Graveyard Keeper Silk Novels & Stories

[WARNING: SPICY DARK ROMANCE WITH AN OBSESSIVE, POSSESSIVE MAFIA BOSS. DETAILED SMUT AND VIOLENCE.] Raine Dalca is used to being invisible. After a childhood drenched in trauma and a life built on silence, she’s learned to survive by staying small. Her world is the rundown motel she works in, where she scrubs blood from carpets, avoids eye contact with violent men, and sleeps with a chair wedged against the door. She's alone, forgotten, and just the way she likes it. Until him. Leon Marcello doesn’t belong in a place like this. Dressed in black silk and sin, he walks through her world like he owns it, and maybe he does. When he witnesses Raine being bullied by a guest, he intervenes without a word. She never asks for his help. He gives it anyway. And then he comes back. With a job. A penthouse. An offer she doesn’t want but can’t afford to refuse. She tells herself she’ll leave after a week. He tells her she won’t. She doesn’t believe him. She should. Leon is quiet chaos. Possessive, controlling, pure danger wrapped in restraint. Raine doesn’t understand why he’s so obsessed with her, why he watches her like she’s a secret he’s been hunting, why he looks at her like she’s already his. The longer she stays, the more she sees the cracks beneath his control, and the darker the truths behind his empire. But Leon isn’t her biggest problem. The real danger might be what he sees when he looks at her. Because Raine thought she had no past, He’s about to prove otherwise.

“No man will ever want you, Olivia.” He said, his gaze raking over her like she was something pathetic. “Look at you. You let yourself go. Face it, you should be grateful I’m even offering you this.” An open relationship. After he cheated. After she sacrificed everything for him. Olivia should have cried and begged. But instead, she smiled. “We’ll see about that.” And hours later, she found herself tangled in silk sheets, gasping for air as a rough, calloused hand gripped her thigh. “He said no man would want you?” He thrust harder into her. “Good. That means you’re mine now.” ************ He broke her heart. His best friend will fix her. When Olivia’s husband proudly admits to cheating and has the audacity to suggest an open marriage, she realizes the man she gave up everything for never truly valued her. Once a sought-after model, she quit for him. Now, he mocks her, calling her fat at a size six, sneering that no man will ever want her again. Humiliated but furious, she’s determined to prove him wrong. And the man who takes up the challenge? Dante Devereux, her husband’s best friend. Dante is the genius behind Luxe Devereux. He’s called the king of high fashion, draped in money and luxury. Women worship him, men envy him, and cameras can’t look away. One reckless night pulls Olivia into his bed, into his world of luxury, lust, and temptation so dark it should be illegal. But Dante doesn’t just take. He claims. He possesses. He corrupts. And he has no plan of letting go of his best friend’s wife.

They say a wedding dress is a promise of forever. Mine was a shroud for the girl I used to be. I was sold to a monster to pay for my father’s sins. I expected to spend my wedding night praying for a quick death at the hands of Don Moretti. Instead, I got a bloodbath. Before the first glass of champagne could shatter, the doors were kicked open by the city’s most terrifying nightmare: Dante "The Butcher" Vane. He didn't come to save me. He came to collect. By the time the sun rose, my husband was a corpse, my family home was in ashes, and I was draped across the lap of the man who had been stalking me from the shadows for years. "Your father didn't just owe the Don, Bianca," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of my throat with lethal tenderness. "He owed me. And I’ve decided you’re the only currency I’ll accept." Now, I am a prisoner in his fortress—a gilded cage where the line between fear and desire is blurred by every dark touch. Dante is a tyrant, a red flag wrapped in Italian silk, and a man who claims to be my protector while keeping me in chains. But as the secrets of our shared past begin to bleed out, I realize the "Butcher" has a weakness. He doesn't just want my body; he wants my soul. He thinks he’s breaking me. He doesn't realize that in the silence of my mourning, I’ve stopped being the victim. I’m learning his triggers. I’m studying his scars. And once I make the King of the Underworld fall for the widow he created... I won't just take my freedom. I’ll take his empire.

