibly left Frank, only to be brought back by force. Since then, I became a plaything for the both of them. They humiliated and tormented me incessantly while flaunting their love for each other. Unable to take it anymore, I sent a text to a certain someone and attached a photo to it. "Don Luccasio, the one giving your son head in the photo happens to be your darling wife, Isabella Messina. Those who betray the family must never be forgiven." This time, I would be the one sending Frank and Isabella to hell.

My husband of five years, Eric Vale, came home drunk again. As I laid him in our bed, he murmured, “Don’t worry, my love… I’ll take care of you and our baby.” My heart stopped. Baby? We’d been on birth control since the day we married. There was no baby. I shook him lightly. “What are you talking about, Eric?” He blinked at me, confused, then smiled like nothing had happened. “Hey, babe… did I say something?” The next morning, I checked our joint account. Every month, ten thousand dollars had been wired to a woman named Bella Evers. Yesterday, he sent two hundred thousand more—with a note: I can’t wait for our baby to be born. Bella was Eric’s mistress and was now six months pregnant. So I made one call. “Papa,” I told the most feared Don in the South, “I’m getting a divorce.” I glanced at my sleeping husband. “I want him gone. And I want him broke.”

Warning: This is an erotic/ mature piece and it's rated for solely mature audiences. Reading with discretion is advised. "Do you feel that?" The leather crop landed on my thigh, I held onto his shoulders, unable to breathe or stop my hips from grinding out their release. "Every inch of you," his mouth latched onto my throat. "Mine." ______ Arlari Marquez thought returning to Mexico after college would mean fresh beginnings. But instead of thriving, she is barely surviving, until her anxiety comes crashing down one night. Her younger brother, Danny, makes the mistake of his life, stealing from Severiano Cortez, the most feared mafia kingpin in Mexico. Everyone knows Cortez shows no mercy. Especially when it came to his prized possessions. Arlari knows her brother’s life is already forfeit… but she intervenes. When she finds Cortez, she discovers he doesn’t want ransom. He doesn’t want money. What he wants…is a perfect sub. Ninety days. That is the deal. She will submit to him, body, mind, and soul, for three months. In return, Danny’s life will be spared. But what happens when the man who demands submission becomes addicted to the submissive? Severiano Cortez finds himself unable to wield the same brutality he has shown countless others. Instead, he unravels under the weight of a desire he never planned for, one that threatens to turn the predator into a captive. And she? The more she stays, the more she sees the shadows lurking in his world. Because Mexico is a dark place. And his dominion? Even darker.

Se supone que es un castigo, pero termina conmigo muriendo congelada en el congelador. Mi prometido, Carlo Vesta, también conocido como el heredero de la familia Vesta, solo recuerda que existo tres días después. Ahora, simplemente floto alrededor mientras lo veo abrazar mi cadáver congelado, con su cuerpo temblando violentamente. Noto cuán rota es su expresión y, pronto, soy testigo de cómo va armando la verdad que me llevé conmigo a la tumba. Es demasiado tarde, Carlo. Pero está bien. Estoy justo aquí, observándote. Quiero ver cómo vas a enfrentar la verdad de que tú mismo encerraste a la mujer que amas en su propia tumba.

Colter Giordano, mi prometido desde hace seis años, heredero de la familia Giordano, recibió una bala por una bailarina llamada Mia. No la recibió por mí. Una bala me atravesó el hombro. La sangre, caliente y pegajosa, me manchó el vestido. Pero mi corazón dolía más. Me preguntó si estaba bien. Solo una vez. Luego se apresuró a llevar a Mia al hospital, dejándome sangrando en el suelo. Al día siguiente, la foto de Mia apareció en mi feed de Instagram. Ahí estaba ella, en una suite de lujo del hospital. Colter se estaba desviviendo por un rasguño en su brazo que apenas se notaba. El pie de foto era de solo dos palabras: [Mi Héroe.] Le di me gusta a la publicación. Luego hice una llamada encriptada. —La oferta de la familia Falcone —dije—. La acepto. Consígueme un avión a Sicilia. Tres días.