Authoress NaYa

# Book 2 of the Dark Desires Series His eyes wander on my body and his eyes narrow when he notices the cane marks on my body. "Who the fuck did this to you?" He demands, his tone dangerous as my heart begins to this loudly. "I... I..." "Tell me, Milochka. Who's the bastard that dared to lay his hands on you?" I gulp nervously. "It's my husband. " ..... Viktor Ivanov is guilty of sleeping with his daughter's nanny, and Milana is trapped in a living nightmare as she is forced to spy on Viktor, a powerful member of the Bratva, by her abusive husband. But the more she learns about Viktor, the more she's drawn to his darkness and his loves to his own daughter. As she navigates the treacherous world of the Russian mafia, she must confront the secrets of her past and the lies that bind her to Viktor. Can she find a way to escape, will she become the Bratva's next victim?

I got pregnant for a man I didn't know. And on the first day I entered the new company, I saw him. My baby's Father. He's my boss!!! Continue reading to find out what happened in the book. PREGNANT AFTER ONE NIGHT WITH THE LYCAN KING. ****** WARNING MATURED CONTENT R16Layla had everything she ever wanted in life not until the day she began to live with her stepmother after her mother passed on.Layla was maltreated by her stepmother, but her stepsister scarlet always stood by her until the day she found out that scarlet had been having sex with her boyfriend.Layla is broken and finds herself in a bar where she has a one night stand with a complete stranger. Layla discovers that she was pregnant for a stranger and to protect her baby she runs away from home to another city.Layla's friend takes her in and helps her find a job.What happens when Layla discovers that her boss is no other than the man who she had a one night stand with and is supposedly pregnant for? How would she be able to cope with the people trying to tear her apart?

I didn't mean to call my boss. I definitely didn't mean to leave a seven-minute voicemail of dirty secrets about him. Working for Ruslan Oryolov is the job from hell. The man is impossible-demanding, arrogant, and way too gorgeous for his own good. After eighteen months of fetching his coffee and swallowing my pride, all I wanted was one night of stress relief. But the billionaire CEO of Bane Corporation isn't just a boss from hell. He's the head of the Oryolov Bratva-and now that he's heard every secret I never meant to share, he's decided to claim me. His contract. His rules. His protection for my three orphaned nieces and nephews-the only reason I'm signing my life away to a man I should fear. He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now he wants my soul.

On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up. As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress. The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me. The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one. With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered. I chose the one man they never expected. I chose his father, the Don himself.

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."

As my husband—the most feared Mafia Don in the city—lay dying, I stood by his bed playing the perfect, grieving wife. But with his dying breath, he confessed a horrifying secret: twenty-six years ago, he secretly swapped our newborn infants in the hospital. He told me he gave my flesh and blood to his mistress so her child could inherit the empire safely, while leaving his own legitimate son to rot in the slums. Before I could even process the betrayal, his mistress and her thug son burst into the hospital suite. "I grew up in the gutter while your fake son wore custom suits," the street rat spat, kicking the bedframe. "I want the penthouses and the millions in cash by tomorrow." The mistress paraded around the room, gloating about how her bloodline would now rule the underworld. Lorenzo signed the entire Syndicate over to the Underboss—the son he believed was hers—leaving me with nothing but a violent, greedy parasite. They thought they had won. They thought I was just a discarded, empty shell, completely stripped of my power, my legacy, and my child. But as I watched the ink dry on the will, I buried a cold, triumphant smile. They didn't know one crucial detail. Twenty-six years ago, I was awake when he made the swap. And in the dead of night, I had crept down to her room and switched the babies right back.

I was washing the caked blood from my five-year-old daughter's broken body in the family mortuary. She had been tortured to death by a rival cartel. My husband Julian, the underworld's legendary "Master of Whispers," claimed his intelligence division did everything they could, but the rescue coordinates were wrong. Yet, while I stood over our child's corpse, he was busy comforting his new apprentice, Chloe. She posted a picture of their intertwined hands online, bragging that she had "accidentally deleted a crucial audio file" yesterday, but the boss had held her hand and forgiven her. Yesterday. The exact day my daughter died. When I confronted him, Julian slapped me across the face in front of our men. "You carry the curse of your bloodline! You are an omen of death! You brought this on her!" He blamed me for our child's slaughter, demanding I apologize to his mistress, while he secretly wiped the server logs to protect the incompetent girl who got our daughter killed. He actually thought I would just swallow the grief, refusing a divorce because I still loved him, allowing him to use my family's immense wealth to play house with his whore. But he forgot one crucial detail. His legendary "God's Ear" was a total myth, a lie entirely powered by the secret algorithms I funded to cover up his permanent deafness. I calmly gathered the ashes of my daughter from the floor and picked up my phone. "Initiate an immediate withdrawal of all funds from Julian's division. Let them bleed."

