Belle Ami is here to tell us about the Toxic Love series, dark romantic suspense.
There's also a great giveaway.
______________________
Their past was painful,
Their love undeniable,
Their future unbreakable…
Toxic Attraction
Toxic Love Series Book 1
by Belle Ami
Genre: Dark Romantic Suspense
I knew the moment
I saw her that she was mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Adelia Lindstrom is a rising star in the elite equestrian world, struggling to
move forward after the devastating loss of her parents. When she meets
billionaire banker Miles Bremen and his enigmatic twin sister, Karolin, her
world takes an unexpected turn.
Miles is more than dangerous—he exudes a bold, unapologetic sensuality that
pulls Adelia into uncharted territory. With him, she discovers a side of
herself she never knew existed: passionate, daring, and irresistibly drawn to
his magnetic allure. But behind his seductive charm lies a darkness that keeps
her on edge, making her question whether surrendering to his world will set her
free or destroy her.
Toxic Attraction is a steamy,
edge-of-your-seat dark romance thriller that explores the intoxicating power of
passion and the risks of losing control.
Tropes include: enemies to lovers,
really dark romance, age gaps, obsessive anti-hero, possessive
protector, morally gray hero, protective and stalking, kidnapping,
forbidden love, revenge gone wrong.
Trigger Warnings: This series
contains dark and mature themes, including an extremely possessive alpha hero
with an "I will destroy anyone who threatens the heroine" intensity,
emotional manipulation, kidnapping, and intense romantic conflict. Readers should
be aware of potential triggers and are encouraged to review the detailed
trigger warnings inside each book. Books 1 and 2 end in cliffhangers, but the
series concludes with an HEA in Book 3.
Please note: Toxic Attraction is a revised and revamped
version of The One by Belle Ami (published in 2014)
**Get it on sale - Kindle countdown deal Feb 3-10!!**
I failed her, and
I’ll never forgive myself. But I’ll do whatever it takes to win her back—even
if it costs me everything.
Adelia Lindstrom Bremen thought she had found her forever love in Miles Bremen.
Their fiery connection gave her everything she thought she wanted, including
Fallyn and Liam, their twins. But their passion burned too hot, and betrayal
shattered their marriage, leaving her to rebuild her life.
When her children are abducted, Adelia turns to FBI Agent David Weiss for help.
As they work together to bring her children home, David’s steady presence
offers her a haven of calmness she never experienced with Miles. But Miles
isn’t ready to let her go, and his bold, unrelenting desire for her reignites
everything she thought she’d left behind.
Now caught between two men—one who offers safety and the other who awakens her
soul—Adelia must navigate a high-stakes game where love, obsession, and danger
intertwine.
Toxic Deception is a dark
romance thriller that will grip you with its passion, betrayal, and
heart-pounding suspense. Tropes include enemies to lovers, really dark romance, age gaps, obsessive
anti-hero, possessive protector, morally gray hero, protective and
stalking, kidnapping, forbidden love, revenge gone wrong.
Trigger Warnings: This series
contains dark and mature themes, including an extremely possessive alpha hero
with an "I will destroy anyone who threatens the heroine" intensity,
emotional manipulation, kidnapping, and intense romantic conflict. Readers should
be aware of potential triggers and are encouraged to review the detailed
trigger warnings inside each book. Books 1 and 2 end in cliffhangers, but the
series concludes with an HEA in Book 3.
Please note: Toxic Deception is a revised and revamped version
of The One and More by Belle Ami (published in 2014)
I’ll fight for
her, even if it kills me. She taught me how to love—and now I’ll prove I’m
worthy of her.
Adelia Lindstrom Bremen has faced heartbreak, betrayal, and danger at every
turn. Her parents’ deaths were no accident, her marriage to Miles ended in a
vicious custody battle, and now she’s caught between two men—Miles, the
enigmatic billionaire who awakened her deepest desires, and David, the steady
force she thought she needed.
Miles has always embodied bold passion and unapologetic sensuality, but Adelia’s
love has sparked something unexpected in him—a desire to change, to be the man
she deserves. When Adelia becomes the target of a serial killer hunting climate
scientists, Miles must confront his darkness and fight for the woman who made
him believe in redemption.
As danger looms and secrets unravel, Adelia must decide if love can truly
transform, or if passion and peril will consume her. Can Miles prove he’s more
than the man who broke her heart? And will Adelia find the courage to trust the
one who has always owned her soul?
Toxic Redemption is the
electrifying conclusion to the Toxic Love series—a dark
romance thriller where love is as dangerous as it is transformative.
