Ryota Slam Dunk

“How long has this been going on?” Fatima’s voice is steady, almost too steady. Her husband of six years stands there without a hint of shame. “Does it matter, Fatima? Yes, Leslie is pregnant with my child, but nothing is going to change,” he says, annoyed that she dares question him. Her calmness makes him shift, though he refuses to show it. “How. Long?” She repeats slowly, keeping her voice low so she won’t wake their sleeping children. “Three years.” Fatima blinks. “You’ve been cheating on me for half our marriage… with your business partner?” “Lower your voice. Don’t make it sound bad. I’m a man – these things happen.” He even chuckles. “Leslie will be taken care of. You’ll stay the wife, and Leslie and I–” “Will get married,” she cuts in. He stares, thrown off, until she adds, “Top drawer in your office. Divorce papers. Sign them first thing tomorrow.” No tears. No raised voice. No trembling. Just calm finality, and that unsettles him more than anger ever could. “I’m not letting that happen. You’re my wife.” “Ex-wife,” she corrects softly. Before he can react, Fatima pushes her chair back and stands. She doesn’t storm off or slam anything. She simply picks up a magazine from the table and walks out with quiet, controlled steps, far too composed for a woman ending a six-year marriage. And that hits him harder than any shouting would have. No tears. No pleading. No hesitation. Nothing. It wounds his pride. He deserves tears. “Hold on,” he snaps, rising quickly from his seat.

Ramses Kane, the international playboy. Voted the Sexiest man alive as per People magazine for 7 years in a row. I've heard it all, seen it all. He and I have been 'together', for longer than I can even count. I am his main love interest. I got over the fact that if I want him in my life I have to share him. I learned that Ramses will never truly settle down. It would be with me if he did. So when he brings another woman into my bar, and introduces her as his girlfriend… I know something is awry. I have a terrible feeling about her. I know she has done something to Ramses, but he doesn't seem to notice. I am not a jealous woman, however, all I can feel is rage when I see Haven's face. I have been a Witch since birth. but attempt after attempt fails as I try to uncover the truth, and I realize that in order to save him, I have to do something forbidden by not only the Witches of the French Quarter, but The Ancestors... The ritual that I pulled power from, goes off without a hitch, but The Ancestors are beyond angry with me now. I had no idea the sheer consequences of my actions… Saving Ramses was worth the risk, but what is a Witch without her magic? The ritual to visit The Otherside is immensely dangerous, but I am determined to meet with The Ancestors and plead my case. I'm not sorry that I abused my powers to save Ramses. I plead my case but If I become one of them, I will never leave this place. Unfortunately, I dug my grave, now I have to lie in my coffin while they slam the lid shut.

Jace Steadman. My best friend’s father. Older. Controlled. Quiet in a way that makes my pulse stutter. A man who never looks twice at anyone… Except this time, he looked at me. One glance at my ruined makeup and shaking breath, and suddenly he felt too close. Too warm. Too dangerous. His voice was gentle when everyone else had been cruel. And when he sat beside me beneath the glow of the fire, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: Wanted. Not sweetly. Not politely. But with a quiet, restrained hunger that made my heart slam against my ribs. To distract me from the pain—and to stop himself from touching me—we made a game of it: Twelve days. Twelve dares. No rules… except the ones we couldn’t stop breaking. A whispered challenge in the dark became a dare. A dare became a touch that lingered too long. A touch became a pull neither of us knew how to resist. He shouldn’t crave me. I shouldn’t crave him back. But the more we tried to stay respectable, the more our restraint fell apart. The lodge turned into a minefield of temptation—Christmas lights, stolen glances, near-kisses that burned hotter than the fire. Jace wasn’t just a man I wanted. He became the man I couldn’t stop fighting—and falling—for. If anyone finds out, my life falls apart. His reputation shatters. Everything explodes. But desire doesn’t care about consequences. And this Christmas, I’m done being careful. Done being quiet. Done pretending I don’t want the man who looks at me like I’m the first real taste of life he’s had in years. Twelve days. Twelve dares. One forbidden man I can’t walk away from… even if he ruins me.

Stella and I are at a college party and man, it’s so bad ass. This is our first college party and Stella’sm first party ever. Are you having fun, sister? I ask her. Yes, I really am. My sister Stella is your quiet, stay to herself kind of gal. Where I am that loud in your face kind of girl. So, it’s not weird seeing a beer in my hands and dancing my ass off with my friends or my hot as hell boyfriend Jax. What’s weird is seeing my sister with a beer in hand and dancing to the music, getting her freak on with a strange guy. I’m glad my twin is letting her freak fly tonight. We are going to be seniors when school starts and damn; we need to make a name for ourselves. Being the quiet ass bitch is only going to get her picked on. Jax comes up behind me, moving his hips to the music. Want to go upstairs he asks after a minute of grinding against my ass. Um, yes, I do. I say, wiggling my ass against his front. I’m going to go upstairs with Jax for a bit. Do you think you will be okay while I’m gone? I ask Stella. She just gives me a look that says piss off, asshole. I throw up my hands in surrender. Okay, I say, wiggling my brows. Get it, girl. I tell Stella. Stella just smiles at me. Ditto sister, she says, wiggling her fingers at me. I laugh and grab my boyfriend’s hand and drag him upstairs. When we find a room upstairs, I slam Jax against the wall and kiss him fiercely. Damn baby, did you miss me? Jax asks, smiling.

I'm ten years older than Vincenzo Corleone. He had just turned 23 years old when he took over the Corleone family as the patriarch. A hint of teenage childishness could still be seen etched onto his youthful features. I was the one who held his hand and helped him calm the turbulence of his family affairs. I blocked three assassination attempts that were made on him. I used five years of my life to help him grow from a useless scion into the fearsome don who wielded the utmost authority in Nowork's underworld. Once, Vincenzo had embraced me in the church. He rested his forehead against my palm as he swore, "Age, identity, or the world's viewpoint of us will never stop us from being together, Freya. I will protect you with my life." But after that, he told his older brother, Marco Corleone, "Freya is too old. She's already 38 years old; I can practically smell the rot of age rolling off her. Even the crinkles in her smile disgust me to no end." Some time later, Vincenzo found himself a mistress who bore some resemblance to me. She was young and vibrant—like a white rose who had never experienced the ugly side of society. While Vincenzo gave me the title of the Donna of the Corleone family, he reserved his gentle, doting, and even passionate side for the mistress named Lina Marino. Vincenzo thinks he can pull everything off flawlessly. What he forgets is that the reason why I can establish my reputation in the underworld isn't because of his protection. I've been relying on my ruthlessness and my sharp sixth sense this whole time. When I slam the signed divorce agreement onto the spot before Vincenzo, I say with a smile, "You've fought by my side for so many years, so you should know very well that I can afford to go for high-stakes risks and withdraw my chips whenever needed. "But once I lose, someone here has to pay the price!"