Mafia – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Mafia – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:29 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.1 http://www.wownovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Mafia – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com 32 32 Belong to Me – East Coast Mafia Read Online Marian Tee http://www.wownovels.com/belong-to-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:29 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/belong-to-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Mafia Authors: Marian Tee Advertisement

Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)

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He’d rather break her heart than lose his.

In Cruel Love, Bratva billionaire Anton Almazov decides to teach young paralegal Daisy Fletcher a lesson. There’s nothing he despises more than dishonesty, and he’s ruthless in his desire to punish and claim her in equal measure. By the time he realizes Daisy is not what he thought she was…it’s too late. He’s already destroyed her, heart, body, and soul.

In Close Enough to Kiss, Mia Robertson has decided she’s waited long enough. Since she was sixteen, she’s been in love with her billionaire guardian Alexei Almazov, and she doesn’t care if he also happens to be the most dangerous man in Monaco. But just when she dreams of forever…Alexei walks away and acts like that one stolen kiss between them never happened.

Note: Both books are standalone romances previously published under my pen name Martha Ruthie

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

DAISY

The coffee is on my blouse before I make it through the doors.

Not a tasteful splash. Not something I can dab at with a napkin and pretend never happened. A full, committed spill, the lid popping clean off my travel mug as I trip on the marble step outside Keyes, Inc., and now there’s a river of medium-roast running from my collarbone to my waistband, and the glass doors are several feet away, and through them I can see women in silk and heels crossing a lobby that costs more than my parents’ house.

I'm seven minutes late on my second day of work.

The doors are heavy. They swing inward on some kind of hydraulic system that makes them feel like they’re judging you, and inside, the lobby of Keyes, Inc. smells like gardenia and money. White marble floors. Recessed lighting that turns everyone’s skin golden. A reception desk made of something dark and polished that might be ebony or might be the physical manifestation of my inadequacy.

“Fletch!”

Aunt Kaye crosses the lobby like she was born on marble. Her heels make no sound. Her hair is pinned in something architectural, blonde and immaculate, and her suit is the colour of graphite, and she is smiling at me with the specific warmth of a woman who once let me eat frosting straight from the can at Thanksgiving and now signs paycheques with a title under her name.

“Let me see.” She takes my shoulders, turns me, assesses the coffee damage. Her mouth presses together. “We’ll fix it. Come on.”

She steers me past the reception desk, past three women who track our movement with the polished disinterest of cats evaluating a mouse, and into a washroom that has actual hand towels. Cloth ones. In a dispenser.

“Dab, don’t rub,” Kaye tells me, handing me a towel. “The blouse is a loss, but the jacket will cover it. You brought the navy jacket?”

“It’s at my desk.”

“Good girl.” She leans against the counter and crosses her arms. In the washroom mirror, we are two versions of the same gene pool: her jaw, my jaw. Her blue eyes, my blue eyes. But hers come with fifteen years of Monaco and whatever it is that turns a woman from Boise into someone who moves through marble lobbies without making a sound. “How was the apartment last night? Did you find the grocery store I mentioned?”

“Found it. Bought pasta. Burned the pasta.”

She laughs. It’s a real one, head back and teeth showing, and for a second she’s just Aunt Kaye again, the one who drove me to the airport in Boise with the windows down and Promise me you’ll call every Sunday on her lips.

“You’ll find your feet,” she tells me. “Everyone does. The first week is survival. After that, it’s instinct.”

I nod. I dab. The coffee stain isn’t coming out.

KEYES, INC. OCCUPIES the top four floors of a building on Avenue de Grande Bretagne, and everything about it is designed to make you feel like you’ve wandered into someone else’s life. The conference rooms have glass walls. The partners’ offices have views of the harbour. There are fresh flowers on every surfaceand the women who carry files down the corridor do it like other people carry champagne flutes: with their wrists turned out, fingers long, as if the file itself is an accessory.

I carry mine pressed against my chest like a shield.

Blythe finds me at ten-fifteen.

She’s the other new paralegal. Or not new, exactly. She’s been here less than a year. But she’s the one Kaye assigned to “show me the ropes,” which so far has meant a tour of the copier room, a list of partners’ names I will never remember, and a single, devastating sentence delivered over the copier while it hummed: “The dress code is technically business professional, but everyone here is auditioning for something.”

Today she’s wearing a pencil skirt and a blouse that probably cost what I pay in rent. Her dark hair is blown out straight and her eyeliner could cut glass.

“You have coffee on your—”

“I know.”

“Jacket.”

“Wearing it.”

She tips her chin toward my desk. “Kaye wants the Marchetti files colour-tabbed by end of day. Red for litigation, blue for compliance, green for correspondence. You know how to tab?”

I pull open my desk drawer. Inside: a bag of adhesive tabs I brought from Idaho, sorted by colour, each strip pre-cut to the same length. Blythe bends down. Her eyebrows go up.

“You brought your own tabs.”

“The ones in the supply room are too wide.”

Something crosses her face. Not amusement, not quite. Something closer to recalibration. She straightens. “End of day,” she repeats, and turns on one impossible heel and is gone.

BY THURSDAY I HAVE a system.

Tabs: red litigation, blue compliance, green correspondence, yellow for anything that doesn’t fit the first three categories but feels important. I’ve added sub-tabs: small white ones that flag pages with signatures, dates, or dollar amounts. Every file on my desk is squared, spines aligned, a colour-coded map of someone’s legal life that I can navigate in the dark.

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Boys Who Crave Read Online Clarissa Wild http://www.wownovels.com/boys-who-crave-read-online-clarissa-wild Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:20 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/boys-who-crave-read-online-clarissa-wild Genre: Alpha Male, College, Dark, Mafia, Virgin Authors: Clarissa Wild Advertisement

Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 160041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >160

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…

The day I was found in the woods covered in blood, I decided the world would know my wrath.
I was betrayed by the people I trusted the most, so I crafted a plan. During the daylight I attend college, but at night, I have my vengeance.
Spine Ridge University is my playground, and I can make any student bend to my will with the snap of a finger to get my way.
Until two depraved boys of the Tartarus House, a secret society filled with debauchery, discover the trail of bodies I left behind … and decide they’re going to help me.
I don’t play by the rules, but my twisted games only make Xavier and Orion that much more possessive of me. They yearn so badly it haunts me, and their filthy proposition soon becomes irresistible.
We’re a perfect macabre match and a killer’s dream come true.
But time is ticking…
Because Atreus, an obsessive cop, is hunting me down. His righteousness is just the right amount of unhinged for my kind of crazy, and we can’t stay away from each other.
A thrilling game of cat and mouse was just what I needed to stay on my toes …
Let the carnage begin

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PLAYLIST

You can listen to the music used for writing this book on the Youtube Playlist.