Tropes include enemies to lovers, really dark romance, age gaps, obsessive
anti-hero, possessive protector, morally gray hero, protective and
stalking, kidnapping, forbidden love, revenge gone wrong.
Trigger Warnings: This series
contains dark and mature themes, including an extremely possessive alpha hero
with an "I will destroy anyone who threatens the heroine" intensity,
emotional manipulation, kidnapping, and intense romantic conflict. Readers
should be aware of potential triggers and are encouraged to review the detailed
trigger warnings inside each book. Books 1 and 2 end in cliffhangers, but the
series concludes with an HEA in Book 3.
Please note: Toxic Redemption is a revised and revamped
version of One More Time is Not Enough by Belle Ami (published
in 2016)
Belle Ami writes
breathtaking historical fiction, captivating historical romance, and gripping
romantic thrillers. Creating unforgettable characters and crafting complex
stories, Belle’s writing reflects the redemptive power of love and the strength
of the human spirit.
A former Kathryn
McBride scholar of Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania, Belle, is also a proud
recipient of the RONE, RAVEN, Readers’ Favorite Award, and the Book Excellence
Award.
Belle’s passions
include hiking, boxing, skiing, cooking, travel, and of course, writing. She
lives in Southern California with her family.
Doc Blalock is here to tell us about A Damned Dirty Thing, The Jake Bishop Files, noir, paranormal sleuth, suspense.
There's also a great giveaway.
_____________________
Some cases require a gun.
Others need magic.
This one
demands both.
A Damned Dirty Thing:
The Jake Bishop Files
by Doc Blalock
Genre: Noir Paranormal Sleuth Suspense
The explosion should have killed him . . .
Jake Bishop is back on the streets of Solomon City, ten
months after a mob bombing destroyed his office and murdered his partner and
secretary. But Bishop isn’t just any private detective—he’s a “ditch wizard”
able to step through shadow and bend reality to his will.
When the beautiful and mysterious Portia Vance answers his
ad for a new secretary, Bishop thinks his luck might finally be changing.
Together, they begin hunting Vito Morelli, the mob boss who ordered the hit
that nearly ended Bishop’s life.
Their investigation leads them through the city’s darkest
corners—from strip clubs to shadow banking operations, from corrupt cops to
magical wards. But in a world where bullets and spells are equally deadly, and
where everyone has secrets worth killing for, Bishop discovers that the line
between hunter and hunted is thinner than he thought.
Some cases require a gun. Others need magic. This one
demands both.
In the shadows of Solomon City, justice comes with a
price—and revenge wears a beautiful face.
A gritty noir fantasy that proves sometimes the most
dangerous magic is the human heart.
Christopher “Doc” Blalock is a US Navy veteran Corpsman and retired
counselor. He is a prolific fine artist, illustrator, musician, sculptor and
writer, cursed with the itch to create. He draws inspiration from sources
ranging from JRR Tolkien to Tom Clancy. He additionally draws from his love of
classic black-and-white noir films, infusing their moody aesthetic and
storytelling into his writing. A helpless coffee addict, he lives in the
Atlanta suburbs with his childhood sweetheart and a dog of dubious moral
character.
Summer Hunter is here to tell us about Always Believed in You, Pink Hotel Book Three, romantic suspense.
Read on for details...
______________________
Pink Hotel, Book Three
Romantic Suspense
Date Published: January 20, 2026
Toby
I should’ve stayed away from Tate Moon.
Sunshine like hers shouldn’t touch a man carved out of violence,
Shadows, and the kind of past that doesn’t just haunt – it hunts.
When I buy the Pink Hotel, Laketown calls me danger.
They’re right. They have no idea how right.
I came here to repay a debt – not hunger for the woman I’ve
already fallen for twice.
But Tate walks back into my life, all soft curves, wildfire eyes, and a pull
I’m too weak to resist.
One accidental touch, one breath against my throat, and every line I swore
I’d never cross ignites.
But the men coming for me won’t pause because I want her.
And when her secret – who her father is – drops us straight into
the crosshairs, I do the only thing guaranteed to break us both:
I walk away before the blood on my hands becomes hers.
Tate
Toby thinks disappearing will protect me.
He forgets exactly who he’s dealing with.
When he vanishes, leaving danger snapping at our heels, I refuse to let fear
or fate take him.
With my pistol–wielding mama, my chaos-loving grandpa, and half the town
ready to scorch the earth, I’ll tear through every thread determined to
claim him.
