I sold out a mafia boss. A girl in debt, a mafia boss and a golden cop. Please this story starts off at a fast pace, but then it slows down to capture every scene I feel needed to be captured. But after that, it goes really fast I promise you. Lana Denver is a secret undercover girl for an FBI agent Charles Gregory. She owes him her life so in return, she decides to be his secret undercover girl, receiving crucial and vital information from criminals through her body, betraying them and even selling them out. She’s been doing this for years, making Charles the golden Cop, everyone thinks he’s such a genius, for always solving cases and gaining outrageous leads. Lana has been under the protection of Charles until he gives her another job, that is to get information from a deadly man known as Ricardo Borrelli. Lana never knew Ricardo is a ruthless mafia boss. With her wonderful body, she gets information out of Ricardo and when she does, after a night well spent, she slips out the next day and sells him out to Charles. In seconds, Charles had police swarm in, warranting an arrest for him and his gang. Ricardo knows the snitch couldn’t be none other than Lana and he swears to track her down and make her pay. But Charles protection over Lana is so strong or so she thought…
View MoreRicardo’s POVI sniff, then a slow grin spreads across my face as I shake my head and chuckle. My index finger wags at Lana, who is still bound in the chair, with red wrists from the tight ropes. She thinks I’m a fucking degenerate, someone stupid enough to believe her pathetic excuses. I slam my fist down on the armrest of her chair. Lana flinches, and her eyes widen in fear. I lean in, with my face inches from hers.“I hate fucking liars!” I yell.Then, I pull back, forcing myself to breathe, to regain that cool control I’m known for. I lower my voice. “I hate fucking liars,” I repeat.Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She’s too stunned, too terrified to speak. Good. “My people spoke to Alma,” I tell her, with my gaze never leaving her face. There it is—a flicker in her eyes, a tightening of her jaw. She’s hiding something, protecting someone. My instincts are never wrong. Her voice trembles when she asks, “What did Alma tell you?” I snort, rolling my eyes. “That’s no
Lana’s POVI jog through the quiet streets; with everything going on, I couldn’t get proper sleep. It’s barely 6 a.m. One more day. Just one more day until I move in with Charles again. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—to go back to the feeling of safety, of belonging. Living with him was the closest I’d ever felt to having a family. Feeling loved. And now, after everything, I’ll have that again. The thought makes me smile as I round the corner, but my smile disappears when I notice something strange—a black SUV just right behind me. At first, I thought it’s a coincidence. Maybe someone is heading to work early. But every turn I make, it makes too. I slow my pace, my heart is racing. Are they following me? I decide to test it, taking an abrupt turn down a different street. The SUV hesitates for a split second, then follows. Oh my goodness.I take another route, a shortcut through a smaller road, and glance over my shoulder. The SUV speeds up, cutting me off before I can react. T
Charles’s POVI sit at the end of the conference table. Martins, my superior, leans back in his chair. He’s never been one to lose his temper with me, but today he looks like he’s seconds away from erupting. “We lost the grand jury hearing, Charles,” Martins says flatly. “Do you have any idea how much damage this does to our reputation?” I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay composed. “With all due respect, sir, we didn’t lose because of a lack of evidence. We lost because Ricardo Borrelli’s lawyer manipulated the system and bribed—” “Stop.” Martins raises a hand. “Do not make baseless accusations. We don’t have proof of bribery, and you know it.” Baseless accusations? I slam my fist on the table before I can stop myself. “We have everything we need, Martins. Surveillance footage linking Borrelli’s vehicles to the safe house. Financial records showing cash drops that don’t match his business earnings. Witness testimony from all 35 girls who pointed to his father-in-law, Inza
