When a chance encounter in a dimly lit club leads her into the orbit of Dominic Valente.The enigmatic head of New York’s most powerful crime family journalist Aria Cole knows she should walk away. But one night becomes a dangerous game of temptation and power. Dominic is as magnetic as he is merciless, and behind his tailored suits lies a man used to getting exactly what he wants. What begins as a single, reckless evening turns into a web of secrets, loyalty tests, and a passion that threatens to burn them both. As rival families circle and the law closes in, Aria must decide whether their connection is worth the peril or if loving a man like Dominic will cost her everything.
View MoreWhat Isabel needed was a man with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to spare.
That’s all. Not love. Not a boyfriend. Not a knight in shining armor. Just a man with that kind of money who could save her brother’s life. Daniel had done the worst now, his gambling addiction was already a problem in her twenty-four year old life, but he had taken it to the extreme now and they were after his life. He was the only family she had left and she was not willing to risk his life for anything. She rubbed her hands together, standing in front of the sleek glass building Mercy had told her about. It didn’t even have a name on the front, just silver doors and mirrored windows and the kind of silence that said whatever happens in here, doesn’t leave here. Her phone buzzed in her hand. It was a text from Mercy, her best friend since she was in high school. *You’re there?* Isabel sighed and typed back quickly. *Yeah. I’m scared.* *Don’t be. Just go in. They’ll take care of you.* Yeah. That was easy for Mercy to say. Mercy wasn’t the one about to sign her entire body away. With a deep breath, Isabel walked in. The place didn’t look like a clinic. It looked like a luxury hotel. The floors were white marble, there was soft music playing somewhere, and the receptionist smiled like she knew everything. “Name?” she asked. “Isabel Manor. I, um, Mercy told me to come. She said… about the surrogate program.” The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “Yes. Please follow me.” Just like that, no clipboard and no waiting. Isabel followed the woman down a long hallway, past a few doors that looked too expensive to be anything medical. They stopped in front of a dark wood door. “You’ll meet with Dr. Hale first,” the woman said, knocking once before pushing it open. A man in a grey suit looked up from behind the desk. “Miss Manor. Please, sit.” She sat slowly. “So… is this where I get to ask questions?” Dr. Hale smiled. “I imagine you have many. But first, I need you to understand, we’re not a traditional surrogate program. We’re private and discreet. Every agreement here is handled with confidentiality, you will sign NDAs, there will be background checks, psychological evaluations and once matched, you will be expected to live with the intended father for the duration of the pregnancy.” Isabel’s mouth fell open. “Live with him?” Mercy had certainly left that part out. “Yes.” “That’s… extreme.” “It’s a condition. The men who come here are not average men. They are high-net-worth individuals. Privacy and control matter to them. In return, you are compensated generously.” Isabel swallowed hard. “How much?” “Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Tax-free. All living expenses covered with immediate relocation, health insurance, medical care, security, anything you need.” She blinked. That was the number. Her brother’s life. Right there. “I’ll do it.” * Isaac Dun didn’t like delays. He liked contracts, numbers, clean deals and most of all, he liked silence. But here he was, being told that the woman had arrived and was waiting to meet him. “Bring her up,” he said. He looked at himself in the mirror briefly. Dark hair, sharp jawline, tailored navy shirt that made his tan skin look even darker. He could pass as someone warm and kind but Isaac had no intention of being kind. Not anymore, not since his ex-wife took him to court, stripped him for everything he had, and married a rich politician two weeks later. Now? Now he just wanted a child. No attachments with no strings, no attachment and no women whispering promises and planning betrayal. He wanted a womb and silence and apparently, her name was Isabel Manor. The elevator dinged and he turned around as she walked in. She had big eyes, full lips, a soft but guarded look on her face like she had seen too much but still wanted to look strong. She didn't look like the type of woman to be doing something like this. Her dress was plain, her hair pulled back, pretty, but in a real way. He didn’t smile. “You’re Isabel.” She nodded. “Yes. You’re…?” “Isaac Dun.” He walked over. “We’ll keep this short. I read your file, you pass all criteria, you have no criminal background, no health issues, no drugs and no children of your own.” She shifted her weight. “Do I get to ask anything or...?” “You can ask one thing.” She blinked. “Just one?” “Yes. Choose wisely.” Her lips parted in surprise, then pressed into a line. “Why are you doing this?” He looked her right in the eyes. “Because I want a child and I want nothing to do with the mother once it’s born. You’ll carry the baby, live in my home, follow the doctors’ instructions and once the baby is born, you’ll leave. There will be no visits, no contact and no second thoughts. You get your money, and I get my child. That’s it.” She stared at him. He wasn’t ugly. In fact, he was probably the most dangerously attractive man she’d ever seen. But something about him felt… closed. Like whatever softness he once had was buried ten feet under. She felt like a contrast to him with her ginger hair, pale skin and freckle stained face. “And if I say no?” she asked quietly. “Then we don’t waste time. You walk away, and I call the next name on the list.” She hesitated for only a second. She thought about her brother and how she was willing to go this far. She closed her eyes at first and then reopened them to meet his gaze. “I’ll do it.” “Good,” he walked past her and