Because Toby Russo believes he’s poison – but I know better.
His darkness steadies mine, his touch anchors me, and I’ve believed in
him long before he believed in himself.
The Pink Hotel has secrets buried in every cracked tile and blood-soaked
memory.
This time, we’re the ones ripping them open – and we’ll burn
down anything that tries to swallow us whole.
About the Author
Summer Hunter writes romantic suspense with bite—where love
sizzles, danger lurks, and someone always ends up shirtless.
She calls Hawaii home, which means she’s fueled by sunshine, strong
coffee, and the occasional plot twist that shows up between bites of fried
noodles. Her characters are bold, her banter is sharp, and her
happily-ever-afters always come with a little chaos and a lot of heat.
When she’s not plotting her next twisty love story, she’s probably
side-eyeing tourists from behind her sunglasses and pretending it’s all
“research.”
Marteeka Karland is here to tell us about Rancor, Kiss of Death MC, motorcycle club romance, suspense, and age gap.
Read on for details...
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(Kiss of Death MC)
Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: January 16, 2026
A broken man, a wary woman, and a past that wants blood -- love has
never been more dangerous.
Cora -- Survival is my full-time job. Delivering groceries to the Kiss of
Death MC should’ve been just another stop… until Rancor stepped
out of the shadows and looked at me like he already knew my secrets. His quiet
strength is wrapped in scars and heat. He’s the kind of man who could
break the world but touches me like I’m the only soft thing he’s
got left. I should run. Instead, I keep driving through those gates, craving
the one man who makes me feel safe in ways I don’t dare say out loud.
Rancor -- I buried my heart years ago. Grief, violence, and prison killed
anything left inside me, and I was glad. It meant I didn’t have to feel
anything. Then Cora walked into the compound and cracked me open with a single
glance. She’s brave without meaning to be, a storm in a small frame, and
the first woman to make me feel anything since the night my life ended. One
touch, and I knew I’d protect her with my last breath. One kiss and I
knew I’d kill for her. I’ve already lost too much to lose her,
too. Especially not to the same family who already ruined my life.
EXCERPT
Cora
The gates of the Kiss of Death MC compound loomed ahead, iron and rust and
threat. I knew the place was called Kiss of Death because there was a big-ass
sign on the gate. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel of my beat-up
sedan. No one wanted to deliver here, and for good reason. My second delivery
here felt even worse.
The first time I could blame ignorance, on not knowing better. This time I
drove through those gates with full knowledge of what waited inside. At least,
I hoped I did. The people inside these gates had been nothing but kind to me.
Tipped well, too. I still found it hard to let my guard down in a place
literally named Kiss of Death.
The sedan’s engine coughed as I pressed the accelerator. The sound
seemed too loud, even in a place that could get noisy. The rumble of a bike
starting up had me jumping. As the guy caught sight of me, he froze and shut
down the bike. Next thing I knew he was rolling backward, pushing the bike
with his feet until he returned to the inside of the garage. I rolled forward,
past the gates.
Camo netting stretched between the buildings, creating shadows in the
afternoon light. The warehouses formed a perfect square like some kind of
military precision in architecture. If I didn’t need the money, I
definitely wouldn’t be here.
The main building rose ahead. I’d been directed there last time, so I
aimed for the same spot. I thought about the envelope from my first delivery.
Cash, all of it, with a tip that equaled half the order total. That money had
bought groceries for a week, gas for two. It had been the difference between
making rent on time and asking my landlord for another extension I
wouldn’t get.
The parking area materialized ahead. I pulled in next to a row of motorcycles,
their chrome catching the filtered light through the netting. My sedan looked
all kinds of wrong among them.
I shifted into park and killed the engine. The silence felt worse than the
noise. Now I could hear everything. Distant music from somewhere inside the
compound. Male voices, laughing. It all sounded so normal I wanted to laugh at
myself. Obviously they’d been grateful to get someone to deliver here
and had treated me well. The phone app tracked my movements, kind of like a
safeguard, so I really had little to worry about. I hoped.
My fingers fumbled with the door handle. Metal, cold against my palm. I pushed
it open and the hinges squeaked, announcing my presence to anyone within
earshot. The air outside tasted different than in my car. Heavier. It carried
scents I couldn’t identify; motor oil and something sharp underneath,
something that made my lizard brain want to run.
Movement from the clubhouse caught my eye. Hannah bounded out waving as she
hurried to me. She’d been the one to meet me last time.
