Valerie Foster's life turns upside down when she goes into labor in the presence of Antonio Costello, the notorious Capo of an Italian Crime Syndicate: La Viperia. In a chaotic turn of events, Antonio is forced to take Valerie to the hospital, where he accidentally signs the birth certificate as the father of her baby! But that's only the beginning. Much to Valerie’s dismay, Antonio becomes obsessed with Valerie and her baby boy, insisting on raising him as his own. Despite her protests, Antonio is determined to be the best accidental dad ever. *This is a compilation of several books.*
View More“You are Valerie Foster?” Antonio Costello asked in a thick Italian accent, his deep voice surprisingly gentle.
Valerie looked at him, studying his features slowly and carefully. He appeared to be in his late thirties with jet-black hair and eyes so dark they seemed almost black. His face, while almost handsome, had a deep scar running from his forehead down to his cheek on the right side, making him look intimidating, to say the least.He sat with an air of confidence, his posture tall and regal, indicating a man of power and strength. Even seated, his broad shoulders and the powerful build of his chest and arms hinted at his impressive height.
He looked absolutely terrifying, Valerie thought.
One look at Antonio Costello and Valerie could tell he wasn’t a man to be trifled with.
“Yes,” she replied briskly, holding her stomach protectively as if to protect her baby from the predator in front of her. She was sitting on a couch in front of him with one of her brother’s men standing behind her. He had his eyes glued to her just as he promised he would.
“Hmm,” Antonio said. He narrowed his eyes at Val’s pregnant belly. “And that’s Julian Sinclaire’s child.”
“Yes.”
The man made a face as if he had eaten something bitter. “You decided to have a child with that Russian sleaze bag? Could’ve done better, Bella.”
Val rolled her eyes. Why did everyone, including her mother, just assume she could’ve done better than Julian? Sure, he was a douchebag and a cheating bastard at times, but he was at least nice to her. He took her in and protected her when she needed it the most!
Not to mention he had gifted her with her unborn son. RIP Julian.
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Valerie asked impatiently. “Why did you bring me here?” She was starting to get quite irritable but Antonio seemed like he was in hurry to finish up. Like he had all the time in the world.
Antonio’s black eyes flashed. “A little impatient, are we?” he remarked, his tone laced with amusement.
Val bristled at Antonio’s condescending tone but forced herself to stay composed. Getting angry wouldn't be a good idea. This man was dangerous. “I didn’t think you brought me here to make small talk,” she said.
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Of course, of course. Pregnancy does tend to make women a bit…testy,” he said coyly.
Val clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to snap back at him. Instead, she forced herself to remain calm and focused on him. “Let’s get to the point. What do you want from me?”
Antonio leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he studied her with those intense black eyes. “Straight to business, I like that,” he mused. “Very well, Signorina Foster. Like I said to your brother, you have something that belongs to me.”
“What would that be?” she asked even though she had no desire to continue this conversation with him.
“A series of codes. I won’t go into details, but they are written on a piece of paper,” he paused and leaned forward. “I have reasons to believe that you have it in your possession.”
Val narrowed her eyes. “And if I did have these codes, why would I give them to you?” she asked.
Antonio’s smile was like a predator’s, confident and unnerving. “Because, mio amore, you don’t have a choice.”
“What? Are you going to kill me? With my unborn baby?” Val asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. She was starting get scared now. She didn't want to die. Despite being in dangerous situations multiple times in the past, she had always managed to survive.
His eyes widened. “Kill you? Oh no. I am more decent than that,” he exclaimed.
Valerie snorted loudly at that. Decent? This man had a sense of humor, that's for sure.
He frowned at her. “Do you have something to say? Did I say something funny?”
“If you are a decent human being, I’m the Virgin Mary.” She paused and pointed at her swollen belly before continuing. “And this… here… is baby Jesus ready to be born.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched, and for a moment, she thought he might smile. But his face stayed serious. Becaue, why not?
“You seem to have a sharp tongue, little lady,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I guess what they say about red-headed girls is true.”
Valerie rolled her eyes.
Antonio’s gaze narrowed, his demeanor shifting from playful to intense. “But let’s not forget why we’re here,” he continued, his voice low and commanding.
“I don’t have your stupid codes,” Val barked.
Antonio’s expression remained unreadable for a moment before he leaned back in his chair, seemingly unfazed by her outburst. “That’s a shame,” he replied calmly. “Because I have reason to believe otherwise.”
Val had something smartass to say. It was at the tip of her tongue but she stopped.
Because the room suddenly felt hot. Val gripped the edge of the chair. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her heart pounded in her chest.
Antonio leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table between them. “Is there a problem, Signorina?” he asked, a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he watched her squirm. “Did I catch you in a lie? You know where the paper is, don’t you, Bella?”
Val shook her head vehemently. “No, no, I don’t, asshole.”
“Then why do you look uncomfortable?” Antonio pointed out.
“Just hot, that’s all,” she mumbled, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. The room was suffocatingly warm now, and she glanced around helplessly.
Was it her imagination, or was everything beginning to sway?
Suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through her abdomen, making her gasp and clutch at her stomach. Her dress was suddenly wet, and she looked down in shock.
Her water had broken.
