Caruso Cosa Nostra Series by Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Caruso Cosa Nostra Series by Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com Sun, 16 Aug 2026 18:32:09 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.4 http://www.wownovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Caruso Cosa Nostra Series by Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com 32 32 Brutal Revenge (Caruso Cosa Nostra #3) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.wownovels.com/brutal-revenge-caruso-cosa-nostra-3-read-online-shandi-boyes Sun, 16 Aug 2026 18:32:09 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/brutal-revenge-caruso-cosa-nostra-3-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Caruso Cosa Nostra Series by Shandi Boyes
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Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)

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Men crave what they can’t have… such as the pretty, feisty fiancée of a rival. — Matteo Caruso
The sole reason I arrived in Sicily was to marry Antonio Adami. However, he dumped me two weeks before our wedding.

I could have accepted his decision with dignity, but doing so would have jeopardized plans four years in the making, so I took the advice of a virtual stranger instead.
Matteo Caruso, notorious playboy, enforcer, and severe commitment phobe, wouldn’t know the first thing about relationships. Yet I clung to his word as gospel when a fiery kiss validated his theory.
Men want what they can’t have, and as soon as Matteo’s attention turned to me, my ex-fiancé’s interest became evident.
Antonio idolizes Matteo.
Antonio envies Matteo.
Antonio wants what Matteo has.
And now, apparently, that’s me.
With Antonio’s name scratched out on a marriage contract worth millions, and the Caruso reputation of being men of their word on the line, it’ll only be a matter of days before Antonio comes crawling back.
I just need to survive Matteo’s unexpected wit, charm, and devilishly wicked good looks to slide to the home plate of revenge.
It should be a walk in the park since the devil is easily distinguishable. Except this devil wears protectiveness like armor, and only heartless fools argue that protection isn’t the ultimate act of love

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

Chapter 1

Matteo

The Adami estate is too pristine to profit from the filth I’m here to confront. Marble floors that have never encountered dirt, and air that carries a faint aroma of expensive cigars, greet us as we are shown through the regal grounds. Every man we pass smirks with the confidence of someone who believes a noble bloodline justifies everything.

I’m here to teach them otherwise.

My younger brothers, Nico and Elio, walk beside me with the same stiff posture keeping my spine rigid. It’s the stance of a man trying real fucking hard not to break something.

Don Adami greets us with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, his arms spread wide as if he’s welcoming honored guests instead of the family whose soon-to-be sister-in-law was nearly gang-raped at an event this chapter of the Cosa Nostra hosted.

I’ve seen a lot of bad shit in my thirty-three years, but nothing compared to the terror on Dante’s face when he walked into a room to find Lucia held down by ten thugs. Her barely there bra and panties clung to her battered body by a thread, and blood trickled from her nose.

Giovanni, the don of our chapter and the eldest of the five Caruso brothers, took out the main culprit with a direct headshot. She was lucky. Death by a bullet wasn’t a sufferable enough punishment for Dante. He wanted the men holding his woman to the ground to feel the pain he felt when her screams for them to stop ripped through his ears.

A blade from one ear to the other barely scratched the surface of the adrenaline surging through his veins, but the men shackling Lucia’s ankles and wrists to the seedy, pre-cum-stained floor gurgled on their last breaths for at least a minute. Then every male member of their families endured the remainder of the brunt only hours later.

Now we’re about to take out the rest of the trash.

“Matteo, Nico, Elio.” Don Adami’s lungs saw in and out as he names us in order of our place in the family. If Giovanni and Dante were here, he would have greeted them first. It’s meant to be a sign of respect, but all I see is a cowardly man on the verge of dropping to his knees and begging to suck my dick. “Please sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”

He gestures toward an arrangement of leather chairs that look so uncomfortable I’m convinced they’re solely for show. They’re like overfilled silicone tits. Pleasing to look at, but uncomfortable as fuck when you attempt to use them for their intended purpose.

A servant appears instantly, as if summoned by the Don’s breath alone, carrying a tray of crystal glasses and a decanter of amber liquor that no doubt costs more than most people’s first car.

“Drink?” The don lifts the decanter with a flourish that betrays his age. He’s getting on in years, and it shows in the fragility with which he serves his whiskey and rules his empire. “Aged twenty-one years. A favorite of mine.” No, he isn’t solely referring to the whiskey. His mistresses are barely legal. It’s the “barely” part of my statement that has kept him breathing.