She hurried toward me with an easy confidence and a bright, genuine smile I
envied. Her dark hair caught the filtered light, pulled back from her face in
a way that revealed high cheekbones and those striking hazel eyes. She wore
jeans and a simple T-shirt, and a black leather vest. I’d noticed last
time the vest was similar to her husband’s, though the back proclaimed
her as “Property of Knuckles” where his simply said “Kiss of
Death MC” and “Nashville, TN”. It sounded barbaric, but this
woman didn’t seem oppressed in any way. In fact, when I met her the last
time, her husband had dropped a kiss on top of her head as he’d passed
her and hadn’t let Hannah carry anything from the car.
I raised a hand in an awkward wave, immediately feeling stupid for the
gesture. But Hannah’s expression softened further, and she picked up her
pace. I moved to the back of my car and lifted the trunk lid, ready to help
her unload.
“You came back.” Hannah’s voice held a warm welcome that
seemed impossible in this place. She stopped a few feet from my car, close
enough to be friendly but far enough to respect boundaries. “I
wasn’t sure you would.”
“The order came through.” I tried to keep my voice steady,
professional. “Same as last time.”
“And you accepted it.” Something shifted in her expression, a
subtle approval that made me stand a little straighter. “Most drivers
reject anything with our address. The guys haven’t done anything, but
this many ex-cons in one place makes people nervous, I guess.” She
frowned. “People tend to overlook the good they do. Not every person
guilty of bad things are bad people.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You know, I never thought about it that
way. But you’re right. I shouldn’t judge people unless they give
me reason to.” I looked away, suddenly ashamed of myself.
“I’d be in a world of hurt if people judged me by what they saw on
the surface.”
“Hey.” Hannah moved closer, reaching out to touch my shoulder
gently. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. We truly are
grateful someone is willing to give us all a chance.” She smiled,
squeezing my shoulder gently before dropping her hand.
“Um, can I ask a question?” I didn’t know why I asked her,
but once I had, I intended to follow through.
“Of course.” She looked pleasantly curious.
“I saw a guy when I first came in today. He came out of that
building,” I pointed back the way I’d come. “But he turned
off his bike and rolled back into the shadows.” I swallowed hard. If
I’d gotten too nosy I might well have crossed a line I shouldn’t
have. But it was odd! Also, I might be feeling a little paranoid. But to my
surprise, Hannah only smiled.
“The guys know this place isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. They
also know that some people are scared of the noise, to say nothing of the men
themselves. There’s not one of them who doesn’t look scary as
hell.” She grinned. “But every single one of them sat through and
energetically participated in the Christmas party they had for the women and
children in the shelter they help protect. The kids adore them all.”
Before I could respond, movement behind her drew my attention. Another figure
emerged from the clubhouse, moving with a deliberate slowness that made every
step feel intentional.
My breath caught. He was big. Tall and broad-shouldered, and big in the way
that suggested power held in careful check. His shoulders stretched a gray
T-shirt to its limits.
His head was shaved clean, and somehow, the man was more intimidating for its
starkness. But it was his face that made my fingers tighten on the grocery bag
I still held. Weathered. Lined with stress that had carved deep grooves around
his mouth and between his eyebrows. He looked like a man who’d forgotten
how to relax, if he’d ever known.
He approached with that same measured pace, each footfall deliberate. The way
he moved reminded me of documentaries I’d seen about predators. Not
rushing. Never rushing. Because predators didn’t need to hurry when they
knew their prey couldn’t escape. My heart, which had just started to
calm, kicked back into overdrive.
“Cora, this is Rancor.” Hannah gestured between us, casually as if
introducing neighbors at a barbecue. Thank God she didn’t notice my
discomfort because how embarrassing would that be? “He’s going to
help with the groceries.”
His gaze met mine, and I forced myself not to look away even though every
instinct screamed at me to drop my gaze. His eyes were dark, nearly black in
the shadow of the camo netting, and he studied me with an intensity that made
my skin prickle.
“Ma’am.” His voice was quiet and rough, as if he
didn’t use it much.
“Hi.” The syllable came out higher than I wanted. I cleared my
throat. “There are a lot of bags.” Brilliant conversational
skills, Cora. Truly impressive.
But Rancor just nodded, a single dip of his head, and moved past me to the
trunk. He smelled like soap and motor oil, the combination oddly intriguing.
I stepped back, giving him room.
He reached into the trunk and pulled out several bags at once, hoisting them
like they weighed nothing. His forearms flexed, muscles shifting under skin
decorated with what looked like a burn scar. Then he turned and walked toward
the clubhouse, that same deliberate pace.