The dress was black silk. It was elegant, sexy.It clung just enough to blend in, not enough to stand out. The kind of thing a quiet mistress or a discreet secretary might wear at a party like this. She'd chosen it on purpose.Camille moved through the crowd like a shadow, her expression soft, her smile rehearsed, her heels clicking just loud enough to be noticed without being remembered.Tomas had invited her as his "companion" for the evening. The fourth this month, if the whispers were true. He liked to rotate them. New faces kept his reputation glossy and untraceable.But Camille wasn't here for champagne.She was here for information."Stay close," Tomas murmured against her ear, guiding her toward the table near the balcony. "This crowd bites.""Only if you taste sweet," she said, her accent smooth and foreign.He laughed, charmed. Predictable.Tomas liked beautiful things. Especially beautiful things that pretended not to see the rot under his fingernails.Camille sat beside hi
DaphneOn the way to the Villa, Ella had fallen asleep. Her hair damp with saltwater and cookie crumbs smudged on her cheek. Alma had helped tuck her in without waking her.Now it was just...stillness.Daphne stood at the kitchen island, barefoot and vaguely damp from her second shower of the day, staring down at a mango juice box she had stolen from Max's ridiculous stash. It was still cold."Coming to bed?" a voice said behind her.She didn't turn. "Don't sneak up on me, Landon.""I wasn't sneaking," he said, stepping into the room. "I was checking on you.""I'm fine.""Why are you standing there drinking juice in the dark?"She looked down at the box and rolled her eyes. "It's peaceful."He didn't argue. Just opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and leaned against the counter beside her. Close enough to be warm."Tell me what happened to you when you were at Marquez's care," he said. Daphne didn't answer at first.Her fingers tightened around the juice box until the si
The SUV rumbled to life a few minutes later, packed with towels, a cooler, sunscreen, and enough snacks to survive a minor apocalypse. Max took the wheel, naturally, sunglasses perched on his face like he owned the sun.Ella sat in the front seat beside him, buckled in and clinging to a juice pouch like it was a shield. Her silence was still there, but the stiffness in her frame had softened.“I’m just saying,” Max said as he pulled onto the coastal road, “if I die of dehydration because someone forgot to pack orange soda, I’m haunting this family.”“I brought water,” Daphne said dryly from the back.“Oh, good,” Max muttered. “That’ll go great with trauma.”Landon leaned forward between the seats. “You know, Max, you’re setting a great example for Ella.”“She needs to see the effects of mild caffeine withdrawal in real time. It’s educational.”Ella’s lip twitched. Not a smile. Not yet. But close.The winding roads gave way to dazzling views, rolling cliffs, bright jungle foliage, the
Landon knew she was mad the moment the bedroom door clicked shut. Not irritated. Not sulking.Full-blown, fire-breathing, I-will-stab-a-bitch mad.Daphne crossed the room like a storm contained in silk, arms folded so tightly across her chest it looked like restraint. Her mouth was a straight, deadly line.So, of course, he had to charm her socks off. And so far, it looked like it was working.The next morning, it was straight to business. Max stood near the SUV, checking the gear with military precision. Camille was already there.“I packed light,” she said, swinging her duffel into the trunk. “Just three guns and an attitude.”Max handed her a burner phone. “Encrypted. Don’t use it unless it’s an emergency.”“Understood,” she said, flipping it open and shut just to hear the click. “Still no love note in the box, though.”Landon stood back, arms crossed, watching every movement like a hawk.Camille turned toward Daphne, who leaned against the stone pillar near the garage, arms folded
Camille leaned over the map with a pencil between her teeth, tracing a supply line through the Santa Marta docks.“If they switch trucks here,” she murmured, pointing. “Every sixth night, like Max said, that’s when they move the real cargo.”Max stood at the head of the table, arms folded, his jaw tight. “They’ve got someone watching port security. I want a name.”“I can get it,” Camille said, pulling the pencil free with her teeth and flashing a grin. “But I’ll need one of your burner phones and a clean car. You want quiet or chaos?”“Quiet,” Landon said from the side, tone clipped. “We don’t need a trail leading back here.”Camille rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun anymore.”“I’m not here to be fun.”“Obviously.”Max cut in before the temperature could drop. “Focus. We need you in position by Friday. I want a full report before the next cycle begins.”Camille’s smirk faded as she tapped the pencil against her lip thoughtfully. “I’ll need a second set of hands. Someone I can trust.”“Y
The next morning, the villa was quiet.Daphne stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but one of Landon’s shirts and a faint scowl. A mug of bitter black coffee steamed in her hands, untouched. She wasn’t thinking about caffeine.She was thinking about the war that was about to unfold.Across the room, Landon and Max sat at the massive oak table. The laptop was open. Blueprints and digital schematics glowed across the screen, layered with names and routes.“Three compounds,” Max muttered. “All in Colombia. The border one is guarded, but the real cargo is coming through here.” He zoomed in on a red pin near the coast. “—Santa Marta.”Daphne padded forward, dropping into a seat and kicking her feet up on the table without apology. “That’s one of his most successful areas for trafficking.”Max nodded grimly. “Every six days. Marquez’s lieutenants call it ‘the washing cycle.’ They take girls, bleach their names, repackage them, and ship them like they’re inventory.”Landon’s jaw tightened,
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