[A dark mafia romance] I wear his name like a scar. Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finger means I belong to him. He's wrong. Every cage has a weakness. Every monster has a wound that won't heal. And I've spent enough time in the dark to know exactly where to sink the knife. When I'm done, he won't just lose me. He'll lose everything. [Book 1 in the Sins of the City series.]

[A dark mafia romance] In the great cosmic shit-show we call the justice system, there's the law... and then there's the counterweight. Forget Lady Justice, that blindfolded hack. She's just the statue out front. The real work, the greasing of the gears, that's done by a different kind of broad altogether. They've got a name for her: "The Dirty Lawyer". And let's be clear, they're not wrong. But to the six sons-of-bitches currently fertilizing a pine box forest, she's just Frank. See, Frankie operates on a different docket; a personal one: a list of names belonging to the pricks who turned her family into a memory. And she's been working her way down that list, real methodical-like. That was the plan, anyway. Then - he - had to show up and complicate the goddamn scenery. Hector Pierce. The society pages call him a businessman, a philanthropist. What they don't print is his real trade. The man is an artist whose medium is fear, and whose brush is a straight razor. The man has one rule: family. It's not a suggestion, it's a religion. So when a slick attorney with a death wish and a killer pair of legs starts sniffing around his family, she stops being a nuisance and becomes a problem. And Hector Pierce... he's a goddamn problem-solver. He looked her right in those two barrels of doom she calls eyes and promised to burn her world down to the foundation. And she should want to put a bullet right between his principled, stupidly gorgeous eyes. But his loyalty... that deep, caveman, "I'd-kill-for-my-blood" loyalty... it's a fucking distraction. To Hector, Frankie isn't just a threat. She's a lawyer who can argue a case on Monday and dispose of a body on Tuesday. Beautiful in a way that should be illegal. He's decided he's making her his. It's not a question of if, but a question of when the hell she would stop fighting him on it. [Book 2 in the Sins of the City series.]

[A dark mafia romance] She survived her mother's poison. She survived her father's murder. Now Rosa Nera must survive the crown he left behind. As the new Donna of Kansas City's most powerful crime family, Rosa rules with a steel fist wrapped in black velvet. But the wolves are circling-a rival Russian faction wants her territory, her own underboss wants her in his bed, and someone in her inner circle wants her dead. Then she catches him watching. Konstantin-a line cook in her restaurant, standing in the shadows as she executes a traitor. He should be a loose end. A problem to eliminate. But there's something in his eyes. Dark and utterly unafraid. And when she looks at him, she doesn't see a witness. She sees someone she wants to own. She doesn't kill him. She offers him a job as her personal chef. Brings him into her home. Keeps him close. Too close. What Rosa doesn't know is that the man in her kitchen isn't who he says he is. Konstantin has no memory, no past, and no name. Just hands that cook like a chef and move like a killer. And what Konstantin doesn't remember could destroy them both. Because someone killed her father. Someone is poisoning her Capos against her. And someone is watching from the shadows, waiting for the Donna to fall. In a world of betrayal and blood oaths, the only thing more dangerous than an enemy at your gate is the man sleeping in your bed. And Rosa Nera has never been good at playing safe. [Book 4 in the Sins of the City series.]

[A dark mafia romance] My mother's blood paved the way for their perfect little fucking life. They built their castle on the ruins of everything they stole from me, turned my suffering into the price of their goddamn happiness. I was left in the dark, forgotten, like my pain was just some necessary sacrifice for their bliss. But now, it's fucking payback. They'll bleed for every stolen second, every shattered dream, every ounce of dignity they ripped from me. Their laughter will be drowned in their own screams, their city will choke on the blood I spill, and their world will burn under the weight of my wrath. I am Titus fucking Minetti, king of the East Coast. And I don't just rise from the ashes. I fucking own them. [Book 3 in the Sins of the City series.]