“Sonne” by Rammstein (Slowed) – best part

“Who Is She” by I Monster (Slowed & Reverb)

“Angry Too” by Lola Blanc

“Here Come the Wolves” by Lola Blanc

“La Leçon Particulière” by Francis Lai & Christian Gaubert (Slowed & Reverb)

“The Summoning Ending” by Sleep Token

“Dangerous” by Sleep Token

“Chokehold” by Sleep Token

“Particles” by Viliam Lane (Slowed & Reverb)

“Haunted” by Beyoncé (Slowed & Reverb)

“Peggy” by Ceechynaa

“Novinho Depressivo” by Mc Lullu (Leo Motoko Remix)

“Looking For the Hoes (Ain’t My Fault)” by Sexyy Red

“M.I.A” by KATSEYE

“Only God” by Speciimen

“Siren” by Eiby (Slowed & Reverb)

“The Machine” by Reed Wonder & Aurora Olivas (Slowed & Reverb)

“Human” by Anavae

“Love You to Death” by Type O Negative

“So Far So Fake” by Pierce the Veil (Bridge only)

“the boy is mine” by Ariane Grande

“Bootleg_Mov” by Dark Triad x Jordan Barrett (Slowed Best Part)

“Stacks From All Sides” by Skai Is Your God (instrumental)

“Government Hooker” by Lady Gaga - D00nik Remix (Slowed)

“50 BMG” by Jake Hill

“Sudno” by Molchat Doma (slowed & reverb)

“pretty little lies” by Kiraw

“Apathetic” by Lxzt

“Maneater” by Nelly Furtado (sped up)

“Happy Go Sucky Fucky” by Die Antwoord

“Treat Me Like A Slut” by Kim Petras (Slowed & Reverb)

“Drüg” by Lucky Luke (Slowed & Reverb)

“TRRST” by IC3PEAK

“fragment” by slxughter (slowed)

“Rasputin” by Boney M.

PROLOGUE

Three headstrong, vicious men stand before me, their obedient eyes locked onto mine. I broke them and reshaped them according to my needs, and they gleefully obliged to my every dark whim. These boys would kill for me if I asked them to.

“Kneel for me,” I growl.

With a single index finger, I manage to bring all three devilish boys to my heel.

It’s such a high to watch such reluctant boys bend to my will after I’ve killed off their resistance. My murder sprees are what brought us together, and their devotion to me keeps them tethered to this earth.

But God … our collective vengeance was delicious.

Xavier, the neediest of them all, slips off my boot and kisses my leg, while Orion begs for my attention at my side.

Atreus, the greediest of the three, grabs my face and says, “We’re yours.”

I never could’ve imagined in my wildest dreams I’d have not one, but three of these wicked men at my beck and call, ready to serve.

A devilish smirk spreads across my lips. “How badly do you crave me?”

“More than anything,” Xavier says, kissing my thigh.

“I would die for your attention,” Orion says, kissing the top of my hand.

“I rearranged my soul to come close to yours,” Atreus says, bringing his lips closer to mine.

“Good boys deserve to be chained forever,” I say.

I snap my fingers and wait for Orion to bring the bag with the new toys I bought. I pull out the three spiked collars and watch their eyes glow with both excitement and fear. “Now, who’s ready to be mine?”

CHAPTER 1

Sunny

I crawl across the ground, nails digging into the mud, as I leave a trail of blood in my wake.

I can’t die here.

Not now.

Not yet.

Not like this.

Despite the crippling pain, I keep putting one hand in front of the other in a desperate attempt to get to safety. I don’t know where or how, but I will make it. I’ve gotten so far already, and even though I can’t fucking walk on my own two feet anymore, I will not quit.

My teeth grind together as I shove my knees forward, groaning from the agony, but I refuse to give up.

I’m a motherfucking Reed, and Reeds never fucking give up.

I will not quit on myself, even if the world has decided I should.

Another drag across the mud, and my legs slide sideways, while blistering pain shoots up my thighs and belly, and I screech.

“Fuck!”

BANG!

The sudden gunshot makes me stop.

That came from somewhere close.

Was I followed?

Are they coming to finish the job?

I crawl and crawl, trying to get as far away from the area the gunshot came from, exerting myself over my physical limit. As my hands slip away, my chin drops down into the mud, which splatters all across my face, and I lie there with my eyes closed for a moment to breathe through the pain while the rain pours down on me.

I’m going to make it. I have to…

So I can rain hell on the motherfuckers who betrayed me.

Xavier

I hold the paper against the wooden board and smash the tape against the flyer, making sure it’s tightly secured and clearly visible before I move on to the next board I can find on this campus, which is on the second floor of the building.

I have already plastered these all over campus under the judgmental gazes of plenty of students, but I don’t care what they think of me. I won’t stop pasting these flyers all over Spine Ridge University until I’m out of paper.

I run up the stairs without looking and nearly bump into my half brother Silas.

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Broken Mercy – A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Read Online B.B. Hamel http://www.wownovels.com/broken-mercy-a-dark-mafia-arranged-marriage-read-online-b-b-hamel Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:16 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/broken-mercy-a-dark-mafia-arranged-marriage-read-online-b-b-hamel Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia Authors: B.B. Hamel Advertisement

Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >85

I accidentally flashed a brutal mafia beast…
And now he’s my future husband.

I only tried to cool off on a steamy afternoon… and ended up giving a gorgeous monster the view of his life.
I’m absolutely mortified, until his peep show turns into something more.
My afternoon delight is Brenden McGrath, a sinfully gorgeous mafia thief with ice in his veins, blood on his hands, and no patience for fools.
I thought it was a one-time mistake until my father informs me that I will be marrying Brenden whether I like it or not.
My new husband’s frozen on the inside but blistering behind closed doors.
He takes me apart but never reveals an inch of himself.
We want nothing to do with each other, right until my younger brother gets in trouble with the Armenian mafia.
Now Brenden’s the only man who can save my family, and I have to convince my impossible, secretive husband to help, no matter what it costs him.

All he asks for in return is my obedience… and my body in his bed every night.

Broken Mercy is a full-length standalone novel with plenty of steam, banter, and a guaranteed HEA

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

TALIN

I’m about to rip my shirt off.

It’s mid-August in Baltimore and this house is sweltering. The Davis couple is ancient, and I mean that with all due respect: I’m pretty sure the husband is like ninety-seven and his wife is a few years older than that. Their Fells Point townhouse is wildly stuffy and I swear they’re running the radiators. Everyone’s sweating at this packed garden party, held at the height of day, and there’s no escape from the heat, but I can’t take it anymore. The first chance I get, when Papa and Annie are distracted by mingling and laughing and doing the whole social thing to perfection, I slip away from the crowd and sneak up the back steps.