“So.” Hannah’s voice pulled my attention back to her.
She’d moved closer, filling the space Rancor had vacated. “You
deliver every day?”
“Most days.” I watched Rancor’s back as he walked away, the
way his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders. “Depends on the
orders.”
“That’s a lot of driving.” Hannah leaned against my car,
comfortable in a way I envied. “You like it?”
Did I like it? I liked eating. I liked having electricity. I liked not being
homeless. My job met those ends.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Flexible schedule.”
Hannah’s smile widened. Not mocking. Understanding. “Money
talks?”
“Sometimes, I guess.” No point in pretending otherwise. My car was
clean, inside and out, and I took care with my appearance. I didn’t have
anything fancy, nor did I know how to do makeup or anything, but I kept myself
clean, my clothes washed and pressed. Obviously, I didn’t have much, but
I had pride.
Rancor emerged from the clubhouse, empty-handed now, heading back toward us.
My pulse quickened at his proximity. Stupid. His presence made my pulse jump
and my body betray me. I’d seen good-looking men before, both nice guys
and dipshits. For some reason, though, this guy just did it for me when he
shouldn’t. Story of my life. Wanting things I had no business dreaming
about.
He reached the trunk and grabbed another few bags. This time when he lifted
them, his eyes cut to mine briefly. Just a flicker of contact, there and gone,
but it jolted through me like touching a live wire. I looked away first.
Examined my shoes as if they held the secrets of the universe.
“Where are you from?” Hannah asked, still making conversation like
this was normal, like we were normal people in a normal place.
“Here. Nashville.” I shifted my weight. “Well, just outside
the city.”
“You grow up here?”
“No.” The word came out clipped. I didn’t elaborate. Hannah
didn’t push. She seemed to have a way of paying attention to my body
language and feeling me out.
Hannah glanced toward Rancor, who was emerging from the clubhouse again. When
she looked back at me, something knowing glinted in her hazel eyes.
“I’m glad you came back. Hopefully I can make a friend because you
did.”
Rancor collected the last of the bags. His fingers brushed the trunk’s
edge near where mine rested. We weren’t touching, but we were close
enough that I felt the heat of his skin.
He straightened with the final bags and paused. Looked at me full-on, not just
a glance but actual eye contact that held for three long heartbeats. Then he
walked away, and I remembered how to breathe.
When I finally brought my attention back to Hannah, I found her watching me
with that same knowing expression, approval written in the curve of her mouth.
I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with danger and everything to
do with desire I had no business feeling.
Rancor must have set his load down somewhere because he now stood near the
clubhouse door, hands loose at his sides, watching us. Watching me. The weight
of his gaze pressed against my skin like humidity before a storm.
Hannah shifted closer, close enough that her voice dropped to something almost
conspiratorial. “You know,” she said, quiet enough that Rancor
probably couldn’t hear her. “You couldn’t pick a better
protector than any of the men from Kiss of Death.”
The words hit me wrong. Too direct. Too knowing. Like she’d reached
inside my head and pulled out thoughts I hadn’t fully formed yet.
“I’m just delivering groceries.” I kept my voice light,
aiming for casual and probably missing by miles. “I don’t need
protection.”
But even as I said the words, I felt the lie in them. I was one bad
day’s work away from being homeless. I lived in a really shitty part of
town because I couldn’t afford anything better.
Hannah’s smile suggested she heard everything I didn’t say.
“Of course.” I didn’t know what to do with the implication
hanging between us. That I needed protecting. That I might want protecting.
Or, more aptly, that the men here, Rancor specifically, could provide the
safety I longed for.
The idea should have offended me. I’d spent years learning to protect
myself, to need no one, to be self-sufficient in every way that mattered.
I’d always been stubborn. At least, I had been after I left my
parents’ sphere of influence.
About the Author
Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife
by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in
spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are
speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined
with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a
sigh from her readers.
Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph
events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.
Harley Wylde is here to tell us about The Enforcer's Possession, Ruthless Alliances #1, Mafia romance featuring age gap and suspense.
Read on for details...
_____________________________
(Ruthless Alliances #1)
Mafia Romance, Age Gap, Suspense
Date Published: November 28, 2025
A contract of power. A marriage of enemies. A love written in blood,
bound by desire.
Caterina: My father thinks he owns me. A spoiled mafia princess, good for one
thing -- marriage to strengthen his empire. But I refuse to be sold to a cruel
man. If he wants an alliance, I’ll give him one -- on my terms. So I go
to Dante De Luca, the De Luca family’s most dangerous enforcer. Cold.
Controlled. Lethal. Our contract marriage is supposed to be business, not
desire. Then he touches me, and everything I thought I knew about power and
control shatters.
Dante: Caterina Lombardi doesn’t know what she’s started. She
wants protection. I want her. She thinks she can use me to defy her father,
but once she’s mine, she stays mine. She’s fire wrapped in silk --
reckless, beautiful, and born to test every rule I’ve ever followed. But
in our world, rebellion comes with blood, and enemies are closing in.
I’ll burn everything to protect her… even if it means becoming
the monster she fears.
A dark mafia romance filled with obsession, betrayal, and dangerous passion.
For readers who love possessive alpha heroes, spoiled princess heroines,
enemies-to-lovers heat, and contracts written in blood.
WARNING: Intended for readers 18+ The Enforcer’s Possession includes
dark and possessive elements, emotional intensity, and morally gray behavior.
EXCERPT
Caterina
I sprawled across the velvet chaise near my bedroom windows, one leg dangling
over the armrest, my phone pressed to my ear while Adriana went on about some
party at the Castellano estate. I wasn’t really listening. Instead, I
picked at the silk blouse I’d tossed aside an hour ago -- Valentino,
bought last week, already boring -- and let my gaze drift across the disaster
zone my room had become.
Designer clothes lay scattered across the marble floors like expensive
casualties. A Gucci dress hung half-off my bed frame. Three pairs of
Louboutins created a hazardous path to my bathroom. My jewelry cases sat open
on every available surface, catching the afternoon light and throwing rainbow
refractions across the walls.
“Cat? Are you even listening to me?”
“Hmm?” I shifted, letting the blouse fall to the floor.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said Marco asked about you. Again.” Adriana’s voice held
that knowing tone that made me want to reach through the phone and smack her.
“He wants to know if you’ll be at --”
“Tell Marco to go fuck himself.” I sat up, reaching for my
discarded iced coffee on the side table. Watered down. Disgusting. I set it
back without drinking. “I’m not interested in whatever trust fund
baby wants to play gangster this week.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He wore a fedora to Lucia’s birthday party. A fedora, Adi.”
She laughed, and I felt myself smile despite my mood. That was the thing about
Adriana -- she got it. She understood what it was like to live in this world,
to be decorative and controlled and expected to smile through it all.
“Fair point,” she said. “So what’s got you in such a
charming mood today? And don’t say nothing, because I can hear it in
your voice.”
I stood, pacing toward my walk-in closet. The motion felt good, gave me
something to do with the restless energy crawling under my skin. “My
father. What else?”
“What did Giuseppe do now?”
“He’s acting like I’m some prized mare to be traded off to
the highest bidder.” I stepped into the closet, running my hand along
the row of couture gowns that lined one wall. Versace, Dolce & Gabbana,
Armani -- thousands of dollars of fabric I was expected to wear while playing
the dutiful daughter. “Apparently, he’s been having meetings.
About my future.”
“Meetings.” Adriana’s voice went flat. She knew what that
meant. We all did.
“With families. Old families. Traditional families who think women
should be seen and not heard.” I grabbed a dress at random -- something
in emerald green I’d worn once to a charity gala -- and pulled it off
its hanger. Held it up. Put it back. Wrong. All wrong. “He actually told
me yesterday that it was time I started thinking about settling down. Settling
down. I’m twenty-one, not forty.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I’d rather die.”
Adriana sucked in a breath. “Cat. You didn’t.”
“I did.” I moved to my vanity table, surveying the collection of
high-end makeup and perfumes arranged across its surface. My reflection stared
back at me from the mirror -- dark hair falling in waves past my shoulders,
green eyes sharp with anger I couldn’t quite bank. I looked like my
mother had at my age, according to the photos. Before Papa had worn her down
into the perfect Mafia wife. “He didn’t appreciate it.”
“I’m shocked.”
“The thing is, he doesn’t even see it. Doesn’t see how
fucking archaic it all is.” I picked up a lipstick, twisted it open,
then put on a little across my lips. “We all know he’s doing this
for himself or the family, but I’m sure part of him also thinks
he’s protecting me. Providing for me. Making sure I’m taken care
of.”
“By selling you off to some capo’s son?”
“Basically.” I walked back to the windows, looking out over the
Lombardi estate gardens. Perfectly manicured hedges, marble fountains, rose
bushes that cost more to maintain than most people made in a year. Beautiful.
Like a gilded cage. “He keeps talking about duty and family and legacy.