picked up his phone. “Have her bags picked up. She’s moving in today.” Her eyes widened as she hurried to where he stood, “today?!”Morning sunlight cut through the blinds of Aria’s apartment, carving the room into fragments of gold and shadow. The air still carried him, Dominic, the scent of smoke, rain, and danger. Her sheets were twisted, clinging to her like a secret she didn’t know how to bury.She hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of him , his jaw clenched in restraint, his voice rough with filthy words. She’d thought she understood power before; she’d written about men who owned the city from behind boardroom walls. But Dominic Valente wasn’t like them. He didn’t own the city; the city bent to him.Now, every thought was war.The journalist in her screamed to move on, to write, to file the story and end it.The woman in her couldn’t stop replaying the feel of his hands, the way he'd played her like a piano, the way danger and desire had tangled so completely that she no longer knew where one ended and the other began.Her camera sat on the counter, a silent witness. The mem
Aria woke to a morning so bright it felt staged, the city stretched beneath a thin winter sun. The night before still clung to her like smoke: the chase through the pier, the cold burn of rain, Dominic’s unreadable eyes. She made coffee twice as strong as usual and tried to convince herself that the flash drive on her desk was just another assignment.But the apartment felt smaller now. Each creak in the floorboard, each distant siren, sounded amplified, as if the world outside were pressing closer. She left the curtains half-drawn, nervous without knowing why.By early afternoon she’d written nothing. Her notes remained blank, her recorder untouched. She sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop open but screen dark, the flash drive a small, accusing weight beside it. She could almost feel the city breathing under her window: traffic in long sighs, a rhythm too deliberate to ignore.A soft knock broke the hush.Her first thought was that it was a neighbor, maybe a package. The second, sh
Rain drummed harder as Dominic signaled her forward, two fingers slicing the dark. Aria clutched the flash drive until the metal edges bit her palm. Behind them the single set of footsteps crept closer, deliberate, like someone savoring the hunt.Dominic moved with a silent precision that made the massive space feel like his personal map. He didn’t glance back, yet he seemed to know exactly where she was. Lightning caught him in fragments broad shoulders, a face carved in sharp angles, water slicking black hair against his temple. Even in this chaos, the sight hit her low in the stomach.Focus, she scolded herself. Not the time.She kept low, knees brushing splinters, breath hot against the damp air. Every creak of the old floorboards shot a spike through her chest.The footsteps stopped.A sudden hush pressed against her ears. Even the distant tide seemed to pause.Dominic tilted his head. His eyes found hers in the dark, steady and unreadable, then flicked toward a narrow service co
The rain hadn’t stopped by morning. Aria stood at her kitchen sink, watching the gray skyline blur behind streaked glass, the last line of the night’s message replaying in her mind: “Your move”Her laptop glowed on the counter. Every instinct told her to pull the plug, to run a mile from Dominic Valente and the nameless people who could slip through encryption like smoke.Instead she brewed coffee, black and bitter, and began digging.Bank records first. Dock shipments next. Within an hour her screen filled with a lattice of shell companies and flagged transfers, construction firms that never built, charities that never gave. Valente’s empire was a maze of clean fronts and filthy money.A knock broke her focus.“Delivery,” a voice called.Aria’s pulse jumped. She hadn’t ordered anything.She cracked the door. A courier stood in the hall, hood drawn low. “Package for you, Ms. Lane.”“I didn’t…”He pressed a slim black envelope into her hand and turned without waiting for a signature.I
Rain drummed against the fire escape, a restless rhythm outside Aria’s window.She shut the door with her heel, tossed her damp coat across a chair, and went straight for the laptop. The heater rattled awake, but the one-room walk-up stayed cool, carrying the city’s metallic scent.The memory card slid into its slot.Images flickered across the screen: rain-soft frames sharpening until a single figure emerged like a secret finally confessed. Dominic Valente, caught mid-stride under a streetlight, the hard plane of his jaw lit in silver, eyes hidden but unmistakable.After months of leads that died in smoke, she’d found him.Her phone buzzed across the counter.Jordan Hale: “You alive?”She tapped the speaker. “Barely. But I got him.”“You’re kidding.” Jordan’s voice had the dry calm of someone who’d seen too many bad ideas. “Send a shot.”She forwarded the best frame. Silence, then a low whistle.“That’s him. You realize Valente doesn’t just own half the docks, he owns half the cops g
Rain slicked the alley outside club Vesper, turning the neon signs into rivers of pink and blue. Aria Cole pulled her hood tighter and checked the time on her phone, 11:58 p.m. Two minutes to midnight The tip had been maddenly vague:Valente's people meet on Thursdays. Black entrance. Midnight. Vague, but enough to drag her across the city on a night when any sane person would be asleep. She shifted her weight, the camera strap biting into her shoulder. Months of chasing this story had taught her patience. It had also taught her how quickly patience could turn to obsession Back when she was a junior reporter at the Tribune, Aria thought the political beat would be her ticket to the big leagues. She’d dug through campaign finances, city contracts, all the usual paper trails. It was during one of those routine dives, tracing a suspicious development grant, that the name Dominic Valente had first surfaced. At first, it was nothing more than whispers in financial records and redacted m
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