Ricardo’s POVThe next morning, the cell door opens, and I look up to see José, my lawyer, stepping inside. I motion for him to sit across from me at the small table bolted to the floor. The guards step out, giving us privacy, yet we keep our voices low. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “The walls are closing in. Tell me, José. What the fuck am I supposed to do?” José leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Ricardo, listen to me carefully. The only way out of this mess is to redirect the blame. Someone needs to take the fall.” “Redirect the blame? You want me to pin this on my fucking father-in-law? Are you out of your fuckung mind?” José doesn’t flinch at my hushed outburst. He meets my eyes. “Yes. It’s the only move we have. Ricardo, you’re innocent in this, remember? This entire kidnapping and trafficking operation belongs to your father- in- law, Mr. Inzaghi. He’s the one who pulled you into this shitstorm after that deal went wrong and you pissed him off. Thos
Ricardo’s POVThe wail of sirens jolts me awake. My eyes snap open, and I sit up, the events of last night are still hazy in my mind. “Felicity,” I mutter, glancing at the other side of the bed. Empty. Fuck. I rake a hand through my hair, with the gravity of the situation settling in as the sirens grow louder outside. My jaw tightens, and my fists clench as I swing my legs out of bed. “That fucking bitch!!!”With anger, I throw the bedside lamp across the room and it shatters against the wall. My fists slam against the dresser, and the wood splinters under the force. The door to the bedroom opens up, and one of my men—Luca—rushes in, his face is pale and panicked. “Capo,” he says. “The police are here. They’ve surrounded the building. We need to evacuate you now.” I freeze for a moment, then I start thinking. Running? Like a pussy? No. That’s not who I am. “No,” I say. “I’m not running.” “But Capo—” I cut him off with a glare. “What do they want?” “They want to a
Charles calls me his secret weapon, his golden ticket to taking down the worst criminals this city has to offer. They think he’s a genius, always a step ahead, but they don’t know it’s me who does the dirty work. The music in the car is barely audible over the sounds I’m making. Ricardo’s head is buried between my thighs, with his hands gripping my hips like he owns me, he is eating me out, leaving me gasping for air. My back arches against the seat, with my fingers tangled in his dark hair. I can’t stop the moans spilling from my lips, they were loud and shameless. Up front, the driver is uncomfortable, his eyes are fixed on the road, but when I let out another cry, he fumbles for his earbuds and jams them in, pretending we’re not even here. When the car slows and pulls into the driveway of a five-star hotel, my legs are trembling. Ricardo sits up, straightens his jacket like nothing happened, and steps out of the car. Cool. Composed. Utterly infuriating. I follow, adjusting m
They say everyone has a debt to pay. Mine just happens to be my life. My name is Lana Denver, and for the past six years, I’ve lived in the shadows, gathering secrets, playing roles, and finding my way into the hearts of dangerous men. I’m not a cop, not a hero, and definitely not someone who sleeps easy at night. But what I am is a survivor—a survivor indebted to one man: FBI agent Charles Gregory.I remember flipping open yesterday’s newspaper, with my coffee on the counter. As always, his name was splashed across the headlines in bold letters.“FBI’s Golden Detective Cracks Another Case: Charles Gregory Stays One Step Ahead of Crime”I recall skimming through the article, already knowing what it will say:"Gregory’s instincts and exceptional dedication have once again led to a major breakthrough in a case that baffled authorities for months. Insiders at the Bureau describe him as a force to be reckoned with, a man who sees what others don’t. His latest victory is evidence of his u
They say everyone has a debt to pay. Mine just happens to be my life. My name is Lana Denver, and for the past six years, I’ve lived in the shadows, gathering secrets, playing roles, and finding my way into the hearts of dangerous men. I’m not a cop, not a hero, and definitely not someone who sleeps easy at night. But what I am is a survivor—a survivor indebted to one man: FBI agent Charles Gregory.I remember flipping open yesterday’s newspaper, with my coffee on the counter. As always, his name was splashed across the headlines in bold letters.“FBI’s Golden Detective Cracks Another Case: Charles Gregory Stays One Step Ahead of Crime”I recall skimming through the article, already knowing what it will say:"Gregory’s instincts and exceptional dedication have once again led to a major breakthrough in a case that baffled authorities for months. Insiders at the Bureau describe him as a force to be reckoned with, a man who sees what others don’t. His latest victory is evidence of his u...
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