Romance Books With Russian Mafia Novels & Stories

A smile crept onto my face as I adjusted my grip on the novel, its cover barely hiding the kind of story that made my heart race. A dark, depraved mafia romance. It had a male lead who didn’t ask permission so much as demand surrender. A man who played with consent the way a composer toyed with notes—artfully, deliberately, with the kind of confidence that made my skin prickle and my thighs press together. One that was over too soon. The kind of book I devoured in a fever and now I was in need of another. Most folks wouldn’t think of the local library as a treasure trove of scandalous reads, but I knew better. The librarians were in on the secret, intentionally filling the shelves with books

“But I’m your insane.” He drags a hand over his face, mutters something in Russian I don’t catch. Then he looks at me again, softer but still deadly. “Don’t hold back. Whatever you do to her, make it hurt. And if she touches you again, you come straight to me. No arguments.” “Deal.” I pat his chest once, light. “Now go do whatever Mafia shit you were doing. I got a widow to educate.” He catches my good wrist before I can pull away, brings my bandaged hand up slow, presses his lips to the gauze just above the burn. The kiss is soft, almost careful, but his eyes when he looks up are pure fire.

I was dry, Like sand. “You shouldn’t be dramatic, Ruyi,” he murmured. “I was trying to help us. Even if the way I did it hurts you. You have to endure this so we can escape this mess, pay the mafia off, and run away…” My heart skipped. The mafia? The one who said we never owed them money? The one who said I owed him life instead? Before I could speak, his rough hand slid urgently into my loose shirt, cupping my bare breast… too hard.

"Protective men are exhausting. Mine texts me every hour when I'm not home." “Yours does not run a mafia empire," I reminded her. She shrugged. "Same energy still." Rosalia laughed and patted the seat beside her, so I sat, kicking off my shoes. For the next hour, the three of us did something I had not done in a long time, nothing serious at all. We talked about shoes, wedding dresses, Rocco's possessiveness, Rafael's stubbornness, and how Riccardo's love life was a mess. “He flirts with anything that blinks," Rosalia laughed. "He needs a woman who'll scare him into shape."

At this rate, the five families risked more cross-breeding than the royal families of Europe. Marco stands abruptly and buttons his black suit jacket with a smirk. He saunters to the bar on the far side of the dining room like he already owns the place. I drop my gaze to my food once more. I should eat more, but I can’t stomach it right now. A moment passes, and he returns to his seat, grabbing my hand and pressing my fingers around an old-fashioned. I try not to cringe. I fucking hate rye whiskey.

Or will loving Damian Vercetti cost her the last piece of herself she has left? *************** AUTHOR'S NOTE Hey, reader. Let’s get one thing straight this is not your sweet, safe mafia romance. This story is dark. Twisted. Obsessive. There are moments that will make you pause, ache, maybe even rage. Damian Vercetti is not your redemption arc. He’s power without apology. Possession without permission. And Isabella? She’s not the damsel she’s the storm trying to survive the fire. If you’re here for roses and candlelight, this isn’t your book.

They gave up their ego and admitted their feelings, something we saw even before they did. Regardless, I'm thrilled at what a journey it has been and I hope you are too. Nevertheless, this is not an absolute goodbye to our lovely couple. We will be getting sneak peeks of them in the other books of the Mafia Ruthless Series. Okay, now time for the big announcement! CAN YOU GUESS WHOSE BOOK IS NEXT?👀 Drum rolls please… I don't know if you guessed right, but if you did, then bravo! Because it's Luciano’s book next.

Then it slammed back into me— I was kidnapped. And I probably belonged to a mafia boss now. I looked down at myself. Underwear. Not surprising. I turned, and there he was. The man. The mafia leader. Seated in a chair, casually flipping through an actual newspaper, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. The demon reads newspapers. “Name?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “Adrian.” “Age?” “Thirty-six.” I gasped. He looked younger than I expected. And that body—

"I hope so, tia. I hope so." *** "My husband is not here, Patrón." The young tzarina was eying him, behind her mahogany desk, with a bored expression on her face. "I know." He took a deep constricting breath. It had been this way ever since his angel disappeared from his life. Again. "I came here to talk to you." "What do you want, Rafael Montero?" Beau Vasiliy, the Mafia Tzarina, was looking at him with venom in her brown eyes.

I couldn’t breathe, my lungs refused to draw in a breath. Dante’s voice was quiet and dangerous, rough with warning as he said, “Because I missed you.” He directed a cold smirk at me as he added, "Little sister." _____ Hello, dear readers. I write Dark Romance- about mafia, bully, arrange marriage, obsessed anti-heroes that you'll always fall in love with. And the theme of this book is the same. But this is the first time I am writing a book with mmfm. And if you skipped the Introduction, please note, this book will be DARK, with various themes you might not be comfortable with. A. Gupta