After returning from a three-month business trip, I rushed to meet my fiancé and resolve our dispute over my best friend, Elena. Elena’s ex-husband left her penniless and broken. I offered her my apartment, helped her "find herself" and accompanied her through nights of tequila-soaked sobbing. My fiance, Julian, hated it. Or so he said. "She’s a leech, Clara," he’d snap, watching her try on my designer coats. "She doesn't even know how to make toast without calling for help. Are you her best friend or her maid? People like her don't want to heal; they just want a free ride." She's lost everything, Julian," I argued."Without her, I wouldn't have survived my mother’s death. Please, just be patient for me." I let myself in quietly. The house was still, the air smelling of expensive candles and something else—something sweet and floral that wasn't mine. I walked toward the master suite, expecting to find Julian asleep. Instead, the door was ajar. The wine bottle I had brought to surprise Julian slipped from my hand, leaving me paralyzed for a moment. Elena was draped across my silk sheets. Julian was hovering over her, expertly shucking oysters—my favorite—and feeding them to her with a look of doting, soft-eyed tenderness he hadn't shown me in months. "You're so much better at this than she is," Julian purred. "Because she’s cold, Julian," Elena whispered, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "She’s all business. She doesn't know how to satisfy men in bed." I stood in the doorway, my whole self trembling, not in cold but in pure rage and disgust. "I hope the oysters are fresh," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade.

Cassidy never imagined her world would collapse on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon. She came home early—just ten minutes early—because she forgot her sketchbook. Ten minutes. That was all it took to destroy everything. Because when she opened her bedroom door, she didn’t just catch her boyfriend cheating. She caught him with her mother. The betrayal hit harder than any heartbreak she’d ever read about in her romance novels. Humiliated, shaking, and unable to breathe, Cassidy did the only thing she could—she ran. Straight into the neon haze of the city’s wildest nightclub. She didn’t plan on drinking. She didn’t plan on dancing. And she definitely didn’t plan on meeting him. Dante Ashford. The dangerously handsome billionaire heir with a voice like velvet and a stare that feels like sin. He didn’t ask if she was okay—he asked her name like he was already claiming it. He touched her like he had every right. He kissed her like he’d been waiting for her his whole damn life. One shot turned into two. Her pain turned into recklessness. And one devastating night turned into the hottest mistake of her life. A one-night stand with a man whose name she never learned. Cassidy thought that would be the end of it. Just a secret she’d take to the grave. Until her mother announced she was getting married. And Cassidy came face-to-face with her new “family.” Dante—the stranger who’d had her pinned to silk sheets, whispering sinful things in her ear—is now her stepbrother. Worse? He remembers everything. Every kiss. Every moan. Every broken piece of her she tried to forget. And Dante isn’t the type of man who lets go. Not of the past. Not of secrets. And definitely not of her.

Deck the halls with daddy issues and scream "yes, Santa" until the neighbors complain. She sold herself to save her mother. He bought her to settle a score. Neither expected twelve days of captivity to feel like coming home. Ten years ago, Evangeline Rose fled Willow Creek and the cruel boy who made her life hell. Now she’s back with a new name, a new body, and one desperate choice: enter the town’s secret Christmas auction where wealthy men bid on willing women. When the hammer falls at five hundred thousand dollars, Eva expects a stranger. Instead, she gets Grayson Holt—her former tormentor, now a devastatingly dangerous man in a half-open Santa jacket who just bought twelve uninterrupted nights with the virgin he once swore no one would ever want. She should be terrified. He's the reason she hid in bathroom stalls and cried herself to sleep. But the first time he kisses her, his hands shake. The first time she fights back, he groans her name like a prayer. And somewhere between the firelight and the snow and the silk ribbons around her wrists, they both realize the ugly truth: He didn't buy her to break her. He bought her because he's been broken without her. The boy who spray-painted "fat ugly bitch" on her locker is the same man who falls to his knees in the snow on the last morning and begs her not to leave. The girl who swore she'd never forgive him is the same woman who has to choose: walk away free, or stay with the monster who finally admitted he's been in love with her since the day he made her cry. Eva spent a decade learning to hate Grayson Holt. Turns out she's been loving him the whole damn time.

