Ever since she's been a child, Leila Rossetti's sole ambition has been to seize control of The Cosa Nostra and avenge the childhood she lost by the claws her father, The Don. When she inadvertently declares war on the Russians, who have long held a vice grip on the underground, her plans go right in the trash giving way to a far more dangerous threat. Yet the overconfidence of the Italian assassin is nothing more than a source of amusement to Nikolai Romanov, king of The Bratva. Known for his ruthlessness and absolute control over Russia, he views Leila's reckless move as merely an entertaining spectacle, like a predator who only toys with its prey before devouring it. So what happens when The Pakhan finally decides to strike his prey? ________________________ His thumb traced the sensitive skin of my wrist, a slow rhythm that felt like he was counting my heartbeats. Then he leaned in, his lips hovering near my ear, not touching, yet the heat was enough to sear. "You're so beautiful. Even when you lie to me." I rolled my eyes, tilting my head back against his shoulder just to show him I wasn't afraid of the proximity, even while my skin screamed at the contact. "And you're still an arrogant bastard who thinks he can keep a throne just by sitting on it." "I don't just sit on it, milaya. I bleed for it. And occasionally, I make sure others bleed a little more." The vibration of his throaty chuckle sent shivers down my spine. "Now, tell me another lie. I want to see if you can make your heart rate match your tongue."

Nikolai Petrov is the ruthless leader of the Russian mafia, feared by all who cross his path. When he forces Vera Moretti, the innocent yet broken daughter of a rival mafia family, into an arranged marriage, he expects obedience and submission. But Vera, scarred by her past, hides her pain behind a facade of strength and grace. As the lines between power and desire blur, Nikolai finds himself captivated by the one thing he can't control-her heart. In a world of danger and deceit, can love survive, or will it destroy them both?

Miguel Hernandez has known a few things well: the cushion of an older brother rising to stardom, basketball and sex. His reputation's whispered from the luxury corners of the Upper East Side, spanning over New York City. Debauchery's come to be his middle name. Girls are rarely pictured leaving his side. A comfortable, familiar routine that he doesn't stray from, nor does anyone expect him to. Until her. Eyes that harbour secrets, a tongue sharp enough to cut, passions she's given up and a darkness bearing on her shoulders, Malibu Adams knows nothing but survival. Unapologetic about the trail of messes she leaves behind or the anger festering within her that will only set her on one ruinous path, love had never been on her radar. Nobody knows her enough to understand her nor the pain seeping from wounds she disregards. Until he becomes desperate to. She breaks everything she touches, they say - he isn't afraid to bleed.

{𝘉𝘖𝘖𝘒 𝘖𝘕𝘌 𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘓𝘌𝘚𝘚 𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘓𝘖𝘎𝘠} Ria Romano knew hurt like the back of her hand. She was dealt her fair share of bad cards, more than anyone so young should have to face. A cynical girl riddled with the remnants of her past, a shattered sort of soul. She concealed like it was second nature; her instinct being to suppress. She'd offer you a cigarette with a shrug while you were crying because she never was too great with affection. She didn't smile so often but when she did and it was directed at you, you'd never feel such satisfaction. I was told Aria preferred to be alone, isolated; clouding her mind with inhales of her cigarette and drowning it in alcohol. Until she was dealt her good card, out of the pack of bad. They had a love beautiful enough to last a lifetime, the type directors desire to capture and authors aspire to write. Two souls, shattered by the cruelty of the world time and time again with flames that rekindled each others. They were each other's oxygen. They breathed life back into each other, those two insomniacs. <3

Anastasia Vitalio. The Manipulator. Dante Rossi. The Killer. ... Anastasia: Some rise by sin, and some allow their sins to destroy them. In this world, I was the reckoning of those sinners and the salvation for their victims. My life danced on the fine line that divided the corrupted Upper East Side from the ordinary people of this world. Joining hands with the devils I knew was no more than a game of survival to me. Until Dante Rossi came along. Infamously known as one of the most ruthless killers and agents, Dante was a vicious man and a wicked genius. Someone lethal. He had the power to ruin someone at his will, and in this lifetime and every other, he chose me. He was the punishment for all my sins and the redemption for all my crimes. Bound together by the tangled threads of fate, I found flames ignited between us, set to burn us to the ground. Dante would either be my own reckoning or salvation. Perhaps, both. Every shade of all my sins so invitingly wrapped in one. Dante: Intelligence was the strongest weapon in a greedy world like ours. To control and survive in a ravenous city, I learned to make people bend at my will. The easiest way to have someone at your mercy was to find one single thing that could destroy their life. What I never expected was someone with the capability to destroy mine. That someone being Anastasia Cobalt Vitalio. Widely known as one of New York City's most fatal agents, Anastasia was a woman with an unbreakable mind and the allure of a temptress. With the power to make any man crumble at her feet, she was a woman anyone would worship at her command. She was never part of my plan, yet I found myself coming back to her each time I'd escape. She was the answer to all my prayers and the atonement for all my sins; the only one in this world who could make me kneel and repent. She was every shade of sin, all in one. TW: Violence & Murder

Can you damage someone beyond repair? Luca plays his role as the loyal underboss. Violent, lethal, flawless. The lapdog, the starboy. On the surface, he maintains his facade of smirks and casual charm, but beneath the mask, thereʼs a profound darkness, a relentless memory of the girl who shattered his heart years ago. Soft, innocent, naive---sheʼs the last thing he needs... yet the only thing heʼs ever wanted. When trouble drags Wren back to New Yorkʼs underworld, she has no choice but to face the past she never outran. She never stopped yearning for the boy who lit up her world seven years ago, the only person who ever made her feel truly alive. Fate throws them back into the same orbit, but can they survive the wreck of their past?