I find an office with its door standing ajar. I storm in, already unbuttoning my cream silk blouse. “Oh my god my tits are melting,” I groan to myself and gasp with delight when I spot a fan standing in the corner. I run over, switch it on, and let out an erotic sigh of relief as the air blows over my exposed chest.

“Oh my god that’s heaven,” I say, tilting my head back with a groan of pleasure. Sweat dribbles down my underarms. It’s sticky and gross, and I’m sure I’ll have big dark circles soon if I don’t dry off. This fan is exactly what I needed; it blows through my thick, dark hair, the bane of my existence, even though Mama and Annie both say it’s beautiful and I shouldn’t complain about it so much, but I’d love to see them hefting all this around when it’s a hundred degrees and humid.

I fan my blouse, letting my bra dry. I’m aware this is not how a lady is supposed to act, but come on, it’s wetter than a dog’s dick out there and just as miserable. Besides, Annie’s got enough perfection going for the both of us. My older sister can walk into a room, flash one pristine smile, and have everyone fawning over her in moments. It doesn’t hurt she’s blond, beautiful, outgoing, smart, and funny. I love her to death, but those are some impossible standards right there. She’s everything Papa always wanted in a daughter, and since Mariam got married and moved to Boston, and Tate’s out in DC and not really a part of the family anymore, it’s up to me and Annie to carry on the Sarkissian female legacy.

Which Annie does with grace and talent, while I stumble around behind her, the awkward youngest girl, neither good enough or willing to try much harder than I already am.

Once my boobs are sufficiently cooled off and my head’s starting to work, I put my hands on my hips, blouse still very much open, and look around the room.

Which is when I notice the man standing near the window watching me with a bemused smile.

I freeze. My mind goes blank. I rushed in here thinking it would be empty and didn’t bother checking the corners. I opened up my top, exposed my breasts to the cool breeze, and didn’t have a single care in the world.

While this guy got to enjoy the show.

“How… how long… have you been there?!” I’m stuttering and off balance.

“The whole time.” His voice is low and resonant. There’s not an inch of embarrassment in him, while I’m mortified. What would Annie do in this situation? She’d probably make some clever remark about how nice her tits are and how lucky he is, and everyone would forget this silly faux pas.

I’m not Annie.

“Who the heck are you?! And what are you doing in here?” I blurt my questions out with about as much tact as the floor fan blasting sweat from my ample cleavage. I don’t have much working for me, but at least I got my figure from my mother’s side of the family. Curves all the way down.

The man’s older than me. I’m guessing late twenties, so around my brother Gor’s age. He’s got light brown hair beginning to grow out from a buzz-cut, a sharp jaw, a nose that looks like it’d been broken not too long ago, and eyes that seem to take in every inch of me all at once plus the whole room too. His clothes are simple, a plain gray shirt tucked into dark slacks, the sleeves rolled above his elbows to show off his muscular and veiny forearms. He’s fit and athletic, but rangy in a way that surprises me, like any ounce of fat and softness he once carried got burned away in some vicious fire.

“My name’s Brenden. I came up here to see if there was anything worth stealing.”

His answer knocks me sideways a second time. My jaw opens to snap out a sharp reply, to yell at him for not saying something right away when he saw me opening my shirt, but instead I’m too caught off guard to be angry. He’s not moving and I’m trying to decide if I should scream or throw something at him, but instead can’t help making another bad decision.

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By Blade I Protect (By Blade #1) Read Online Penelope Sky http://www.wownovels.com/by-blade-i-protect-by-blade-1-read-online-penelope-sky Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:11 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/by-blade-i-protect-by-blade-1-read-online-penelope-sky Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Mafia Authors: Penelope Sky Series: By Blade Series by Penelope Sky
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Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >86

My father runs the only arms operation in Sicily, and now that the Skull King is monopolizing the drug empire in all of Italy, we’re in hot water.

Because everyone wants to take our business for themselves—because they aren’t strong enough to handle the Skull King.

Just when things are looking bad, Wolfe shows up looking for a job. He was born to inherit the throne of Cosa Nostra, but a mysterious falling out has forced him to turn his back on the only family he’s ever known.

None of us are sure if we can trust him, so he has going to start at the bottom and prove his loyalty. With a cocky smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eyes, he does what he’s told.

But the second he sets eyes on me—I become the real thing he wants. But I’m not dumb enough to get involved with one of the guys at the syndicate, no matter how insanely hot he is, so I tell him it’s never going to happen.

But this man doesn’t stop.

I’m a nurse that stitches bullet holes and keeps my father’s men alive on top of everything else I do for the business, and Wolfe continually cuts and stabs himself because he knows it’s the one way to get alone me alone. While I stitch him up, he stares and smirks at me…like I’m already his.

Even when my father is present, he stares at me the same way—like he doesn’t care if this obsession gets him killed. He’s honest and passionate and smart—but I also think he’s a little crazy.

I finally give in, saying it’s just for the night, but this man wants all of me before he ever touches me. An affair somehow turns into the most intense relationship I’ve ever had, and Wolfe wants to be straight with my father about us even if it gets him killed.

But that’s way too risky, not when our enemies are moving in, not when there’s a snitch in our midst—and everyone thinks it’s Wolfe. Our relationship becomes clandestine and forbidden, and while that would be fun for other men, Wolfe disagrees.

Because he wants me—forever.

When so much is set against us, I’m not sure if our relationship will survive.

But Wolfe believes it will—because he’ll die for it

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

WOLFE

I drove through the quiet streets of Palermo sometime between two and three in the morning, dried blood still on my hands because I hadn’t had time to scrub it off. I turned down a side street and then another, pulling up to the large wall with a black gate.

A small slab of steel slid open to reveal a pair of dark eyes. They looked at me for a millisecond before it quickly shut again.

“You know it’s me, asshole.”

The large gate opened inward, and I drove into the open courtyard where other cars and motorbikes were parked. I left the car there and hopped out.

Matteo, the guy who checked the peephole, walked up to me with a cigar in his mouth. His eyes were on my hands, which were still covered in blood. He wordlessly reached into his back pocket and grabbed a cloth, tossing it at me. “It went alright?”

I caught it then grabbed a bottle of whiskey from one of the nearby crates and poured it over my hands before I started to scrub my skin. “It always goes alright.”

“You sure about that?”

I swiped the cloth underneath my fingernails to catch the drops that had spread. “It’s not my blood, is it?” When my hands were clean, I tossed the cloth back at his chest, and he caught it.

“Don Russo is waiting for you inside.”

I headed to the double doors, flanked by several guards, and then entered the three-story villa hidden in plain sight in this coastal city of Sicily. I exchanged head tilts with some of the men as I headed to Don Russo’s office on the second floor. I had to cross the seven-thousand-square-foot villa, make my way up a marble staircase, and then I ended up in his office.

The other guys were already there, Uncle Marco and Costa, and a few of the others.