I don’t sit, I don’t drink, and I definitely don’t fucking pretend.

“We’re not here to share bedtime stories.” My deep timbre cuts through the fake hospitality like a blade. “It’s never about niceties when I’m sent to clean up the mess of others.”

I’m the enforcer of my family. The muscle. If I show up at your door, you should be quivering in your boots.

Don Adami’s smile falters, but he sets the decanter down with exaggerated care, as if the gesture alone will smooth over the insinuation that I’m here for carnage.

I close the distance between us. My steps aren’t threatening. They just clarify that I’m not here to be placated.

“Your sons⁠—”

Lifting a hand, he immediately cuts the apron strings. “Acted without my knowledge.” His reply is smooth and practiced, the kind he’s convinced will free him from being slaughtered by the wolves about to maul his offspring. “But now that I am aware, their behavior will be handled in-house. You have my word that they’ll face appropriate repercussions for their actions.”

His promise is worthless.

“A slap on the wrist isn’t harsh enough.” Each of my words carries the weight of the fury I’ve been holding back since Lucia’s almost gang rape. “Your sons crossed a line I cannot ignore, and you don’t get to sweep that under a rug because it’s convenient.” I air-quote my last word like a man with a corn kernel for a dick.

The silence stretches as I watch him squirm. I’ve always had a fascination with the scent of fear, and today it’s especially strong.

The chandelier above us casts broken light across Don Adami’s wrinkled face, highlighting the sheen of sweat forming at his temples.

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Brutal Betrayal (Caruso Cosa Nostra #2) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.wownovels.com/brutal-betrayal-caruso-cosa-nostra-2-read-online-shandi-boyes Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:51:20 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/brutal-betrayal-caruso-cosa-nostra-2-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Caruso Cosa Nostra Series by Shandi Boyes
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Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)

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Lucia:

Keeping my head down has kept me alive, so I’m clueless why I couldn’t walk away when I noticed a little girl in distress. Her eyes were drenched as she fought to free herself from a large, intimidating man breaking her heart one finger peel at a time.

Although it would have been safer for me to ignore her silent request for help, when a child is in distress, I’m morally obligated to assist.

With my heart in my throat, I marched to her side, shoved my finger into the devastatingly handsome brute’s chest, and protected that little girl with everything I had.

It’s not like I knew the dashing suit-clad man was her father, and that she was afraid of a dentist appointment he’d scheduled for her and not the man himself.

Mistakes happen all the time. I just had no clue this one would place me in direct sight of the Cosa Nostra’s most intimidating family, and that Dante Caruso is a man willing to do anything to make me a permanent fixture in his daughter’s life… and perhaps his.

Dante:

I’m used to being the antihero. It’s second nature in a family like mine. I’ve spent thirty-four years surviving in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty is currency.

I know what it means to be feared and revered, but since becoming a father, I’ve stepped back from the role that’s made me billions.

I want to forge something better for Camille—something that won’t judge her solely on her gender… and the feisty blonde, who didn’t cower like those around her when she spotted a child in distress, could help me achieve that.

My objectives have nothing to do with the fact that the stranger is beautiful, courageous, and tempting enough for me to want to break a five-year hiatus from s€x.

My daughter wants this gorgeously stubborn foreigner in her life, and I’d rather take a bullet to the chest than disappoint her.

Though I’d be a liar if I said I was only pulling out my best tricks to ensure the busty blonde becomes a part of Camille’s life.

Camille and I are a package deal.

You can’t have one without the other.

And I’m about to have the time of my life teaching Lucia Martinez precisely that

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

Chapter 1

Lucia

As I leave the dentist’s office, I run my tongue over the once jagged edge of my front tooth and wince. I spent the last hour under bright lights, being patched up by a dentist’s gloved hands. I didn’t feel an ounce of pain, as I made sure a chipped tooth wouldn’t stop me from shining under another blinding light tonight, but now the anesthetic is wearing off.

The dull ache in my jaw reminds me of last night’s mishap. A careless knock from an overeager patron led to an emergency appointment at a clinic that required my real name. I haven’t shared my birth name in so long that I nearly forgot it.

Over the past three years, I’ve tried to reinvent myself as someone who won’t have to look over her shoulder. Today, with my real name on the intake form and echoed by a dental assistant, I can’t avoid displaying the woman I used to be.

All day I’ve been on edge. I hate it. The clinic must honor patient confidentiality, so my records are secure. Even so, an oppressive weight clings to the air, choking me. It’s thick enough to cut with a knife and has kept me walking on eggshells since I arrived in Palermo.