THIS BOOK IS RATED 18 AND HAS A LOT OF ADULT CONTENT Blurb~ "Get off me!" Tessa gasped, struggling beneath Vernon's broad frame. His dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable—a hunger, a craving. When he didn’t move, panic surged through her, and she screamed. His hand shot out, wrapping around her throat, his grip unyielding. A breathless gasp tore from her lips. "You can't run from me, Peach." His voice was silk and steel, lethal in its promise. "I own you." — Tessa had lost everything—her home, her wealth, her love. The man she once adored, Tamlin, had not only betrayed her but stripped her of everything she owned, tossing her aside like she meant nothing. She was Heartbroken, Weak and Shattered. But things were only going to get worse. Tamlin didn’t just ruin her—he sold her. As collateral to pay his debt. Now, she belonged to the devil himself—Vernon Carter. Cold. Dominant and Cruel. A man who didn’t know the meaning of mercy. But behind this cold facade is man who is wounded by heartbreak and swore never to give his heart out again. He thought he could break her, use her but he was wrong. Tessa shut the door to her heart and now it only wanted vengeance. She wanted Tamlin to suffer. And to do that, she needed power. Wealth. Someone more ruthless than Tamlin ever was. Vernon was the perfect pawn. She made up her mind. She would seduce him. Make him crave her. Make him hers on the terms that she would never fall for him but fate had other plans. What happens when Vernon discovers her true intentions, that he was just a pawn in her twisted games—and the game of love and revenge spirals into something far more dangerous?

“Tell me again,” he murmured, his bare chest a hot, dangerous brand against her back. His teeth grazed the shell of her ear, making her shudder. “How you want me to treat you.” She clutched the silk sheets, dragging them up to her chin, hating the tremor in her voice. “I—I want you to be professional.” A low, dark laugh ghosted over her damp skin. “Then stop looking at me like that.” His amused, arctic-blue eyes held hers captive in the bedroom mirror. She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering what in the world she’d gotten herself into. ^ ^ ^ Isabella Rossi’s life shattered when she discovered her boyfriend’s affair with her best friend, Chloe. The happy couple were even expecting a baby, and she was supposed to be happy for them. Hah. Heartbreak was just the beginning. Drunk and deceived, she woke up in the bed of a powerful, enigmatic stranger—Vincent Sinclair. She thought it was a one-time, humiliating mistake. A secret she would bury forever. Until Monday morning, when Vincent Sinclair strolled into her office as the new, ruthless CEO. And she found out he was her ex-best friend Chloe’s half-brother. Flustered but confident, she met his eyes. Men like him didn’t remember girls like her. She was sure of it. He was most likely just an entitled playboy and the faces in his bed probably blurred. But oh, how wrong she was. Vincent Sinclair remembered everything. Finding his "one-night stand" playing the part of a forgettable employee was his new favorite amusement. First, he made her his personal secretary. Then, he made her life a living, tempting hell. Finally, he served her a contract. Not for a raise—for marriage. It was absurd. But with her life in shambles and his offer too lucrative, Isabella signed.

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."

Whenever they played Truth or Dare, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Clara would deliberately dare him to pull the same prank on me, and Ronan would always willingly play along: he would pretend to propose to me. The last time, I fell for it. I joyfully held out my hand, but a mechanism inside the ring snapped shut, and I cried out in pain. Ronan and Clara doubled over with laughter, ignoring my finger, which had been pinched purple. Afterward, Ronan pinned me against the wall and swore that this year, he would give me a real proposal. So when his bodyguards brought me to the private club where we first met, I changed into an expensive white silk gown, styled my hair, and applied my most exquisite makeup. I even played the touching scene out in my head, imagining myself nodding and saying yes. But as I pushed open the door to the VIP room, my heart pounding, someone threw a full glass of deep red wine in my face. It streamed down my chin and onto my gown. A woman's laughter erupted from the crowd. "I told you Aurora would show up, didn't I? Ronan, you lose!" Ronan walked over, looking resigned. He gently dabbed at my face with a napkin, his tone as soft as ever. "Dressed up just for me? A shame to ruin a good dress." "Clara dared me to bet on whether you would have the guts to come to our turf tonight. I bet that you would. The wager was this: if you didn't, I'd propose tomorrow. If you came, we'd have to wait another year." "Sorry, baby. Since you showed up, I guess we can't get married this year." The wine trickled down my collarbone, cold and sticky. I shivered. Suddenly, the whole thing felt utterly pointless. Our anniversary meant nothing compared to one of their pranks. Just like me. I could never win against Clara, his childhood sweetheart. I unclasped the simple silver bracelet, the one I'd worn for six years, from my wrist. "This is over. We're breaking up."