Don Russo was in the middle of a heated conversation with Uncle Marco, but he dropped the discussion the second I stepped inside. “You handled Raphael?”

“Yep.” My knuckles were bruised, and the barrel of my gun was empty.

Don Russo took my word for it and moved on. “It’s come to my attention that Celso is making a lot of money. Hand-over-fist kind of money. The Polizia look the other way without a bribe, so that’s even more money in their pockets.” He leaned against the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “I think it’s time we get in on the action. You know…” He cocked his head to one side and then to the other. “Get in on the action.” He wore gray slacks and a button-up, collared white shirt, dressed for business meetings with suits rather than the streets. He was about to leave his fifties and step into his sixties, but he was still sharp as a tack.

“What kind of action are we talking about, Don?” I was the only one brave enough to ask, or they all already knew the plan.

“Prostitution,” he said, his dark Italian eyes on me.

“Prostitution?” I asked blankly. “We’re American pimps now?”

“We would hand the specifics to a different crew so we can keep our focus on our existing accounts,” Don Russo said with patience. “It won’t interfere with our normal affairs.”

I thought it was beneath us, but I knew I shouldn’t resist him too much in front of the others. Could give him an earful when it was just the two of us with a couple glasses of wine—or preferably whiskey.

When I had nothing else to say, Don Russo turned his attention to Uncle Marco. “We get the girls from Armando from the mainland. We can get them to the docks and bypass customs, as with everything else.”

My eyebrows immediately furrowed in confusion. “Get the girls from Armando?”

Uncle Marco took over. “We purchased them from the Skull King. Wasn’t cheap, but they’re broken in, so there won’t be much resistance.”

Now my eyes flicked from Don Russo to Uncle Marco and then back again. I wasn’t sure how much time passed, maybe a few seconds, but the shock made it feel like minutes. I wasn’t shocked or disturbed by much, but this was despicable. “You’re serious right now?” My eyes were on Don Russo, the man responsible for every decision made by Cosa Nostra. “We’re traffickers now? That’s not who we are.”

Uncle Marco shook his head slightly so I would quiet down.

I ignored him. “That’s not who we are.” I focused on Don Russo. “I’m not saying we’re saints by any means, but we stick to our side of the street and let everyone else pass without interference. We may be criminals, but we’re decent ones. When did that change?”

“Wolfe—”

My eyes flicked back to Uncle Marco. “Does it look like I’m speaking to you?” I snapped.

Uncle Marco stared me down like he wanted to slice a knife down my cheek.

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Give In to Me – East Coast Mafia Read Online Marian Tee http://www.wownovels.com/give-in-to-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:50 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/give-in-to-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Mafia Authors: Marian Tee Advertisement

Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >78

She asked him to prom. He showed up with her sister.

In Come Back to Me, Katy had just turned eighteen when she met billionaire Julian Ventura. He looked at her then like she was the answer to a question he never wanted to ask.
A year had to pass before their first kiss. But it only took one lie from the person she trusted most to tear them apart.
In Come Here, 20-year-old Nebra farm girl Elsa Lively sat in the third row for two years, drawing circles and pretending she wasn’t in love with her professor.
For those same two years, billionaire Luciano Salvatore pretended he didn’t notice. It was how he stayed civilized. It was how he kept her alive.
Because Luciano was a very dangerous man…and the day Elsa figured out why, the line he’d held for two years was the first thing to break.

Note: Both books are standalone romances previously published under my pen name Martha Ruthie

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

DIONNE SAID HIS NAME like it was nothing.

“Julian, this is my sister Katy. Katy, Julian Ventura. We were at school together.”

They were standing on the terrace at Haven Country Club, the jacaranda throwing purple shadows across the stone, and Dionne had one hand on Katy’s shoulder, casual, sisterly, already turning back to her iced tea. It was Katy’s eighteenth birthday. Dionne had picked her up that morning in the black Audi that smelled like leather and the good perfume and had said I’m taking you to lunch, my treat, somewhere special. Haven Country Club, where a cobb salad cost more than Katy’s weekly grocery budget and the members wore watches that could pay off Amy’s medical debt. It was the nicest thing Dionne had ever done for her, and Katy had spent the first twenty minutes just trying not to touch anything.

Then Dionne spotted an old university friend crossing the terrace and waved him over, and the whole thing was supposed to be a nothing introduction, ten seconds of social choreography between courses.

Katy glanced up.

He was tall. Dark-haired. He had blue eyes, which shouldn’t have mattered. Katy had seen blue eyes before, on boys at school and actors on screens and the old man who ran the laundromat on Fig and who always saved her a dryer. Blue eyes were blue eyes. She knew this. She was eighteen years old today, as of seven that morning, and sensible about most things, and she knew that the color of a person’s eyes wasn’t a reason for the floor to tilt.

But his eyes weren’t the blue she knew. They were the blue at the center of a gas flame, hot and pale and ringed with something darker, and when they settled on her face, she felt every nerve in her body stand up and pay attention.

He regarded her for one second.

Maybe two.

And then his whole face went taut.

It was fast. If she’d blinked she would have missed it, but she didn’t blink, because her body had locked into place the moment his eyes met hers and blinking was no longer a function her nervous system was willing to perform. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. It stayed there for a beat too long, then tracked lower, to her throat, to the collar of her dress, and came back up. When his eyes met hers again, they were darker. The pale blue had gone hot, the pupils blown wide, and the expression on his face was something she’d never seen directed at her before, something she didn’t have a name for because she was eighteen and had never been assessed like she was the answer to a question a man hadn’t wanted to ask.

It lasted less than two seconds. Then his expression shuttered, so fast it was like a door slamming. In its place was a face so neutral it could have been carved from the terrace stone.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. Low voice. Unhurried. Perfectly composed, as if nothing had just happened behind his eyes.

But something had.

Katy had caught it.

“Hi,” she managed.

That was it.

Hi.

One syllable.

She was a person who said hi to people she liked and sorry to people she bumped into and once went an entire school dance without speaking to anyone because the music was loud and she didn’t know where to put her hands. She wasn’t the girl who had a good line ready. She wasn’t the girl who had any line ready. She was the girl who stood there with her heart slamming against her ribs and a feeling blooming inside her chest like a flower opening too fast, petals everywhere, no way to close it back up.

He nodded at Dionne and moved on. His shoulders cut a straight line through the terrace crowd, and Katy followed his path until he disappeared, then sat down and picked up her fork and put it down again because her hand wouldn’t hold still.

It wasn’t just her hand. It was also the heat. It was sitting in a wrought-iron chair on a terrace in Los Angeles on the day she turned eighteen, absorbing the absence where a man had just been standing, and feeling warmth spread across her skin, a phantom trace left by his attention. She touched her throat where his eyes had lingered. The skin there felt the same as always. It didn’t feel the same at all.