I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Given my childhood, my unease is understandable. My stepmother would have a heart attack if she knew how I earn a living. Alas, when I suggested going to a shady, revoked-license dentist, my employer rejected the idea and paid for today’s expensive appointment.

I’m thankful I didn’t pay out of pocket for dental work I wouldn’t have needed if a client hadn’t been so rough-handed, but I’ve seen greats go down from a measly paper trail.

My only comfort is that Mother’s judgment would be hypocritical. She raised me to be exactly this way. I just accept money from strangers now instead of men with titles like fiancé, husband, and baby-daddy-to-be.

With my mouth tingling and my confidence just as bruised, I double the length of my strides, eager to get home and wash off the funk before another brutal all-night shift.

The streets between the clinic and the train station quieten around me as the late-afternoon sun casts long shadows, bathing the historic city in a golden glow. Tucking my hands into my tattered coat pockets, I slow my pace. The city’s beauty is a perfect distraction from the persistent ache inside me.

Palmero proudly displays its history. Old sandstone buildings hold stories no one will uncover—some wonderful, others painful. Every experience leaves a memory. What hurts most is how deeply we feel it.

Flaring my nostrils, I enjoy the smell of fresh bread from the corner bakery instead of the antiseptic scent of the dental office. With my senses alert, I hear a commotion at the front of the dental clinic. A little girl, maybe four years old, grips the doorframe of a large black SUV. Her knuckles are white, and moisture is flooding her eyes.

She remains silent while struggling to break free from the brute’s grasp, but her distress is clear. It radiates from her in silent waves.

I hesitate for barely a second, but the guilt is gut-wrenching. My instincts yell at me to keep walking and mind my business. I’ve spent my life bowing down and sidestepping trouble, but the girl’s desperation won’t let me walk away.

I can’t abandon her. My determination to help, even if it hurts, is deeply ingrained.

Still fighting my self-consciousness, I drift my eyes between the spectators circling the little girl and the man breaking her heart one finger peel at a time. Her cheeks are ashen, and salty blobs threaten to spill down them, but no one seems to notice.

No one but me.

After shimmying my shoulders, shifting the thumps of my pulse from my ears to my fingertips, I move forward faster than my hesitation should allow. The man is tall and broad-shouldered, meaning he faces no issues keeping the girl contained with only an arm curled around her waist. His dark hair has that two-hundred-dollar haircut all my clients seem to have. He keeps his beard thick but neatly trimmed, and even with his eyes narrowed into slits, I’m certain they’re deep brown, almost black. He’s attractive—very much so—but also intimidating.

When the girl notices my approach, her grip on the doorframe loosens as relief filters across her adorable, dimple-blemished face.

A mixture of protectiveness and old fear rises within me. I barge myself between her and the man ready to force her to submit—like my father always made me.

The stranger towers over me, easily six five, with a presence that could make anyone shrink. Still, I refuse to back down. Not this time. I could have avoided so much heartache if I’d stood my ground years earlier.

“Walk away. Now.” My tone wavers but still conveys confidence.

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Brutal Obsession (Caruso Cosa Nostra #1) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.wownovels.com/brutal-obsession-caruso-cosa-nostra-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Thu, 23 Apr 2026 23:04:31 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/brutal-obsession-caruso-cosa-nostra-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Insta-Love, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Caruso Cosa Nostra Series by Shandi Boyes
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Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)

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Valentina:

The Caruso family is legendary in Sicily. They’re powerful, untouchable, and rumored to have their hands in everything from imports to politics.

I won’t mention the things better left unspoken.

Someone perpetually late and as styleless as she is poor should be an unlikely match for the Don of the Cosa Nostra.

Not only do I get a second glance, I’m also tossed headfirst into a scandal so salacious it’s front-page news.

Since I refuse to rehash my mother’s mistakes, I try to ignore the tension hot enough to burn, but obsession is a brutal game, and Giovanni Caruso never loses.

Giovanni:

Attachments are dangerous.
They make you hesitant.
They make you weak.

And yet, when a fresh face in our great country steps in danger’s path, I respond without considering how my gallantry will favor my family or myself.

For thirty-four years, I discredited my father’s claim that he knew my mother was “it” after only seeing her once.

The instant Valentina Raimondi peered up at me, I understood.

