Jane Joe

Evelyn Stone never believed in werewolves-until the night she witnessed one rip through a rival mafia boss. That night, her world turned upside down. Her family, known as the Stones, control the weapons trade in New York. Her father's dying wish? For her to marry into peace with their rival mafia clan, the powerful, secretive Romano family. But there's a catch. Luca Romano isn't just the heir to a criminal empire. He's a cursed Alpha-part of a bloodline bound to the moon, violent instincts, and a past soaked in blood. To the world, he's a businessman. But in the shadows, he rules a pack that obeys only him. Evelyn becomes his bride in a forced alliance, not knowing Luca's secret. He didn't expect to fall for her. And she didn't expect to crave the darkness inside him. But when an old prophecy resurfaces-declaring Evelyn as the "Blood Moon Mate" whose child would either end or enslave the werewolf race-both sides of the war want her dead. And the only man who can protect her... is the monster she's falling in love with. Now, Evelyn must choose: Run from the beast, or rule beside him.

"Pardon!! Who arranged that?" "Your head of PR, Mr silver," she said. "They think it'll make you more humanized and social. You know, billionaire CEO let's loose for once." Damon exhaled sharply, having a mix between a sigh and a scoff. "Humanize me. What nonsense is that!!" Amelia refrained from saying that, at times, Damon could certainly benefit from appearing human. "I already know you're going to hate it," she said instead. "But right now boss, the merger hinges on public opinion. You need this to work." Damon looked at her for the first time since they entered the SUV. His sharp, assessing eyes almost made her disappear from her seat. "And what do you know about public opinion, Amelia?" She looked at him squarely. "Enough to know you can't afford to be seen as an unreachable isolated billionaire anymore. The board is given a hint about new leadership. I think you need to play their game this time." Damon hated hearing the truth, especially when it was said so bluntly. But that was Amelia, always unafraid to speak her mind when others pretended in his presence. "Fine," he relented, facing his phone back. "But if I have to suffer through Ember Club tonight, you're coming too. Someone has to keep me from throwing a drink in someone's face." Amelia blinked. "Excuse me?" Damon Blackwood, an overworked billionaire CEO finds himself in an impulsive, drunken Las Vegas marriage with his assistant Amelia Harper. A wild night at a club, he expects to end it swiftly. However, a media scandal forces Damon to keep the marriage alive in other to protect his company's image and secure a critical business deal. What starts as a fake arrangement soon pulls Damon and Amelia into a journey of self-discovery and love. Amelia a strong-willed woman with dreams of opening her cafe, begins to chip away at Damon's cold exterior. Damon, haunted by loneliness and distrust, starts seeing life through Amelia's compassionate perspective. Complications arise with jealous ex-lovers, meddling family members, and the looming truth behind their fake marriage. As their six-month contracts near its end, both must confront their feelings and choose to return to their separate lives or risk everything for love.

Betrayed, devastated, and robbed of her legacy, Eira Croft's life takes a new turn when her wedding day is turned into her sister's wedding. Robbed of her empire, her husband, and her identity, she discovers she wasn't even a Croft and was never part of the family she considered her blood for 25 years. Left penniless and heartbroken, the homeless Eira is hit by a truck the moment she steps out of the gate. As she lay in her pool of blood, she wished for a second chance. Ironically, she gets reborn by the mischievous god who hit her with a truck and even receives a powerful system as an apology gift. Lucian, the neglected son of the underworld ruler, conceals his scars behind a reckless smile. Broken, he thought love was impossible until he met Eira. What's Lucian's past like? Read now and watch Eira's fierce return.

Lira, the princess of the silver wolf pack and the chosen child of the moon goddess, gets betrayed by her cousin and best friend Sofie, who lures her into a vampire's den. She is overwhelmed by the vampire who mates with her to get rid of a poison in its system. Lira is expelled by the pack and thrown out by her fiancé after her pregnancy is known to all. She is detested by both wolves and vampires for carrying an anomaly in her stomach; she leaves the fantasy world and comes to the world of humans. After five years, Lira meets Will, the vampire and father of her kids, during a checkup in the hospital. She decides to ignore him, but her past pack comes for her and her children, which makes her rely on Will. As a battle to protect her family unfolds, Lira finds out secrets that could prove to be a danger to her family, and she must protect her identity from the humans. How would she do it? Let's see.

Percy had always received the short end of the stick when it came to luck. Separated from his parents at the age of two, the child no one wanted to adopt, the very personification of bad luck, that was just Percy's life. Percy didn't care about all that stuff because, to him, he wasn't so cursed. He had Olivia, his fiancé, a house, money, and a job. That belief remained with him until he got sacked from work, walked in on his cheating girlfriend, and got his entire property stolen from him by her. As if the heavens were consoling him, Percy becomes the host of a system. How could he make use of that system? What secrets is the world still hiding from Percy, and is he terrible luck? We should see.

Freya Gregor is rejected by her destined mate, Troy Hugo, and seeks comfort in a one-night stand with a stranger, Duke Fillmore, who turns out to be her second-chance mate. Unknown to her, Freya carries special powers, which she gets through childbirth. She learned about her pregnancy in the presence of everyone at the crowning party of Troy as the Alpha of the Frosbite Pack, where he was about to announce her as his mistress and make Gina, his girlfriend, his Luna instead of Freya. But faith had other plans. What plans? Find this and many more out in this intriguing Novel.

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.

For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne. But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.” My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love. He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."

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."

I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

Three days before the wedding. I was hiding in the dressing room, watching my fiancé caress the swollen belly of another woman. Luca, the man who had saved my life five years ago, was smiling at his mistress, Sofia. But the real knife to the heart wasn't the affair—it was the dress. The custom wedding gown he had "lovingly" ordered for me featured intricate silver embroidery along the hem. It didn't spell Elena. It read Sofia. He was planning to make me walk down the aisle wearing his mistress's name. Later that night, I found a video of him mocking me to his crew, calling me a "dead fish" and admitting he only wanted my family's Capo status. He planned to keep his "true love" on the side while I played the role of the oblivious, ornamental wife. He thought I was just a sheltered princess. He forgot that my bloodline was built on vengeance. I didn't cry. I didn't confront him. Instead, I scrubbed his scent off my skin and dialed a number everyone in Chicago feared. "The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked my father, my voice cold as stone. "Is it still valid?" "Dante is the Underboss now," my father warned. "He is a butcher. He breaks men for sport." "Good," I replied. "I am done playing with boys." I secretly booked the Gold Ballroom across the hall from my original venue. Luca thought he was walking into a marriage on Saturday. He didn't know I was bringing a monster to the altar instead.

I was the wife of Dante Cavalli, the most ruthless mafia Don in the country. But today, his Underboss slid mandatory annulment papers across my hospital bed, ordering me to dissolve our marriage. In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged them not to abandon me. I spent the next thirty years locked in Dante's massive penthouse, waiting for a man who bathed the streets in blood but never gave me a single drop of warmth. My aristocratic mother-in-law stripped me of every cent, leaving me completely isolated. I foolishly threw away a brilliant surgical career to be a submissive, obedient mafia wife. In the end, Dante never came to see me, and I died entirely alone in that massive, empty bed. Until my last breath, my chest was suffocated by a lifetime of regrets. I couldn't understand why I had sacrificed my freedom and my scalpels for a man who would only feel a twisted guilt decades after I was already a cold corpse. Opening my eyes again, Fate had dragged me back to the exact day my nightmare truly began. Matteo stood at the foot of my bed, clearly expecting my usual pathetic tears. "Take your time to think about it." This time, I didn't cry or beg for my life. I just picked up the fountain pen, signed my name, and walked out to reclaim the scalpel I had abandoned.

I was the illegitimate daughter of a powerful mafia Consigliere, forced to scrub their marble floors while my half-sister Cassidy lived like a pampered princess. When Cassidy was ordered to marry a condemned, brutally tortured Underboss in a deadly blood-oath execution, my father dragged me to the underground black site to take her place. They forced me into a cheap wedding dress and locked me in a pitch-black cell with a dying man, expecting us both to catch an executioner's bullet. My stepmother even handed me a small glass vial through the iron bars—the exact same poison she had used to slowly murder my pregnant mother years ago. "The Don is issuing the kill order tonight. Drink this. Save yourself the agony," she mocked. My father simply stood by and watched, willingly throwing me to the wolves just to keep his precious legitimate daughter entirely safe. I stared at the poison in my calloused palm, and then at the bleeding, terrifying mafia boss chained to the concrete wall. They honestly thought I was just a disposable pawn, meant to die quietly in the dirt so they could continue building their glamorous underworld empire on my mother's bones. But they forgot I inherited my mother's underground medical brilliance. I pulled a sterilized scalpel from my hidden trauma kit, looked the deadly Underboss right in the eye, and made a blood vow that would soon burn my family's entire empire to the ground.

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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.

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."