Dionne was talking about a case at work. Something about a deposition. Katy said mmhmm and wow and that’s insane at what she hoped were the right intervals and tasted nothing of the birthday lunch her sister had paid for and couldn’t stop studying the spot on the terrace where he’d been standing and thought, with the calm, clear certainty of a girl who had never been calm or clear about anything: I’ve found him.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >78

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Hold On to Me – East Coast Mafia Read Online Marian Tee http://www.wownovels.com/hold-on-to-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:48 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/hold-on-to-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Marian Tee Advertisement

Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

In Captivated, Ciana Reyes was twenty-four the first time she poured champagne for Andrei Almazov at forty thousand feet…and spent the entire flight pretending not to notice the scar, the silence, or the way he watched her. She didn’t know then that her airline would be his before the month was out. She didn’t know about the promise he’d made to a dying man through prison glass.

His one duty was to keep her safe. But because she made it impossible for Andrei to keep his word…he did the only thing left. He made sure she saw him with someone else.

In Caressed, young, starry-eyed masseuse Star Thornton spent every Thursday evening with Artem Almazov, the unsmiling billionaire who owned the cruise ship she worked on. Her hands would find his scars, and his body told her things his mouth never would. But just as her heart became his…Artem walked away like she had never touched him at all.

Note: Both books are standalone romances previously published under my pen name Martha Ruthie. These books are spin-offs of the Monaco Bratva series

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Captivated

Chapter 1

THE CHAMPAGNE WAS A 2011 Blanc de Blancs, and Ciana Reyes poured it the way she poured everything: without a wasted motion, with the kind of control that came from four years of serving first class at thirty-nine thousand feet and a lifetime of refusing to let her hands betray her.

They were betraying her now.

Not visibly. No passenger in cabin would have noticed the micro-tremor in her wrist as she tilted the bottle over the first flute. She caught it before the pour wobbled, locked her elbow, and let the wine fall in a clean, golden arc. But she knew. Her body had become aware of his presence before her eyes confirmed it, the way a compass needle swings north before the traveler has any idea which direction she’s facing.

Seat 1A. Third time in three weeks.

She set the flute on her tray without looking up. Moved to 1B, which was empty, as it always was when he flew. He bought both seats. She had noticed that the first time and told herself it was a business preference, the way some men needed silence the way others needed scotch. By the second time, she had stopped pretending she wasn’t cataloguing his habits.

He never reclined. He never slept. He never asked for anything beyond what was offered, and he declined half of that. He wore dark suits that fit him the way armour fit, not for beauty, but for containment. He was enormous in the way certain men were enormous: not just tall but dense with stillness, as though his body had been designed for a kind of violence he had chosen, very deliberately, to hold in reserve.

And the scar. A pale silver seam that ran from his left temple to the hinge of his jaw, pulling the skin taut over the cheekbone in a way that should have been disfiguring but wasn’t. It changed his face, made it more dangerous and impossible to look away from.

Ciana looked away.

She delivered the flute to 1A. "Your champagne, sir."

He took it without touching her fingers. He was meticulous about that, his hand always arriving a breath before or after hers, maintaining a margin of air between his skin and hers that felt less like courtesy and more like a perimeter. She had started to think of it as the exclusion zone. Two centimetres of nothing that somehow weighed more than any hand that had ever actually touched her.

“Thank you.” Low. Accented. Russian, she thought, though it had been sanded down by years of something else. French, maybe. The vowels sat differently in his mouth than they would in a native speaker’s.

She nodded. Smiled. Cabin-professional, eyes-neutral, the expression she had perfected at twenty and now wore like a second uniform. She retreated to the galley.

Raven Burnett was already there, leaning against the beverage cart with her arms crossed and one eyebrow doing the thing it did when she had an observation she was going to deliver whether Ciana wanted it or not.

"Three weeks," Raven said.

"Don’t."

"Three weeks, Ci. Same seat. Same flight. Same look on his face like he’s running long division in his head and you’re the remainder that won’t resolve."

Ciana pulled a bottle of still water from the drawer and cracked the seal. "He’s a frequent flyer. We’ve several."

“We’ve several who fly this route. We don’t have several who watch you like you’re a problem they’re trying to solve.” Raven uncrossed her arms and reached for a packet of shortbread, tearing it open with her teeth. “I’m not saying it’s sinister. I’m saying it’s something. And you—” She pointed the shortbread at Ciana. “—are pretending it’s nothing because the alternative would require you to have a feeling, and we both know how you’re about those.”

"I’ve feelings."

"Name one."

"Irritation. With you. Right now."

Raven grinned, wide, unrepentant, the kind of smile that had gotten her out of trouble and into it in roughly equal measure since they’d met in training four years ago. She was Ciana’s closest friend, which wasn’t the same thing as saying they were alike. Raven had opinions the way weather systems had wind: constantly, forcefully, and with no regard for whether you’d brought an umbrella. She dated with cheerful recklessness, had a tattoo she’d gotten in Lisbon that she refused to explain, and kept a running spreadsheet of every airline she intended to fly for before she turned thirty. She wasn’t, in any meaningful sense, a safe harbour. She was a dare. Ciana loved her for it, mostly because Raven never once tried to be anything else.

"His hands," Raven said, quieter now.

Ciana stilled. "What about them?"

"You were looking at his hands when you poured. Not at the glass. At his hands."

That was true, and Ciana hated that it was true, and she hated even more that Raven had seen it. His hands were... she didn’t have the right word. Large, obviously. Scarred across the knuckles the way hands got scarred when they’d met hard surfaces repeatedly and without gloves. But what had stopped her, what had made her pour go unsteady for a fraction of a second, was the way he held the champagne flute. Delicately. With a precision that didn’t match the rest of him, as though the glass were something he could break without noticing and he had decided, with great private discipline, not to.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

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Keep Me – East Coast Mafia Read Online Marian Tee http://www.wownovels.com/keep-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:46 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/keep-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Mafia Authors: Marian Tee Advertisement

Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >52

She was too young to be his bride. Now she’s the only woman he’ll ever fight to keep…

For the first time ever, HER OVERPROTECTIVE FIANCÉ and HER BRUTAL FIRST LOVE are published in one book.
“I’ll never let you go,” my mafia billionaire fiancé once told me.
I was only fifteen when Giancarlo Marchetti, Boston’s most feared mafia heir, saved me from becoming a madman’s bride by claiming me as his own.
Years later, he storms back into my life, more dangerous than ever, and furious that I might belong to someone else.
He doesn’t care what I want.
He only cares that I was his

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Eight Years Ago

Ropes

IT TAKES MORE EFFORT than I assumed, but I eventually manage to rip the cord off the lampstand.

Am I really going to do this?

I start yanking the cord from both ends.

Seems okay...