My fixation with the curvaceous beauty is immediate and borderline psychotic, and although obsession is a dangerous thing, I can’t suspend our thrilling game of chase.

Valentina is mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to convince her otherwise… including the woman I’m contracted to marry.

Brutal Obsession is a standalone age-gap mafia romance with a curvy heroine, and the man utterly obsessed with her

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

1

VALENTINA

I’m late. Again.

While I curse the stupid Maps app as if it’s solely to blame for my tardiness, my inexpensive heels batter the uneven cobblestones in the heart of Carlisle. Their stomps mirror the discouraged honks of the early-morning commuters who loathe as much as I do that peak-hour traffic starts well before dawn.

The sun has barely risen, and its low hang creates shadows on historic architecture I’d slow to admire if I weren’t on a time crunch.

Carlisle is a sunburned metropolis on the north coast of Sicily. Nestled between rolling lemon groves and the sparkling blue waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea, it’s the perfect location for rest and recovery.

Well, that’s what I told myself three months ago when I abandoned everything familiar for this country’s promise of solace.

Willing the blue dot on my phone’s screen to magically fix itself, I follow its directions to the wire. An additional thousand steps don’t resolve my issue. The Maps app continuously leads me to a decommissioned council building instead of the hospital I’m seeking.

Carlisle’s labyrinthine streets mock modern technology, but I doubt I’d fare better with paper maps. All the old buildings painted in white, terracotta, and pale-blue hues look exactly the same. I can’t tell a family-run bakery from a gelato store.

Anger reddens my cheeks when my phone notifies me to turn left.

“There is no left! So how the hell am I meant to turn left?”

I’m already strangling my phone, but my clutch firms enough to crack the screen when a message from Dr. Russo’s secretary pops up. If I don’t arrive at Ospedale San Giorgio’s in ten minutes, Dr. Russo’s secretary will postpone our meeting until after Dr. Russo returns from a six-week international conference.

Determined not to let technology sabotage a mission over a year in the making, I quicken my pace. This morning’s meeting isn’t with the local council’s corrupt building inspector. It’s far more important than hiding the cracks of an unsteady foundation so I don’t end up homeless. This could unravel my entire existence.

“Dio mio,” I mutter, glancing at the time.

I wouldn’t be on such a time crunch if I’d left earlier, but my hair loathes extreme humidity, and I didn’t foresee a dead battery. I’m usually the first to arrive…

Actually, scrap that. Tardiness has become my middle name of late. It isn’t my fault. Carbs are cheap, but they also demand weekly wardrobe tweaks. Since laundry day isn’t until tomorrow, I’m down to the bare basics. My blouse is barely holding together. Three buttons are all that stand between disaster and me. My ample cleavage won’t survive a fourth loss.

After regulating my breathing, which I’m praying will reduce the likelihood of being arrested for public indecency, I close the Maps app and scroll through the Photos app. Carlisle is a patchwork of identical buildings and picturesque coastlines, but if any of the business names match those I’ve passed three times this morning, perhaps sometime within the next century, I’ll escape the maze endeavoring to swallow me whole.

I find the image I’m seeking as a horn blasts in the distance. I hardly notice it. I glue my eyes to my phone’s screen, anxious to identify the name of the giant stone wall blocking my path.

I’m in such a hurry that I don’t register the smoothness of the curb compared to the unevenness of the footpath, nor do I hear the truck hurtling down the main road at a reckless speed. My focus is fixed on the universally known hospital icon on the old-school map I snapped a picture of months ago, and relief surges through me when I realize it’s mere blocks away.

I’m oblivious to the danger roaring my way, but thankfully, not everyone’s brain is as sluggish as mine when denied a morning shot of espresso.

A rough, urgent hand snatches my arm and plucks me out of the path of danger with barely a second to spare. My phone slips from my hand, and before I can catch it, I’m flattened against the cool metal of a dark SUV.

The good Samaritan who saved me from a head-on collision with a truck shields me with his body as the speeding motorist thunders past us. Our near miss is so close that the air whistling from the undercarriage of the truck whips my hair back and rattles my core.

That was a close call.

Too close.

For several heart-thrashing seconds, only my pounding pulse and the fading echo of the truck’s horn fill the silence.

Even with imminent disaster gone, the stranger doesn’t release me from his protective cocoon. I don’t mind. My skyrocketing heart rate is settling, but the spasms in the lower half of my body remain steadfast. They make me wonder if they stem from fear or if they’re associated with something I’ve not experienced in a long time.

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