Mobsters & Mistletoe Read Online Kenya Wright

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Mafia Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)

My crew betrayed me.Had me thrown behind bars and ripped away from the woman I loved.Too bad, they underestimated my thirst for revenge.This Christmas, I vow to paint these wintry streets with blood.Make it all red snow.But there’s just one problem.Zuri.The woman I was forced to abandon.The one who still haunts my dreams.Now, as the snow blankets the city in white, and revenge burns hot in my veins, I'm faced with a choice.Do I follow the path of retribution?Or do I dare to reclaim the love I lost?

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


Winter’s Embrace

Snowfall draped Shadow Heights in a sparkling white veil, turning the cityscape into a winter wonderland, its twinkling Christmas lights a soft blur like distant stars.

Within the sanctuary of Zuri’s studio apartment, though, a different radiance flickered to life.

We lay naked and tangled within her silky sheets.

It was the radiance of two souls drawing near, the silent ballet of hearts yearning in the night’s quiet symphony.

How did a devil like me capture someone so angelic?

My arms encircled Zuri’s curvy body. Those stiff little nipples pressed against my muscular chest.

Our hearts beat as a synchronized drum.

The warmth of our closeness fogged the chill from the air, sealing us in our own cocoon of passionate heat.

Goddamn. I love her.

Zuri’s presence was a study in grace—a poem that moved with the rhythm of life itself.

Her skin was the rich, unyielding ebony of midnight.

A flawless canvas of the cosmos.

Atop her head sat a crown of thick, black spirals.

Soft and silky.


Wild beauty.

Will she say yes?

I looked into Zuri’s eyes.

Those liquid chocolate depths.

Always, whirlpools of emotion danced within them.

Those eyes had been my undoing from the start.

My mind drifted to the courthouse last year, how the wintry chill of the air had battled the heat of the protesters’ passion.

Some racist neo-Nazi fuck had raised his hand to slap her gorgeous brown face.

My blood had surged with primal instinct from the streets where I’d cut my teeth, and it screamed for action.

But Zuri had been no damsel in distress; she stood fearless, her left hand held a large picket sign as a shield. Her right hand gripped a bottle of mace.

My little warrior queen.

Honestly, I didn’t even know what was going on when I rushed to her rescue. I had no idea what they were all screaming about, just that she was on the side of some group called Voices of Justice, and the idiot stood with the Aryan Heritage League.

And there I was at the courthouse to intimidate a witness who knew a bit too much about my family business. The plan was to show up in the court room right before he took the stand.

Regardless, the racist fuck’s hand never reached Zuri’s beautiful face.

Before it could, my fist connected with a satisfying crunch against his jaw.

He roared in pain and spun my way, ready to fight.

But, then he took in my face and stumbled back.

Fear replaced the sneer that had curled his lip moments before.

In my head, I prayed he would try me, but unfortunately, my reputation preceded me. And although an idiot, he was smart enough to know who I was.

The rest of his crew—a sorry batch of hate-spewing cowards—also recognized the danger before them.

They fled.

Tripping over their own feet.

Their so-called supremacy crumbling like the snow beneath their feet.

And Zuri?

She had turned, and her gaze collided with mine. Her face was a mixture of shock and something warmer, something like gratitude—or maybe more.

I damn sure wished for more.

Those eyes ensnared me.

They whispered to my less-than-salvageable soul.

They saw me—truly saw me—not as the gangster, the Crimson Mob’s Enforcer, the murderous shadow in the dark alleyways, but as the man who could stand for something deeper.

Now, here in the intimate glow of lights on her Christmas tree, Zuri’s brown skin was a canvas of warmth against the chill that had followed me in.

I never want leave.

In her embrace, I found the flicker of something pure, something that might just cleanse the death from my hands.

Zuri smirked in playful challenge, and her voice was a velvet caress against the silence. “Why are you looking at me like that, Dante?”

“I was thinking about when I met you last Christmas.”

“What made you think of that?”

I leaned in, the truth aching for release.

“Because,” I pulled out the small velvet box that I’d hid under the pillow, “you’re the Christmas miracle I never saw coming—the gift I never knew I needed, and now I want to keep you forever.”

Her eyes watered.

Zuri reached out, her fingertips tracing the edges of the velvet box. “Dante. . .”

Tension settled in my shoulders.

She whispered, her voice barely audible. “Are you. . .are you asking me to marry you?”

My heart hammered in my chest.

Get it together, man. Say the words.

In the underworld of Shadow Heights, I was the harbinger of death, and my hands dealt in the cold currencies of violence and fear.

For most, the very sight of me was a walking evil omen, sending shivers down their spines.

The Reaper draped in the guise of a man.

A creature sculpted from the very essence of crime where bloodshed was my sacrament.

But in the soft glow of Zuri’s Christmas tree lights and the snow’s gentle caress against the window pane, I was not a monster in her bed.

I was merely a man.

Raw and stripped of the armor that my sins had forged.

What will I do if she says no?