But can it hold my weight long enough until I die?

Only one fucking way to find out.

Tears burn my eyes even as I force myself to get moving.

It's not like I have a fucking choice.

I climb up the sink, and it gets harder and harder to fight back my tears.

It's better this way.

Because they made it so fucking clear, even with all of their faces covered, and none of them saying a single word—-

You know it is.

The way they had smirked and high-fived each other said it all.

And I'd rather die than let them have their way.

I tie the cord around my neck, and my tears finally start falling.

Fuck you, assholes.

I loop the cord around the beam.

Tighten the one around my neck until my lungs begin to struggle.

It's the cue I'm both dreading and waiting for.

Just think of it as flying.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Fly. I'm just going to fly. That's all.

I step off the counter.

Bang!

But I'm too late.

No. Fuck. No.

Instead of flying, I hear the bedroom door crash open, and a whirlpool of despair threatens to swallow me up.

No!

It's the sound of hell knocking on my door, and a scream rips out of my throat when someone grabs my legs.

Nooooooooooooooo!

I'm screaming and kicking as fear eats me alive from within.

NO! NO! NO!

I feel myself slowly losing my mind.

Please, please, please.

The cord around my neck loosens, and I start clawing whatever I can reach.

Can't anyone please help me?

Someone starts speaking, but my mind has already started to disintegrate.

I don't want this.

My body grows heavy, and my knees start to fold.

Please.

I know I'm about to lose consciousness, and I just know—-

Please, somebody, please.

When I wake up, I'll no longer be who I was.

Can't somebody help me?

I can't seem to stop begging even though I know no one's there to rescue me.

Please.

And yet...

Please.

I could've sworn someone heard my heart crying out.

Please.

And answered me with the words I had dreamt of my entire life.

"Sei al sicuro."

You're safe now.

Cages

DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES.

It's the first thing that pops into my mind when I regain consciousness.

Don't move.

Because I can sense someone staring at me even with my eyes still closed.

Don't panic.

But my heart is an idiot like always, and it starts racing uncontrollably.

Am I...okay?

I know the word is lame as fuck, but it's all I can handle right now.

I just want to know if I'm...okay.

So, let's see...

I'm still fully clothed, for one.

And from what I've read, the part between my legs is supposed to hurt.

If I'm not okay, that is.

But I think...I am.

Right?

Because if I'm wrong, then I should feel differently.

I'd know...right?

If I'm not...okay?

"I know you're awake."

FUCK.

It takes everything in me to stay abso-fucking-lutely still and not open my eyes. The voice may have sounded gentle and distinctly female, but who gives a shit? I bet people said the same thing about the Countess of Bath just before she had their bodies drained of blood.

"You have no reason to believe me yet, but you're safe with us."

Yeah right.

"Signor Marchetti—-"

Did she just say 'Marchetti'?

"It's no use to keep pretending you're asleep when your heart rate just spiked up."

Fuck.

The truth in her words is a hard pill to swallow, but I still feel nauseous like hell as I slowly force my eyes open.

Fuck.

Why is everything spinning?

"It's alright. Just take deep breaths."

The other woman's words make me feel like a fucking baby, and I hate it.

But with the world around me still spinning, it's not like I have a choice.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I do as she says even when I feel stupid, and after a few more tries, the spinning eventually slows down, and my head gradually stops throbbing as well.

"Better?"

It takes another dose of courage to make myself turn towards the voice.

Oh.

I expected someone in her thirties, but instead, I found a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl seated next to my bed. I'm guessing she's just a few years older. Maybe 20 or 21 to my fifteen. But either way, who gives a shit? She's a stranger to me still, and that's enough reason for me not to trust her.

We stare at each other, and impatience eventually gets the better of me.

"Who are you?" I ask in a guarded tone.

Her lips curve in a smile, and she looks even more angelic than she already does.

Not buying it.

"Will you believe me if I say I'm simply someone who wants to help?"

"Only if you'll tell me what you're hoping to get in exchange."

"And if I say I have nothing to gain?"

"Then no. I don't believe you just want to help me," I answer flatly, but the words only cause her blue eyes to twinkle.

Cray, I think right away.

No doubt about it: this girl isn't in her right mind.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >52

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His Obsession – Sinful Mafia Daddies Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.wownovels.com/his-obsession-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:41 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/his-obsession-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Forbidden, Mafia Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

I went to my brother's house expecting dinner.
Instead, his best friend looked at me like he wanted to ruin me.

Sebastian De Luca.
My brother's oldest friend.
Dark eyes. Controlled. And not the kind of man you say no to.

I should have kept my distance.
Instead, I let him pull me onto the dance floor of his nightclub.
Then into his bed, before I could remember why men like him are dangerous.

One night was supposed to get him out of my system.
Instead, two pink lines changed everything.

Then my violent ex found me.
And suddenly, nowhere felt safe anymore.

Sebastian moved me into his mansion that night.
Guards at every door. Eyes on every camera.
He didn't ask. He decided.

Now it's not just protection. It's possession.
And God help the man stupid enough to come for what's his.

This is a full-length, standalone age-gap mafia romance packed with danger, possessive heat, and a guaranteed HEA. No cliffhanger

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

VALENTINA

The bar line is backed up, the champagne needs more ice, and a girl with six million followers is about thirty seconds away from having a meltdown in the middle of the venue. As far as I’m concerned, the night is off to a perfect start.

I stand just outside the private elevator bank at the top of the hotel, phone in one hand, earpiece in, and my eyes sweeping the rooftop in quick, practiced passes. The venue is stunning, overlooking the ocean. One thing I’ll give LA is that the views blow Manhattan’s out of the water. The décor I’ve selected for tonight only adds to the ambience. Candlelight flickers across glass tables and white orchids hang over the main bar in soft, dramatic clusters. The skyline stretches beyond the low glass wall, glittering against a dark velvet sky.

“Valentina,” a voice calls.

I turn toward the service corridor just as one of the catering servers comes out carrying the wrong tray. He’s young, nervous, and moving too fast, which means he’s about to make a mistake.

I step into his path before he hits the floor. “Hold on.”

He stops so abruptly the tray rattles. “What?”

I glance down at the tuna cones on his platter. “These aren’t for the first pass. These go out after the founder speech.”

His face goes blank. “Chef told me these were up.”

“Chef is wrong,” I tell him, keeping my smile in place. “First pass is burrata crostini and truffle tartlets. Take these back and tell Mario I said if he pulls this again, I’m keying his car.”

The server blinks, then laughs nervously. “Okay.”

“You’re not in trouble. Just move.”

He nods and disappears back through the doors. I peer through the glass into the prep area and catch Mario’s eye immediately. He puts a hand over his heart like I’ve wounded him. I point two fingers at him. He grins.

I swear under my breath, then cut across the terrace to head off the next problem.