On my birthday, my husband Dante asked for a divorce over a plate of cold lasagna. He held my hand, tears in his eyes, and told me his mistress was pregnant. "It’s a miracle, Elena," he wept. "God has finally given me a son." He looked at me with pity, calling me "broken" because I hadn't given him an heir in eight years. He moved his pregnant mistress into the penthouse I paid for, and his mother mocked me as a "dry vine" while cooking tonic soups for the new woman. They didn't know the truth I had buried three years ago. I remembered the day the doctor slid the file across the desk: *Azoospermia. Zero sperm count.* Dante was the sterile one. I had burned the results to protect his fragile ego as a Mafia Don. I took the blame. I drank his mother's vile herbal poisons every morning until I vomited, just to keep his secret. Now, he was discarding me for a "miracle" that was biologically impossible. I signed the divorce papers without a tear. Then I bought the debt of his company, put on a blood-red dress, and walked into his heir's Christening. I didn't come to object. I came to plug a USB drive into the projector and show the entire underworld exactly whose "miracle" that baby really was.

Seven days before I was set to marry the most feared Mafia Don in the country, I was asked to step out of my own wedding photos. Because my shadow was ruining the shot. The photographer then took ninety-nine pictures—of my fiancé and my adopted sister. When I refused to give up the master suite meant for a wife, the man I loved called me ungrateful. He abandoned me at a remote compound to take her to a nail salon. So three days before the ceremony, I returned his keys, his ledgers, and his world. I left a single note: 'Thank you.' Eight years later, I came back home—and found him waiting for me on the same road where he once left me behind. He promised to wait forever. He broke that vow in the worst way possible. And I never even heard the crash.

For three years, I played the fool, sacrificing my dignity to drag Luca back from the abyss so he could inherit the Falcone Family. But at his grand swearing-in banquet, the woman he claimed as his own wasn't me. It was my illegitimate half-sister, Elena. To please her, he laced my soup with poison and watched his men mock my agony. When my mother was dying in the ICU and desperately needed my medical signature, Elena's enforcers pinned me to the floor of an underground fighting ring. "Perform your jester routine, Claire. Make me laugh," Elena taunted. Crying, I begged Luca to save my mother. But he just looked at me with cold disgust, wrapped his arms around Elena, and kissed her passionately right in front of me. Driven by blinding desperation, I smeared filthy clown makeup on my face and tore my dignity to shreds just to beg for a merciful laugh. But it was too late. Because of their twisted games, my mother flatlined and suffocated to death alone. I didn't understand how eighteen years of blind devotion and three years of keeping him alive amounted to nothing, or why he so easily believed Elena's fabricated lies to destroy my life. Staring at my ruined, painted face on the cold floor outside the hospital morgue, the last trace of my love for him turned to ash. I wiped away the greasepaint, downloaded the hidden evidence of their crimes, and dialed an independent federal lawyer. "I am breaking Omertà. File the lawsuit."

I am the true bloodline daughter of the Romano Syndicate, but my brother, the Don, hid me in a safe house while treating his adopted sister, Natalia, like the real mafia princess. Blood meant nothing to them. So I decided it would mean nothing to me. On my twenty-first birthday, Natalia publicly humiliated my impoverished past in front of his men just to steal my only birthday wish. My brother didn't stop her; instead, he indulged her cruelty just to keep her happy. When I finally decided to pack my bags and leave, they cornered me in a city boutique. Natalia maliciously crushed the only photograph of my dead adoptive parents under her designer heel. "Look at this garbage," she mocked, grinding the glass into my mother's smiling face. When I fought back, my own brother violently twisted my arms behind my back. He held his own blood sister defenseless just so the fake princess could slap me across the face. He claimed he had to protect the family from her tantrums, but all he did was treat my existence like a toxic infection. I finally understood that in this family, blood meant absolutely nothing. I dropped the trunk of mafia money, walked out the door, and boarded an off-the-grid freight train to the rural south. When the Don finally realized his mistake and brought the whole syndicate to my farm begging for my return, I didn't even blink.

On our first wedding anniversary, my husband walked out the door. Not for business. For her. I left the divorce papers on the table, my wedding ring next to his untouched champagne, and I disappeared into the night. For a year, I watched Dominic Rossi—the ruthless Underboss of the New York syndicate—drop everything the moment his phone buzzed with another crisis from Sophia. A panic attack. A sleepless night. A lie. I was his wife, the woman he’d promised to cherish, but I was never his priority. So I chose myself. Now he’s tearing the city apart trying to find me. But I’m already gone—building a new life with a job that’s mine, an apartment that’s mine, and a name that doesn’t belong to him. The girl who waited in that penthouse is dead. The woman who walked out isn’t looking back. When Dominic finally corners me, I see the cracks in his armor. He says he’s sorry. He says he loves me. He says he finally understands. But some words are too late, and some promises can’t be fixed. He made me guess for a year. Now it’s his turn to wonder if I’ll ever come back. A heart-wrenching, standalone mafia romance about a woman who refused to be second choice, and the man who learned too late what he’d lost.