dark_romance_Ira
 1 Published Story
  dark_romance_Ira's Book and Story
    Addicted To You (Morte Nera)
  Mafia  Rated 18+.
This story is dark, intense, and dangerously addictive.
"Do you miss me, Bella... Mia?"
She could recognize that voice even in her sleep. She stood frozen, looking at him with wide eyes.
"W... what..."
"What the hell are you doing in my house?!" she asked, his eyes moving across her body, especially on her exposed legs. He suddenly stood on his feet, and she moved back, his presence affecting her.
"What happened to your elbow?" he asked.
"Why should I tell you that? I owe you no explanation," she said, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze.
He took three long strides towards her before pinning her to the wall, his hot breath fanning her neck. Lexi could feel her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes met his ocean-blue eyes. She hated to deny it, but he had grown much more handsome than before. A slow smirk appeared on his lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist.
Lexi shook, trying to push him off, but he stood gallantly like a statue, his height towering above her.
"Let me... go... now," her voice hoarse.
"I hate repeating myself, Lexi. You might wanna start talking," he said in a warning tone, but she didn't reply.
He suddenly gripped her two arms and raised them above her head, pinning them tightly to the wall.
"Let go of me," she said.
His right hand snaked under the towel, and she gasped when she felt his hands between her thighs.
"You always want it the hard way, don't you, Bella... Mia?" he said as his hands traced her sensitive skin.
---
A mafia king, Antonio Saint Claire, holds Lexi Thompson, a detective, captive in a toxic game. Now she must play by his rules to preserve her sanity. Will she break free from his toxic grasp or be consumed?      You might like
   Zero Score: My Escape from the Mafia Don
  Gavin  For three years, I was the wife of Don Dante Moretti. But our marriage was a transaction, and my heart was the price. I kept a ledger, deducting points for every time he chose her—his first love, Isabella—over me. When the score reached zero, I would be free.
After he abandoned me on a roadside to rush to Isabella's side, I was hit by a car. I woke up in the ER, bleeding, only to hear a nurse shout that I was two months pregnant. A tiny, impossible hope flared in my chest.
But as the doctors scrambled to save me, they patched my husband through on speakerphone. His voice was cold and absolute.
“Isabella’s condition is critical,” he ordered. “Not one drop of the reserve blood is to be touched until she is safe. I don't care who else needs it.”
I lost the baby. Our child, sacrificed by its own father. I later learned Isabella had only suffered a minor cut. The blood was just a “precautionary measure.”
The tiny flicker of hope was extinguished, and something inside me snapped, clean and final. The debt was paid.
Alone in the silence, I made the last entry in my ledger, bringing the score to zero. I signed the divorce papers I had already prepared, left them on his desk, and walked out of his life forever.     Discarded Heiress: Reborn from Mafia Prison
  Gavin  Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift—a way to protect me from a worse fate.
Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes."
My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life.
They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous.
They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word.
It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash.
That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."     A BRIDE FOR THE MAFIA LORD 
  Nooriva  "Where do you think you're going, huh? You're mine now, Little Mouse. Get back in the house!" Vincenzo's voice boomed, sending chills down Victoria's spine as her world seemed to crumble.
Victoria Washington was shattered-betrayed by her boyfriend who dumped her the day before his wedding, to her sister. She was left humiliated, mocked by everyone. But fate had other plans for her.
She's broken, he's lost. She's full of fear, and he's the monster. Yet, somehow, he's her light while he remains in darkness.
Vincenzo Dante will stop at nothing to tarnish his family's name for forcing him into a marriage he never wanted. But what he doesn't realize is that his new wife is stronger than she seems-too broken to bend under his cruelty. But when love begins to bloom, and secrets start to unfold, what will happen next?
     From Underworld to Crown
  rabbit  My fiancé, Richard Ahmed, had been unfaithful. 
His mistress, Eva Marsh, sent me a provocative video. 
In the video, Richard and Eva were passionately kissing, while his friends cheered loudly, "You two are perfect for each other. You should get married."
Richard's parents were holding Eva's hand, saying, "You're the only one we see as part of the family."
I let out a cold laugh and dialed the number of my father, the head of a criminal syndicate. "Get in touch with a team for me. I have a live stream event planned."
"Alright. The condition is that you return to Zlomont and become the new head of the Brooks Group."     From Mafia Wife to Rival's Queen
  Gavin  After fifteen years of marriage and a brutal battle with infertility, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. This baby was my victory, the heir that would finally secure my place as the wife of mob capo Marco Vitiello. I planned to announce it at his mother's party, a triumph over the matriarch who saw me as nothing but a barren field.
But before I could celebrate, my friend sent me a video. The headline read: "MOB CAPO MARCO VITIELLO'S PASSIONATE NIGHTCLUB KISS!" It was him, my husband, devouring a woman who looked like a younger, fresher version of me.
Hours later, Marco stumbled home, drunk and reeking of another woman's perfume. He complained about his mother begging him for an heir, completely unaware of the secret I held. Then my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number.
"Your husband slept with my girl. We need to talk."
It was signed by Dante Moretti, the ruthless Don of our rival family.
The meeting with Dante was a nightmare. He showed me another video. This time, I heard my husband's voice, telling the other woman, "I love you. Elara... that's just business." My fifteen years of loyalty, of building his empire, of taking a bullet for him—all dismissed as "just business."
Dante didn't just reveal the affair; he showed me proof that Marco was already stealing our shared assets to build a new life with his mistress. Then, he made me an offer.
"Divorce him," he said, his eyes cold and calculating. "Join me. We'll build an empire together and destroy him."     Annulled Love, Mafia's Fall: She Bulldozed All
  Gavin  On my wedding night, I made a vow to Liam Gallo, the most feared man in New York. "If you ever betray me," I whispered, "I will vanish from your life as if I never existed." He laughed, thinking it was a romantic promise. It was an oath.
Three years later, I discovered his betrayal. It wasn't just an affair; it was a public humiliation. His mistress, Ava, sent me photos of herself in my places, wearing jewelry he'd given me, taunting me with her presence in my life. And Liam let her.
The final blow came at our Hamptons estate. I saw them together, Liam and a triumphant, pregnant Ava, in front of his inner circle. He was choosing her, his pregnant mistress, over his injured wife, demanding I apologize for upsetting her.
In my own home, I was an obstacle. In my own marriage, I was a prop. The love I clung to for years finally died.
Ava's texts confirmed it all, including a picture of an ultrasound captioned "Our baby," and another of her wearing the necklace he named "Maya's Dawn."
So, on the morning after our anniversary party, I enacted my plan. I liquidated my assets, bulldozed the garden he planted for me, and served him divorce papers. Then, with a new identity, I walked out of the service exit and disappeared into the city, leaving the man who broke his vows to the wreckage of the life he destroyed.     When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts
  Gavin  On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.