An influencer in silver sequins is leaning over the east bar, giving one of the bartenders hell because she wants into the roped-off lounge. The bartender looks about one second away from telling her off, which would inevitably end up all over TikTok.

I slide in beside her.

“You look stunning, Melissa,” I say warmly, like we’re old friends and she’s not currently terrorizing my staff. “I’m so glad you made it.”

She turns, ready to fight, then hesitates. People like being greeted by someone who looks like she’s in charge. I learned that a long time ago.

“Someone’s fucked up the VIP room,” she snaps.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” I tell her gently. “The front lounge is reserved for press during the first hour, and then we’ll be rotating guests through after remarks. You’re at the top of the list.”

Her mouth tightens. “I don’t wait in lines.”

“Neither do I.” I lean in like I’m about to do her a favor. “That’s why I’d hit the west photo wall right now, before the actresses get here. The lighting is better on that side, and once the bigger names start posting, the line is going to be impossible.”

That gets her attention. She glances toward the west side, already calculating her own face from every angle.

“Perfect,” she says, a gleam in her eye, and stalks toward the west wall.

A launch party like this is controlled chaos. The clients think they’re paying for beauty and exclusivity. What they’re actually paying for is the woman sprinting in heels behind the scenes so no one realizes the ice delivery was late, the logo plaque on the flower wall shifted half an inch, and one of the assistants nearly cried.

I catch a hostess near the private lounge and straighten the angle of her name badge without breaking stride.

“Relax your shoulders,” I murmur to her.

She straightens. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” I tell her kindly. “Just breathe. It’s a catering job, not World War III.”

Gia appears beside me like she was summoned by my stress level alone. She looks incredible in her bronze slip dress, with long dark hair swept over one shoulder, and sharp, smoky eyes that miss almost nothing. She works in branding and publicity, which means we cross paths constantly. Somewhere in the middle of that, she became my best friend.

“Mrs. Reynolds is panicking in the powder room because she thinks one side of her contour looks muddy,” she says.

Jacqueline Reynolds is the wife of Harold Reynolds, the founder of the company launching tonight. She’s the kind of woman who thinks this party is all about her, and she’ll milk every last second of it.

“I already sent up a makeup artist.” I sigh.

“Of course you did.” Gia laughs. “You don’t miss a thing.”

I grin and take a sip of water before scanning the room. The DJ is spinning bland, nondescript music that’ll serve as background for the evening. The bartender has a small crowd, but he moves like lightning, keeping the wait time low. Out of habit, I note where every security guard is stationed.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

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Hold Me Close (Dangerous Obsession #3) Read Online Nikki Sloane http://www.wownovels.com/hold-me-close-dangerous-obsession-3-read-online-nikki-sloane Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:39 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/hold-me-close-dangerous-obsession-3-read-online-nikki-sloane Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia Authors: Nikki Sloane Series: Dangerous Obsession Series by Nikki Sloane
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Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >102

The only thing more dangerous than trusting him — is falling for him.

One last job. Once Captain Olivia Wallace flies her employer to South Africa and back . . . she’s free. Next time she won’t unwittingly agree to work for criminals, but when you’re running from your past, you can’t afford to be picky.

She quickly discovers the savanna is full of predators and the most dangerous of all is her boss’s new bodyguard. This man is intense. Lethal. Gorgeous.

Even when he’s wrapped in lies.

His name is fake, but their attraction is blisteringly real. He may claim he’s not a good man, but when violence erupts, he risks everything to save her—including his cover.

Except putting his desires above the mission sets them on a dangerous collision course with the Italian mafia, and its impact threatens to destroy so much more than just their lives.

TROPES:
- Alpha Hero
- Spy / Hidden Identity
- Mafia
- Guarded Hearts
- Protector
- Military
- Only One Bed
- Strong Heroine

Hold Me Close is a standalone romantic suspense. However, it is book 3 in the Dangerous Obsession series which is best read in order to avoid spoiling previous booksShe’s a flight attendant. He’s the billionaire who sat in 1A…until he bought the airline to keep her close.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

OLIVIA

Elephants were on the runway, making landing impossible. This wasn’t a delay I’d encountered before. My co-pilot Rory and I guided the Bombardier down to buzz the landing strip, startling the impressive beasts on their way, before we maneuvered to make our approach.

It wasn’t much of a runway. More a level strip of grassy land that the luxury game lodge groomed for their wealthiest clients, so they had somewhere to set down their private jets. The only alternative was to land at Johannesburg and drive three hours to the middle of nowhere.

There was no way the eldest son of the Abramo family was going to put up with that.

The plane bounced and shuddered down the runway, and I had to fight the yoke in my hands to bring the aircraft to a stop on the dirt-packed, uneven road. Then I powered down the engines and the jet slowed to a crawl with South African soil beneath the wheels.

A few more flights and my trial contract as the Abramos’ pilot would be up. Usually, I flew for the patriarch, an intimidating man whose scrutinizing gaze made me break out into an uneasy sweat. I didn’t let people scare me, but every hair stood on end in his presence.

The Abramos didn’t speak English.

It was like that language was too ugly to come out of their refined mouths. The entire flight crew spoke no Italian, and this was by design. During my interview for the job, the translator explained the language barrier was so the Abramos could discuss sensitive business information in flight, but I wasn’t a fool.

I knew what type of business they were really in.

I unlatched the cockpit door and collided face-first with a man’s hard chest. I shot him a perturbed look, like it was his fault I’d walked into him.

Nathan.

The unfamiliar American was enormous, at least six and a half feet tall, all muscle stretched across his lean frame. Dark, straight hair that was longer on top and swept to one side. His eyes were magnetic. As black as the gun I’d seen holstered under his arm. I didn’t like armed passengers on my bird, but it wasn’t as if I could ask Giovanni’s private security guard to stow his weapon in the hold.

I couldn’t ask him because Nathan scared the hell out of me.

Giovanni’s usual bodyguard and translator for this safari had come down with the stomach flu at the last minute, and Nathan had taken his place. The moment I’d seen him, something tightened in my chest and my breath went shallow.

I’d spent most of the flight down here trying not to think about him, or how embarrassed he’d been when he realized I was the captain and not the flight attendant. After his apology, we’d had a quiet moment together. His job was to ensure nothing dangerous made its way onboard, and I told him I thought the most dangerous thing was probably standing in front of me.

He didn’t deny it.

In fact, there’d been no reaction at all from him.

He appeared to be the same age as I was, but maybe he was older than thirty-five. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept during either leg of the flight. Even tired, this man still looked dangerous. That gun, those muscles, those furiously intense eyes.

Predatory and beautiful.

He stared down at me now, his face expressionless, but there was something lurking in his gaze. Curiosity? I’d always been good at reading people, which made me great at poker, but didn’t help with much else.

