The Don Italian

Madison Rose Arellano agreed to marry a man named Marco Gavino Moretti in order to save her family's business. She had never met or even faced this man in person. All she knew about him were the negative views and opinions of other people. While she was afraid to marry someone she didn't know would treat her well, she was more afraid of what her father might do if she didn't follow his wishes. But how can she be a good wife to the person she married when, on the very first night, after their passionate union, he leaves her. No goodbyes, no words left behind. When she wake up... he's gone.

He wanted vengeance. She became his weakness. Damien Rossi built an empire on blood, lies, and control, until he captured the daughter of the man who betrayed his family. Amara Vale was supposed to be his punishment… but she turned into the one thing he could never let go. In a world where loyalty kills and love is a weapon, their passion becomes the ultimate war. And the deeper they fall, the more dangerous it gets. He’s her captor. She’s his salvation. Together, they’ll burn the world to ashes.

On the day the real heiress was welcomed home, my fiancé was already sleeping with her. Staring at the blue pills and torn lingerie scattered on the floor, I told them to get the hell out of my wedding house. But a second later, my father stormed in and slapped me hard across the face. "Who are you to tell her to leave? Bella is our real daughter!" "Elena, you’re just an outsider we took in by mistake. You’re the one who needs to get out." Marco wrapped his arm around Bella, his tone impatient: "Elena, I’m the heir to the Moretti family. I can’t marry a mongrel with impure blood like you. If you don't want to bring shame to the family, be smart and go tell the Don the wedding is off tomorrow." Bella gave a coy smile and tossed a stack of cash at my feet like she was giving alms: "Sister, I know Marco and I hurt you, but we’re true love." "Take this as your severance package. Take the money and get lost." I suppressed my rage and stepped forward to throw these disgusting people out, but Marco shoved me violently. "I told you, I’m not marrying you! Keep pestering us, and don't blame me for getting rough!" My stomach slammed against the table. I laughed out of pure anger. Who said I wanted to marry him? The one I’m going to marry is his father—the Don of the Moretti family, Lorenzo.

A família Rossi tem uma regra. Se você quer ser a próxima Donna, precisa provar seu valor. Fazer trezentos milhões de dólares, dinheiro limpo, em um único ano. Tudo por conta própria, sem ajuda da família. Passei dez anos tentando conseguir isso por Vincent. Construí dez empresas do zero. Mas toda vez, justamente quando eu estava prestes a cruzar a linha de chegada, algo dava errado. Tudo simplesmente... Desmoronava. Este ano, finalmente consegui. Corri para o escritório dele, com o relatório da auditoria em mãos, com o coração martelando contra as costelas. Achei que finalmente tinha vencido. Em vez disso, descobri que toda a minha vida era uma mentira. Ele entregou todo o meu império para Ava, a bastarda do meu pai. Tudo porque ela supostamente salvou a vida dele uma vez, e ele queria torná-la a verdadeira Donna. Eu desisti dele e do sonho da minha família de ascender junto com a dele. Então peguei o telefone e liguei para a Outfit de Chicago. — Sobre a proposta de casamento de vocês. — Eu disse. — Eu aceito.

Don’t Stop: Short Erotica Tales is a red-hot compilation of standalone short stories exploring forbidden desire, raw power, and explosive passion. From fake marriages that ignite into rough, bed-shattering sex to hate-fueled hookups where exes tear into each other against walls, skirts hiked, thrusts punishing and deep. Forbidden affairs, crazy age gap, captive fantasies, one-night stands turned addictive. Each tale delivers explicit, no-holds-barred heat: teasing oral, hard spanks, multiple breathless orgasms, and dominant men who take control while fierce women push back and beg for more. Short, filthy, and intensely satisfying. Perfect for readers who crave scorching erotica that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Riccardo Volsi, the youngest Don of Altamura, has an arm wrapped around my enemy, Sofia Greco, as they step over my dying body. On the night before, he had a hand clamped over my mouth and his other hand gripping my thigh as he thrust into me repeatedly in throes of passion. Yet, today he's the one who personally locks me into the workshop that will kill me. I've begged him for mercy before. I even crawl over to him like a bitch on all fours just so I can tug at his pant leg and gesture to him to save me. But Riccardo just looks at me as though I were a filthy mutt. "Sofia is the principessa of the Greco family. The fact that she likes your designs is enough for you to kneel and beg her for the right to work for her." They think I'm just a mute designer who's a nobody in this world. That's why they can trample all over me and humiliate me all they want without giving a damn about my life and death. What they don't know is that I've gotten reborn. Not only can I make them kneel before me, but I can also destroy them once and for all.

I’m the princess of the Hillrose Family. He’s Blair Falcone, Don of the Falcone Family. A perfect match. We were New York's power couple, the envy of everyone in the underworld. Until three days before our wedding. One minute, we were lost in each other, his body moving inside me, his lips trailing fire across my skin. The next, he calmly announces, "Flora, there's something I have to tell you." "Legally, I already have a wife. The old man married me off to her six years ago. She's the daughter of a man who took a bullet for him." "If you can live with it," he continued, "our marriage is still on. As planned." I stared at him in disbelief. "What about me? What were our six years?" He took a slow drag from his cigar. "I know what this is. So, what's it gonna be?" My hand instinctively went to my stomach. He didn't know. I was going to tell him my happy secret tonight: I was pregnant. But now, I wasn't going to tell him a damn thing.

My best friend and my husband, Lorenzo Bartoli, fought every time they met. Lorenzo was the Don of the family, while my best friend was his Consigliere. She always fiercely opposed his most ruthless, high-risk decisions. Tempers explode every single time. But there was one rule that they both agreed on without any hesitation. No one was allowed to touch me. Because of them, no one in the city dared to cross me. Until the fifth month of my pregnancy, when I went down to the basement vault to organize Lorenzo's guns for him. I opened the safe to see stacks of letters, hundreds of them, all unsent. I picked one up. The moment I opened the letter, cold dread overwhelmed me. The receiver of the letter wasn't me. [My dearest Sofia…] I quickly scanned downward to the final lines of the letter. [If I don't make it back alive, everything in the Swissie accounts goes to you. As for Vittoria, she's a good woman, but I have never loved her.] With trembling hands, I tore open the rest of the letters like a hysterical woman. Three hundred of them in total. Every single one was addressed to Sofia Finzi. Sofia was not a stranger. She was my best friend.

The day the Thorne family announced our engagement, the New York underworld let out a collective sigh of relief. Because I was set to marry Daemon, the most straitlaced Don in the city, which meant I could no longer be the wild rose who tore up the racetrack. But I resisted with every fiber of my being, finding creative ways to test his limits. During his ten-million-dollar card game with a rival family's Capo, my hand "slipped" and sent a bottle of 1945 Romanee-Conti spilling across the ancient map that outlined their territories, sabotaging the entire negotiation. Daemon, however, just slowly and deliberately wiped the wine from the back of his hand. He didn't even frown as he cleaned up my mess. Then I "accidentally" let my spirited Arabian stallion loose in his immaculately manicured courtyard. The beast went wild, trampling his prize-winning rose garden into mud. But he arrived with his private doctor in tow, crouching before me as his long fingers gently traced the scratch on my arm. "Did the beast hurt you?" Just that one question, and my heart melted completely. "Daemon, I can marry you. But before that, has there ever been another woman who owned your heart?" "I don't share my man. Not in any way." He pointed to his heart, his gaze unwavering as he met my eyes. "Before you, this was empty." After we married, the word on the street in New York's circles of power was this: If you angered Don Thorne, his Donna might plead your case. But if you angered the Donna, you were on your own. Even I began to believe that Daemon, that mountain of ice, would eventually melt for me. Until the day I went to find him, clutching a positive pregnancy test, bursting with joy. Only to hear the family's Consigliere ask him, from the top-floor study, what the best lie he'd ever told was. Daemon chuckled and said casually, "She asked me if anyone had my heart before her." "I told her no."

"I didn’t even know it was yours! I never agreed to this—none of this was supposed to happen!" "Supposed to happen or not, that child is mine. And I don’t let what’s mine out of my sight." **** Clara had no choice other than selling her eggs to pay for her family's medical bills. But a mix-up lands her carrying the child of a dangerous Mafia lord, Mateo De Luca. Now, two months pregnant and trapped by her uncle’s debts, Clara faces the impossible choice of keeping her baby or losing everything. But Mateo isn’t done with her yet. He’s determined to find the woman carrying his heir—and when Clara realizes who the father is, everything changes.