The Seven Dials Mystery Novels & Stories

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife, Blair, the daughter of the city's richest man, straddled my lap, her kiss deep and intoxicating as she toyed with my lower lip. The same night, we just announced our pregnancy to the world. Just then, Blair's best friend, Chloe, asked in French, her tone suggestive: "Blair, you're absolutely glowing. But tell me honestly, how does it feel to get railed by another man while carrying a baby?" Blair let out a soft laugh, a familiar sound that sent a chill down my spine. She replied, also in French: "It feels absolutely incredible, Chloe. He's like a wild wolf. Just yesterday, he had his head buried between my thighs, using his mouth to bring me

I went through the security layers—password, fingerprint, and retina scan—to access the application's dashboard. I then typed out a few quick commands and hit confirm. "Did you honestly believe I've just been playing housewife for the last seven years, Edoardo?" Edoardo furrowed his brow as I tossed my phone back into my handbag. A minute later, the intercom suddenly rang, and the Consigliere's voice came through, shrill with panic. "There's a problem, Don Ariani! 37 of our offshore accounts have been frozen—we're completely cut off from the funds!"

Carrying a plastic cup of water which he set on the table in front of her without making eye contact. He walked back out. Diane reached for the water. And stopped. There was something under the cup. Small. Folded once. The kind of note that had been placed there quickly and carefully by someone who knew exactly how long they had and didn't waste a second of it. She looked at the mirror. Looked at the door. Looked at the note. She picked it up. Unfolded it slowly. Seven words. Written in a hand she didn't recognise. Clean. Precise.

Seven renewal certificates. Every single one had my signature and Corbin's. A note from Maya was clipped to the top: "He thought collecting all seven would summon you back like some kind of twisted fairy tale." I stared at the documents, and a slow smile spread across my face. Fated mates? If seven rejections could still be called fate, then nothing in this world was an accident. I gently pressed the call button on the phone. "How may I help you?" the bellhop asked, returning quickly.

The pinned location turned out to be a French restaurant, and I frowned, hoping I wouldn't meet those I didn't want to see. As soon as I entered the lobby, Lynn's voice came from behind me. She looked at me with a smug smile. "Stella, what a small world! You're here, too. Lorenzo invited you, but you turned him down. Now you're secretly following us, huh? You're not doing this on purpose to make Lorenzo uncomfortable, are you?" I remained silent, not interested in her game. Just as I frowned, my phone buzzed. On the screen was the number of the private room. Coincidentally, it was right next to where Lorenzo was.

And it made her heart twist in ways desire couldn’t soothe. She pulled away, reaching for the black silk robe hanging on the edge of the mirror. Wrapping it around herself, she paced toward the shelf where the other tapes were stacked in a careful, chilling order. Damian moved to intercept her. She turned on him. “Don’t. Don’t even try.” His jaw clenched, but he backed away. Lydia’s fingers hovered over the next tape. No name on this one—just a number. Seven. She plucked it from the shelf and held it up. “What’s on this?”

As I moved towards the boiling pot, the doll clutched tightly in one hand and a handkerchief of Ryan’s in the other, I felt a sense of grim satisfaction wash over me. As I dropped the effigy near the fire, my expression hardened. I retrieved a stool from a nearby corner, positioning it carefully near the boiling pot. Next, I placed the doll on the stool, ensuring it was stable. Then, carefully, I tied Ryan’s handkerchief around the doll’s head, securing it tightly. Satisfied with my handiwork, I moved towards the shelf of ancient books, ascending the tall ladder. I needed to find the right spell, the one that would ensure Isabella’s downfall.

With his eyes locked, he pulled the phone slowly out and on a relieved exhale, answered, “What?” “You didn’t say where, numb-nut.” Donald shook out his shoulders, lifting his gaze to scrape a modern high-rise building, one he and his packmates had designed. Had I walked that far already? “You remember the bar around the corner from our first commission?” “The seventeen story on seventh?” Darius asked. “That’s the one. And a lot of sevens.” “Had to be lucky.” “Indeed it was.” Darius paused. “I’ll catch a cab and be there in ten. Order me something special.”

My fiancé was the youngest Don of Sicily’s Rina family. After years together, he always told me, “No one gets to look at my woman. If a man stares at you for even a second too long, I’ll gouge his eyes out.” That was why he almost never brought me along when he handled family business. Until one day, I came across a rising couples influencer on YouTube. In the video, a girl stood on a cliff overlooking the Sicilian coast, holding a selfie stick as the sea breeze billowed through her white dress. Smiling, she turned the camera toward the man beside her, revealing only the sharp line of his jaw and the back of one hand. Then he lifted his left hand, and a ring flashed clearly on his finger. I

Elena The investigation into the southern gate took three days, and by the end of it, Dorian had narrowed the list of people with both the access and the knowledge to disable the wards down to a number small enough to feel almost worse than not knowing at all. "Seven people," he said, laying out the names on Kade's desk like a hand of cards nobody wanted to be dealt. "Seven people in this entire compound who understood the ward mechanisms well enough to disable them without triggering an alarm. All seven have served this court for years. All seven, as far as I can determine, have no obvious connection to Rurik or the Ashfords."