“Sorry if the landing was a little rough,” I said.

He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less, but again, there was an edge to his expression, hinting at something . . . else. “It was fine.”

His voice was deep and sent my stomach uncharacteristically twisting.

“We’ve both had rougher,” announced Rory, who lingered in the cockpit and finished powering down the electronics. He was Scottish with gray hair and a few extra pounds around the midsection, and an easy-going calmness that I admired.

He was right. I’d certainly had rougher landings, but I kept my face blank.

Nathan’s dark eyes narrowed, discerning. Like he saw past it, right to the dark memory of that crash I tucked away. I ripped my gaze from his and turned my attention to the young British cabin attendant who was setting the stairway in place. Stuart was nice. He was bright and happy and so polite that sometimes I felt inferior when he was around. Like there was something wrong with me for not being able to find a smile as quickly as he could.

It was pleasant outside, probably sixty degrees in the shade and warmer under the sun. Spring even though it was late November. Being south of the equator messed with my head.

On the tarmac, a collection of people waited, staff of the private game reserve. Nathan translated our boss’s demands to them, and while some began to unload the luggage, the travel party of two, plus my flight crew, were ushered into a waiting van.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >102

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Our Pain Our Pleasure (Last to Fall #3) Read Online J.A. Huss http://www.wownovels.com/our-pain-our-pleasure-last-to-fall-3-read-online-j-a-huss Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:20 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/our-pain-our-pleasure-last-to-fall-3-read-online-j-a-huss Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Mafia Authors: J.A. Huss Series: Last to Fall Series by J.A. Huss
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Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >98

Some saints are wrapped in sin and some monsters will die for you.

EMMALEEN
Six weeks of dungeon submission.
Two men who complete me.
And then this Irish jerk shows up and stuffs me in a trunk!
I should scream.
Or kick.
Or punch him in the face.
But I don’t do any of that.
Because I'm a hot mess who gets off from taking orders and I can’t tell if this is a kidnapping or a really aggressive meet-cute.

GIOVANNI
Romance is a game I was never going to win.
I built her a dungeon.
He built her a chapel.
I gave her a collar.
He gave her books.
Little Miss Take needs to come home.
To me.
To my rules.
To my monster who never needed to be a saint.
I don't have to be better than him. I just need to be the one willing to die first.

My sin, my sacrifice... until confession became the only way to keep her forever

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

The autumn air bites through my suit jacket as I step onto Mama Bavga's front terrace, the heavy oak door closing behind me on the controlled chaos of Sunday dinner cleanup.

Congratulations, October. You're basically the mob boss of seasons—showing up uninvited, making everyone uncomfortable, leaving a trail of dead things in your wake. Very on-brand.

I stop mid-step—halfway down the stone stairs leading to the driveway.

What the fuck was that?

I replay the thought, dissecting it like evidence at a crime scene. The rhythm. The absurd comparison. The self-aware humor wrapped in cynicism.

I just… created an Emmaleen-ism.

All by myself.

A laugh erupts from me as I continue descending the terrace stairs and start walking towards the Aventador.

Somewhere in the past weeks—between the contracts, and the positions, and the poems she writes in perfect terza rima while I fuck her senseless—Emmaleen Rourke has infected my internal monologue.

Her chaos has leaked into my carefully ordered mind like water.

The corner of my mouth twitches. An expression I don't recognize on my own face. Something dangerously close to amusement.

Oh, she would love this. October as a mob boss. She'd spiral it into a fifteen-minute monologue about seasonal intimidation tactics and pumpkin spice as a protection racket.

The thought of her voice—breathless, rambling, somehow both anxious and confident—settles somewhere behind my ribs.

A place located suspiciously close to my heart.

The front door opens on the terrace above me, leaking sounds from inside, then Jino is skipping down the stairs. He passes me, clicking his key fob to make his car chirp. "Gotta swing by my place," he calls over his shoulder. "Need to grab clothes, some gear for tomorrow's session."

"All right. How long?"

"Twenty minutes, probably. I'll meet ya at home."

Home. He's looking at me when this word comes out. The word lands between us like a loaded weapon.

Jino shrugs up one shoulder—a gesture that splits the difference between acknowledgment and dismissal. Half apology for the slip, half defiance that he doesn't particularly regret it.

The movement is casual enough to dismiss, deliberate enough to notice.

I don't correct him. Don't point out that my mansion isn't "home" in any traditional sense of the word. It's just the current operational base, temporary like everything else in this business.

But I also don't miss the implication threaded through his choice of words.

That Emmaleen has become his gravitational center.

That her space—and by extension, my space—has expanded to include him in its orbit.

We bump knuckles—brief, efficient contact that says everything required without wasting words. Then he slides into his black Challenger.

I turn toward the Aventador.

The matte black body gleams under the estate's exterior lights. The scissor door lifts and when I lower myself into the driver's seat, the cockpit wraps around me like a second skin.

When I press the start button, the engine doesn't roar. It detonates—a sound engineered to remind everyone within earshot that power isn't always subtle.

I Follow Jino down the driveway, then we diverge, turning in opposite directions and Sewickley Heights stretches out before me like a carefully curated museum of old money.

The streets are silent, lined with estates hidden behind stone walls and ancient trees. No pedestrians. No traffic. Just empty pavement and the occasional glow of security lights marking properties owned by families who've been here long enough to forget when they first arrived.

The neighborhood fades behind me as I accelerate toward the highway—four lanes of dark asphalt cutting through the Pennsylvania hills towards Riverview.

My estate isn't Sewickley Heights. It never will be. I don't have Mellon money, but my Victorian-era Gothic monolith of dark brick stone sits on five acres of small-town wooded privacy, restored to a level of craftsmanship most of these inherited fortunes wouldn't appreciate.

The estate in Riverview started as a bribe from my father.

A carefully calculated gesture designed to soften the blow of exile. Being sent to Riverview felt like banishment at the time, assigned to manage sleepy operations in a dying coal town while my brothers remained in Pittsburgh, close to the real power and real decisions that shaped the family's future.

Salvatore has always been generous with gifts, but his gifts have never been about affection. They are guilt wrapped in expensive paper, apologies he'll never actually speak aloud, and compensation for the emotional distance he maintains with surgical precision.

But now that Emmaleen is there—and Jino, I have to admit, whose presence has proven more valuable than I initially anticipated—the place doesn't feel like a bribe anymore.

Especially now that Dom and Ricky have stopped treating my dungeon like their personal sex club and moved into their own places. No more stumbling over their weekly rotation of Pittsburgh girls. No more finding discarded lingerie in my kitchen or hearing headboards slamming against walls at three in the morning.

So… Jino's characterization was right.

It's home.

As the highway stretches ahead, dark and mostly deserted this time of night, my mind lands where it's been landing for weeks.

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