検索キーワード： 著者 "Bella Di Corte" すべてのカテゴリー

The moment Brando Piero Fausti appeared in the snow-filled night, he made the blood hum in my veins. With a body worthy of a statue in Italy, he tethered my life to his with an irrevocable bond. He was the most dangerous man I had ever felt. A savage beast lurked just beneath his surface, ready to battle for what he loved the most—me.

There was one thing I always thought was mine to give: my heart. I never imagined a marauder would steal it out of vengeance - vengeance that had nothing to do with me. His greatest enemy happened to be the man in love with me, and somehow I became nothing but a pawn. I was no damsel in distress, though. More like an archer, ready to battle.

There were three things I knew about Capo Macchiavello: He was gorgeous. He was reclusive. He was considered one of New York's most savage animals. And he wanted me as his wife. A simple arrangement - you do for me, I do for you. Nothing owed, no expectations. Except for one: never leave. Life was never that simple, though. By the age of 21, I was parentless, jobless, and homeless, and I had come to learn the hard way that nothing was ever free. Even kindness comes with strings.

I had something to live for. The moment I saw him, I knew. His eyes would hypnotize. His lips would speak the most beautiful promises. His body? Made for pleasure.

Sometimes, in fairy tales, the heroine falls in love not with the hero but with the villain. That was my story. I fell for the man many called the Beast of Boston, Cian O'Callaghan. I didn't plan on it, especially after he stole me away from my father and forced me to marry him. But like all good tales, there were twists along the way. The world saw only a beast when they looked at Cian, but I knew him as a man with haunting secrets—secrets that only drew me closer to him.

There was one secret that I kept from my wife. The Fausti famiglia was one of the most infamous and powerful crime families in the world. Their rule spanned the thickness of history books—and I was one of them.

The moment Scarlett Rose appeared in the window of her parents’ dance studio, twirling like a beautiful figurine in a music box, she became mine. Irrevocably. She knew me better than I knew the lines of my own hands, though I had never confessed to her whose blood ran through my veins.