"Breathe." He dipped his head down so that his lips were right at my ear, his strong arm wrapped securely around my waist, molding my body into his. "If you're going to fall apart,." He starts, teeth gritted. "Now's the time. I'll be here to put you back together when it's over." I squeezed my eyes shut again, and I did just that. I fell apart. ******* Secrets. Lies. Deception. Murder. I'd seen and done it all. And not willingly. So I left. I sacrificed my freedom to save myself, and the only way to ensure my own safety was to start over. Clean slate. New people. New me. But the last thing I expected when I arrived at Manonwell Prep Academy was to be bombarded by a boy-no, a man who held some unknown vendetta against me. Call it obsession, infatuation, hatred. To me it was all one in the same. He was everywhere I turned, like a shadow. Watching me. Taunting me. Haunting me. And it was all because of something I did to him a long time ago. It was something so bad that he couldn't stand me, that he wanted me dead, and the idea of making my life a living hell was something that he took pride in. But I didn't remember. I had no clue what I could've done to him in the past, but he was hellbent on pushing me until I did. My plans on starting over were shattered the minute I stepped inside that school. He was the type of person that demanded your attention without having to speak. He was untamed and wild and unhinged. But what he didn't know was that the Winter Travers that he knew in past, the one I didn't remember, was no longer alive. I was different. She was gone and I was here. And he was everything I should've been afraid of. Sinister, quiet, manipulative, but I knew it would be a cold day in hell before I let him win. Ronan was like gasoline waiting to be doused on the fire that inside me, and if he was ready to burn, then so was I.

"My girl isn't fucking weak and there isn't shit wrong with her. She's a fucking force and her pain is her power." He paused, allowing his words to seep into my soul. "And her place will always be at my side, say it." He demanded. A few tears tracked down my face. My throat was clogged with emotions, and it felt hard to breathe, but I did what I was told. "I'm not weak and there's nothing wrong with me. I'm a force...." I swallowed. "My pain is my power, and my place will always be at your side." "Louder. I want to hear you." My chin trembled but the words that left my mouth next were strong and hard. "I'm not weak. My pain is my power, and my place will always be at your side." "Again." His voice was a whisper against my skin, causing the tips of my fingers to tingle. "Say it again, Sam." My heart thawed. "I'm not weak." I said quietly. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm a force. My pain is my power, and my place will always be at your side." "Damn straight." He whispered against my lips. "You're fucking perfect. Don't let me hear you call yourself weak, Sam. Because you aren't." ° ° ° 𝗦𝗮𝗺 My life was mapped out for me before I could even take my first breath. I was thrusted into the corrupted world of organized crime and illegal trade. After being broken and left for dead, I finally got my out. I ran. I was free. And then my brother fucked it all up, dragging me back into this twisted form of hell. And then there was Spade, the devil in the most irresistible form. 𝗦𝗽𝗮𝗱𝗲 I was the King of the Cosa Nostra. The definition of violent and tainted. I was merciless, and in my book, there was no such thing as fucking losing. Things have always been the same in the underground, nd when you play with your life, things were collected. Her brother is in my debt, and if that debt isn't paid someone will die. This was just business, so why couldn't I kill her and get shit over with? She was just a means to an end. Right?

Running from hell isnʼt easy. Especially when someoneʼs dragging you back down into it. Belligerent, brash and always in shades of black, Freya is hardly a lady. Hidden away by her father, sheʼs lived a normal life despite being born into the dark waters of New Yorkʼs underworld. Heʼs cold, cruel and calculating, with a proclivity for destruction. Feared by even Made Men, Torren is the boss of the stateʼs most leachorous crime syndicate. Freya hates his crudity and possessiveness, but she canʼt deny the way her breath hitches at his rough touch, the deep timbre of his voice, and his dark, heated gaze. Torren hates her disobedience, her recklessness, and her chaos. To him, sheʼs only something to be tamed. And after he slips a ring on her hand, snatching away her future, she makes only one vow---to become his biggest torment.

"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god." "I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him. "That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion "Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you." "You'd probably burn." 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. He's a prick. An asshole. A pretentious son of a bitch. He's not perfect. He's not even decent. But he's hers. She could be a bottle labeled poison but he was an alcoholic, and he had drunk her empty. Now he was hungover. 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She's known to be the perfect good girl, with perfect grades and a perfect life with a perfect family. They didn't know that behind the gated doors of their billion dollar estate, she was strapped down to a chair every night and picked apart just to be put back together in time for supper. 𓆩♡𓆪 star-crossed; adjective (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. 'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were. So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart. 𓆩♡𓆪 ‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARN