Mafia Temptation Belle Dowson Novels & Stories

Nerissa’s POV My husband came home drunk and let it slip—his mistress, Bella, was pregnant. Then I discovered he’d been stealing from our joint account, sending her money every month like she was the real wife. I’m the daughter of the most feared mafia Don in the South. I don’t tolerate betrayal. So I called my father and said only one thing: “I want him gone. And I want him miserable.” Papa exhaled on the other end of the line. “You say the word, Nerissa, and I’ll make him pay for what he did to you. I’ll make him kneel at your feet and beg for mercy. He’ll wish he were dead.”

Everything about this day had been horrible and maybe so deserved it. The door to my penthouse creaked open, and I stepped inside like a man returning to a mausoleum. The lights were low. Everything was too quiet. Then I saw her. Bianca. She was still her and she was sitting on the arm of the couch, her legs crossed, a glass of wine in her hand like she was born to be this. A mafia princess, a woman fit for the arms of a Don. Her eyes flicked to me, but I said nothing, I didn’t have the strength to fight off her sexual energy so I walked past her. Straight to the bar. My hands didn’t shake when I grabbed the bottle of whiskey, but they might as well have.

“Because of you, I spent years in prison.” Mia’s heart pounded. “I don’t understand… Who are you?” Bryan yanked off the hood, revealing her face. His eyes opened in awe as he recognized her. He could never forget her face. This was the woman who had built the monster inside him. The woman who had shaped him into what he had become. This woman was well known in the mafia world before she had gone to prison— Bryan sent her to prison! Mia gasped, her body going rigid.

Joe asked “It’s obviously a shading deal gone wrong, Temper is involved with a lot of shady people, he obviously did something to piss this set off, he’s a crook” Rex scoffed, “show me a politician who isn’t” “So what do we know now?” Joe asked again “We know it’s the don, a powerful mafia lord that has Tiffany, we know Temper is aware, we know they are demanding for some money which Temper is refusing to pay - the fucking bastard. Putting his only child’s life in such danger, just to save his ego.”

The red line snaked through the city traffic, bypassing the grand casinos of the Strip and diving deep into the shadowy underbelly of Downtown Vegas. It finally stopped outside a dimly lit, cheap dive bar off Fremont Street. A notorious watering hole for low-lifes, hitters, and men who paid for trouble. "Mannaggia la miseria..." I muttered under my breath, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the edge of the desk. Damn it all to hell. She wasn't just hiding. She was looking for a fight. I snatched my gun off the desk, slid it into the holster beneath my jacket, and grabbed my keys.

Dove "You belong to Don Carlos now," the taller man growled in my ear like it was nothing, associating me with another dangerous and ruthless mafia lord. I stopped struggling, my eyes widened, his words settling in. My brain couldn’t process the words. I stared ahead nonchalantly like I didn’t hear him correctly. Maybe I wanted it to be a hallucination. “What?” I whispered softly. He smirked, but without humor. “He owns you, sweetheart, and he needs you. Right away.”

“Ethan, I get it. But I need this. I’ve got two days before I’m homeless. So unless you have a better option, I’ll take my chances with the mafia lord.” He sighed. “Alright. If you’re sure. Interview’s tomorrow, ten AM. I’ll text you the address.” “Thank you. Really. You don’t know what this means.” “Just… be careful. And if it’s too much, if you feel unsafe, you leave. Promise me.” “I promise.” We said goodbye. My phone buzzed with the address seconds later. 1247 Blackwood Estate Drive. I Googled it. My jaw dropped. Mansion. Ten bedrooms. Eight baths. Pool. Gym. Grounds the size of a park. Looked like something out of a magazine.

"Get to the point Wick" Wick was the signal for Aldonis and the troops to swoop in "Good. Now if you want your damsel back it's very easy." He opened his hands and documents were placed in them. "All you have to do is give your mafia to me. Everything" He dropped the piercer on the table and I stared at him. He wanted me to make a fucking blood oath "It's only fair" He smirked. I put my hand above the piercer and looked up at him.

It turned out to be my best Friday night out. I wasn't sure what I was seeing as I stared at the paper in my hand. Bringing my coffee mug to my lips, I leaned on the kitchen counter. I let my eyes scan the words for the second time. Are we expecting a future Mrs. Damon Trent soon? Billionaire heir Damon Trent in search of a wife. I walked my coffee to the dining table and pulled out a chair. Biting into my pancake, I read further.

“Then you’ll have it.” He rucked up her habit in impatient fistfuls until the coarse wool bunched at her waist. No undergarments—only smooth thighs and the slick evidence of how long she had been imagining this. His fingers found her immediately, two plunging deep without preamble. Christiana’s head fell back against stone, a choked cry escaping. “Quiet,” he ordered, though his own breathing was ragged. “Unless you want the entire convent to hear how the Pope is fucking their runaway novice.”