As if I’m just another asset to be leveraged. At the same time, I know
he feels women are inferior. I’m sure he doesn’t believe I could
ever take care of myself.”
“You are, though. To him.” Adriana’s voice was gentle, which
somehow made it worse. “In his world, that’s what daughters are
for.”
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. “I know. That’s what
makes it so Goddamn frustrating. He genuinely believes he’s doing right
by me. That finding me a wealthy, connected husband is the best thing he can
offer.”
“What about what you want?”
“What I want doesn’t factor into the equation.” I turned
away from the window, surveying my room again. The luxury that surrounded me
suddenly felt suffocating rather than comfortable. “I’m a
Lombardi. I’m supposed to want what’s best for the family.”
“And what do you want?”
The question hung in the air. I didn’t have a good answer. I wanted
freedom, but freedom to do what? I’d never had to think about it before.
My life had always been mapped out -- private schools, designer clothes,
carefully curated social events, and eventually a marriage that would
strengthen family alliances.
“I want to choose,” I said finally. “I want to choose who I
fuck, who I marry if I marry, what I do with my life. Is that too much to
ask?”
“For Giuseppe? Probably.”
I laughed, but it came out bitter. Moving back to the chaise, I dropped onto
it dramatically, throwing one arm over my eyes. “He’s been worse
lately. More controlling. Like he knows something I don’t.”
“Maybe he does.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I let my arm fall,
staring at the ceiling. The fresco up there -- some Renaissance reproduction
that had cost a fortune -- suddenly seemed ridiculous. Everything in this room
was ridiculous. Beautiful and expensive and utterly meaningless. “I can
feel it, Adi. Something’s coming. Some decision he’s already made
that’s going to change everything.”
“Have you tried talking to him? Actually talking, not just
fighting?”
“You can’t talk to Papa. You can plead your case and then watch
him do whatever he was going to do anyway.” I sat up, running my fingers
through my hair. My diamond bracelet caught on a strand and I yanked it free
with more force than necessary. “He pretends to listen, nods in all the
right places, and then completely ignores everything you’ve said.”
“What about Sofia?”
“Mama?” I snorted. “She’s worse. At least Papa is
honest about being a controlling bastard. Mama just smiles and suggests I try
being more accommodating. More understanding of the family’s
needs.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” I stood again, unable to stay still. The restless energy
was back, stronger now. I moved to one of my jewelry cases, running my fingers
over the pieces inside. Tiffany, Cartier, Bulgari -- gifts from my father,
purchased with blood money and given with the expectation of gratitude.
“She’s been doing this so long she doesn’t even see it
anymore. The way she swallows her opinions, plays the perfect hostess,
pretends not to notice when Papa comes home with blood on his cuffs.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of? Turning into her?”
The question hit too close to home. I closed the jewelry case with a sharp
snap. “I’d rather die,” I said again, and this time I meant
it with everything in me.
“Well, don’t do that. Your funeral would be boring and I’d
have to wear black, which washes me out.”
Despite everything, I smiled. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m the best and you know it.” I could hear her moving
around on her end, probably getting ready for whatever evening plans she had.
“Look, I know you don’t want advice --”
“Then don’t give it.”
“-- but maybe pick your battles. Giuseppe’s old school.
You’re not going to change his mind by going head-to-head with him every
time.”
“So what, I should just roll over and accept whatever he decides?”
“No. I’m saying be smart about it. You’re clever, Cat.
Probably the smartest person I know, even if you are a spoiled brat.”
“Fuck you.”
“Love you too. My point is, if you’re going to fight him, make it
count. Don’t waste your energy on every little thing.”
I wanted to argue, but she wasn’t wrong. Papa responded to strength, to
strategy. Throwing tantrums -- no matter how justified -- just made him
dismiss me as a child. “Fine. I’ll be strategic.”
“Liar. You’re going to do something dramatic and probably get
yourself grounded, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” I glanced at my closet, an idea already forming.
“There’s a family dinner tonight. Something important, based on
how tense everyone’s been.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
“Caterina Lombardi, whatever you’re planning --”
“Gotta go, my warden’s here.” I’d heard the footsteps
in the hall, recognized my mother’s measured pace. “I’ll
call you later.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That leaves me a lot of options.” I ended the call, dropping my
phone onto the chaise just as my bedroom door opened.
