"No one will ever be able to murder me; they would never dare." Galante, Carmine. I'm quite aware that I'm not a good man. People were terrified and respected when they heard my name, "Lord" Rolly Exruto Guevara. All in the sake of power, I committed dreadful, brutal, heartless, remorseless, violent things. I was the Capo of The Family, an American Italian crime gang. It's the mafia. Many females want to be at the bottom of my ruthless Mafia, but a man must look for his wife, not a woman who looks for her husband. I want to marry a lady or perhaps have children with a woman. It's what the males in my environment did to get more power and become more powerful. The fruits of my power shall inherit the power. That was my first encounter with Lara Sylvio, Clover's lovely and voluptuous secretary. She is going to be mine. I have her. l id never had such strong feelings for anybody or anything as I had for Lara. Her skin and lips made me feel as though there was something missing in this world, and she filled it in. I wanted Lara to the bone, and I'd make her mine for the rest of my life, not just for one night. A mafia is always a Mafia.
View MoreWe were both silent, yet it wasn’t oppressive or uncomfortable. His presence was almost soothing, like a warm blanket wrapped around me. I shifted in my leather seat as the proximity of Roman Lysander made me feel unbalanced. Was there something wrong with me for being so taken with a man I had just recently met? I cast a glance in his direction, but he was absorbed in his work, his gaze fixed on the road, the dashboard lights highlighting his imposing features. I wouldn’t call him conventionally attractive, and I couldn’t picture him striding down a runway showcasing the latest fashion. He had a ruthless and ferocious demeanor. Roman Lysander had a menacing aura about him. A predator. He was just like that. "I hope you appreciate true Italian," he remarked finally, jolting me out of my reverie. "I know a fantastic little Italian restaurant with a great ambiance that I think you’ll enjoy." He gave me a smoldering look as he glanced at me. My body had begun to cool slightly, b
As the hall light caught his enormous gold watch, I stared at it. A Rolex. Obviously. I knew I shouldn’t be staring at him, but I couldn’t help myself, especially after observing his black slacks that revealed his raw power. My eyes widened in astonishment as I continued to lower my gaze. Despite the fact that he was plainly not aroused, the bulge in his jeans was significant. I shouldn’t have been surprised when Roman Lysander claimed he was everywhere because he was a formidable presence. I shifted my gaze to his eyes and felt my face flush as the smirk on his face indicated he was well aware of my scrutiny. And he seemed pleased by it. “Avior, do you like what you see?” I almost imagined him saying. I blurted out an apology for almost colliding with him as I opened the door, partly due to my unwanted appraisal of his body. I felt a flutter in my stomach... and elsewhere... despite his silence. “I was hoping to meet you downstairs so you wouldn’t have to come all the way up to
I sighed and shook my head, but even the noise I made seemed forced, as if I were trying to push away what was directly in front of me. It was hard to ignore this reality. An unrecognized number flashed on the screen of my cellphone on the coffee table. But I didn’t need to check the caller ID to know who it was. When Roman Lysander had given it to me, I had nearly memorized it. I sat there staring at the phone for a few moments, telling myself to let it go to voicemail. But my hand moved almost of its own accord, pressing Accept, holding the phone to my ear, and asking, “Hello.” Despite my exhaustion, and despite the truth screaming at me, I found myself gazing at my now-closed laptop. I had no intention of declining Roman Lysander’s offer. That realization, more than anything else, terrified me. Roman had approached the Clover office three days prior and asked me out. For three days, I had been mulling over what I’d discovered about him online. I felt torn about what I should d
I should’ve been paying more attention. Instead, I found myself mesmerized by Roman Lysander’s gaze. He made me feel desirable in a way I’d never experienced before. Growing up, I was never shy. I was confident and comfortable in my own skin. Society might not have seen me as slim or sleek, but that never bothered me. My parents had always instilled in me a sense of self-worth, reminding me of my value and how special I was in their eyes. Because of them, I knew I didn’t have to compromise who I was. But with Roman, it felt different. He looked at me as if I were the only thing that could quench his hunger. I should have heeded the warning signs and declined his invitation; his arrogance was off-putting. But despite that, I felt a fierce sense of empowerment and allure when he looked at me. The more intense his gaze, the more attractive I felt. So I smiled, moved closer, and accepted his offer. Later that evening, I sank into my chair, wine glass filled with rich, fruity red win
Roman Lysander pushed open the main door, and the heat from outside surged into the air-conditioned office. Sweat quickly formed on my temples, though I knew it had less to do with the weather and everything to do with the man approaching me with such intent. I had to tilt my head back to keep my focus on his face as he moved closer. My eyes widened, and my lips parted, feeling like a star-struck fool. I must have looked ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it. I blinked, trying to regain my composure and stay professional since I was alone at the front desk. “Hello,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. Roman’s mouth curved into a subtle smile, as if he was amused by my reaction. “I’m sorry,” I cleared my throat, trying again. “Thank you for visiting Clover. How may I assist you?” My gaze was drawn to his hand, noticing the scars and the dark ink creeping out from beneath his shirt sleeve. He removed his sunglasses, slipping them into the pocket of his suit jacket, never br
Avior’s POV I’d never imagined myself as a matchmaker. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with it, but I’d always believed in real love. The cynic in me couldn’t grasp how genuine connections could be forged through a firm’s matchmaking process. As the daughter of middle-class parents, I knew the value of hard work. My parents were high school sweethearts who fell in love young and stayed together despite their youth. My mother became pregnant as a teenager, and I witnessed the struggles they faced just to keep our family afloat. Yet, their love endured, making me skeptical of any process that claimed to manufacture it. Perhaps it was because I was unmarried and dissatisfied with my own situation. Maybe I was envious of the beautiful women and wealthy men who seemed to find happiness through our services. Working at a firm dedicated to that demographic, I saw this every day. Despite my personal doubts, my work required me to maintain a professional stance. When the word "love"
"Roman Lysander!" "You need a woman in your life. And heirs, a lot of them." Every Sunday supper, my mother’s words echoed around the table. It felt like a broken record, repeating the same old tune. "Do I really need one?" I leaned back, casting a sidelong glance at Khalil as I poured myself a generous splash of red wine. He smirked, avoiding my gaze with practiced nonchalance. "Maybe you should encourage Khalil to find someone, Mom," I suggested, taking a slow sip. "You need a wife and an heir as Underboss," she said firmly, taking a long drink from her own glass. Her audacity never ceased to astonish me. My name, Roman Lysander Patterson—once a name that commanded fear—had somehow become a topic of casual conversation at family dinners. They feared I’d slit their throats in their sleep. Of course, they were wrong. I preferred to do it while they were still awake, staring them down as I made my point. "Besides, your younger brother isn’t old enough." Penny grumble
"Roman Lysander!" "You need a woman in your life. And heirs, a lot of them." Every Sunday supper, my mother’s words echoed around the table. It felt like a broken record, repeating the same old tune. "Do I really need one?" I leaned back, casting a sidelong glance at Khalil as I poured myself a generous splash of red wine. He smirked, avoiding my gaze with practiced nonchalance. "Maybe you should encourage Khalil to find someone, Mom," I suggested, taking a slow sip. "You need a wife and an heir as Underboss," she said firmly, taking a long drink from her own glass. Her audacity never ceased to astonish me. My name, Roman Lysander Patterson—once a name that commanded fear—had somehow become a topic of casual conversation at family dinners. They feared I’d slit their throats in their sleep. Of course, they were wrong. I preferred to do it while they were still awake, staring them down as I made my point. "Besides, your younger brother isn’t old enough." Penny grumble
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