The Mafia Don's Runaway Collateral Wife

ella

eight of a massive body still cr

like a trapped bird. The stale, recycled air of the cabin slowly replaced the phantom scents t

display of power for a rival family. Instead, the storm killed the power, and a monster walked in. He was heavy, frantic, and violent-like a wounded be

gainst my ear in Italian, a painful, guttur

y instinct screamed it was the m

s, the gray, unforgiving skyline of New York City pierced the horizon

father's gambling sins. Damien hadn't even looked at me when he signed the papers. To the heir of the Moretti empire, I wasn't a

night at

ed me. Damien's grandfather didn't care about the truth. To him, my commoner blood was a stain on their royal mafia lineage. He branded me a tra

een flat for years. They threw me away, not knowing

om

dark eyes-so terrifyingly familiar-studying me with a calm calculation that didn't belong on a five-year-old'

whispered, forcing

the empty seat in front of him, his jaw set in a fierce pout. And tucked against my s

iplets. They were the only light that

rce papers. I needed Damien's signature to finalize the severance. Without it, I couldn't g

res hitting the John F. Kennedy International Airpo

ck in his territory. I just needed to get through customs, force the devil to sign away his