Mama swept into my room like she was entering a ballroom, her posture so
perfect it made my spine hurt just looking at her. She wore a cream-colored
Chanel suit that probably cost more than a compact car, paired with pearls
that had been in the family for three generations. Every dark hair sat exactly
where it was supposed to. Not a wrinkle in sight. She looked like the poster
child for “Mafia wife perfection,” and it made me want to scream.
Her gaze traveled across the disaster of my room -- the scattered clothes, the
open jewelry cases, the general chaos -- but her expression remained serene.
That was Sofia Lombardi’s superpower. Nothing ruffled her. Ever.
“Caterina.” She said my name like it was a complete sentence, with
just enough weight to convey disappointment without actually expressing it.
“Mama.” I stayed where I was on the chaise, not bothering to sit
up straighter or pretend I was doing anything productive. Let her see the
mess. Let her judge it. I didn’t care.
That was a lie. I cared. But I’d rather die than admit it.
“I wanted to remind you about tonight’s dinner.” She stepped
farther into the room, her heels clicking precisely against the marble. Even
her footsteps were measured. “Your father expects everyone to be present
and properly dressed by seven.”
“Properly dressed.” I let the words hang in the air between us,
loaded with all the implications they carried. “You mean demure and
obedient? Quiet and decorative?”
“I mean appropriate for a family gathering.” Her tone remained
gentle, but I caught the steel underneath. Mama had spent twenty-some years
perfecting the art of being firm while sounding pleasant. “We have
important guests coming.”
“Of course we do.” I sat up, swinging my legs off the chaise with
deliberate carelessness. One of my discarded shoes clattered across the floor.
“Let me guess. Someone essential. Someone whose opinion matters. Someone
Papa wants to impress.”
Mama’s lips pressed together for just a moment -- the only crack in her
composure. “This is vital to your father.”
“Everything is a key component to Papa. His reputation, his alliances,
his legacy.” I stood, moving to my vanity and picking up a bottle of
perfume just to have something to do with my hands. “His ability to
control every aspect of his daughter’s life.”
“Caterina.” This time my name came with a sigh, and when I glanced
at her reflection in the mirror, I saw something that might have been
weariness in her eyes. “Must you make everything a battle?”
“Must he treat me like property?” I set the perfume down harder
than necessary. The glass bottle made a sharp sound against the marble vanity
top. “I’m not a business asset, Mama. I’m a person.”
“No one said you weren’t.”
“They don’t have to say it. They just act like it.” I turned
to face her directly, crossing my arms. “Do you know what he told me
last week? That it was time I started considering my options. My options. Like
I’m shopping for a new car instead of thinking about my future.”
Mama moved to my bed, perching on the edge with practiced grace. Even sitting
casually, she looked like she was posing for a portrait. “Your father
wants what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for the family, you mean.”
“Sometimes those things align.”
“And when they don’t?” I challenged. “What happens
when what’s best for the family means sacrificing what I want? What I
need?”
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a moment I saw something
genuine beneath the polished exterior. Regret, maybe. Or recognition.
“We all make sacrifices, Caterina. That’s what it means to be part
of something larger than ourselves.”
“I didn’t ask to be part of this.” My voice came out sharper
than I intended. “I didn’t choose the Lombardi name. I
didn’t choose this life.”
“None of us do.” She stood, smoothing her skirt even though it
didn’t need smoothing. “But it’s the life we have. The
question is what we do with it.”
I wanted to argue more, to push until that perfect composure cracked and she
admitted how much she’d given up, how much she’d swallowed to be
Giuseppe Lombardi’s wife. But I also knew it was pointless. Mama had
made her peace with her choices a long time ago. She’d decided that
compliance was easier than resistance, that playing the role was safer than
fighting the script.
I’d never be able to do the same.
“Seven o’clock,” she said again, moving toward the door.
“Please don’t be late. And, Caterina?” She paused, her hand
on the doorknob. “Wear something appropriate.”
I drummed my manicured nails against the vanity top, the sharp
click-click-click filling the silence. It was a nervous habit I’d never
been able to break, and one that drove my father crazy. Mama’s gaze
flicked to my hand, but she said nothing. Just waited.
“I’ll be there,” I said finally. “Properly dressed and
everything.”
Something in my tone must have warned her, because her eyes narrowed slightly.
Not angry, just… knowing. She’d raised me, after all. She knew
when I was planning something.
“Caterina --”
“I said I’ll be there.” I gave her my sweetest smile, the
one I used when I was about to do something that would make Papa’s blood
pressure spike. “You can count on me.”
About the Author
Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances.
With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her
readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works
exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still managing to end on a
satisfying note each time.
When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new
plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book.
She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies.
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