APKDock Logo
Chapters
share
The Mafia Don's Temptation  Novel Cover

The Mafia Don's Temptation

A desperate flee to her hometown leads Aria Romano directly into the hands of Maximo Morelli, the ruthless mafia don. Ignorant of who he really is, she spends an unforgettable night with him, only to wake up the next morning to find him gone, with a warning note left on the bedside table. Despite how hard he tried to forget about that night, Maximo's desire for Aria dominated his every waking thought. But those thoughts are replaced with burning fury after he finds out that her father was a traitor to the mafia. Maximo takes Aria captive and swears to make her life a living hell. That is, before he realizes that she is like a drug-tempting and addicting. Hatred turns into lust, and lust into passion. Will they give in to their strong desires? Or will the darkness and secrets of the mafia swallow them whole?
Chapters
share

Chapter 3

MAXIMO

My Red.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since last night. She seemed so innocent...until our lips met. With her American accent and that damn optimism, she had no idea what she'd just gotten herself into by coming here.

But something about her kept gnawing at me. A nagging feeling I couldn't shake. She looked... familiar.

I knew I hadn't seen her before. I never forget faces, and it's impossible to forget a face as perfect as hers. So why did I feel like I had? Why did just looking at her stir something dark and unsettled in the back of my mind? Why did it feel like my brain was trying to tell me something I needed to know, but my eyes and body weren't paying attention?

A guttural scream snapped me back to reality.

I glanced over just as Luca snipped off the tip of Marco's finger. His pathetic pleading filled the room, his cries bouncing off the damp concrete walls of his cell. It was almost pitiful. A former gang lord, now reduced to nothing in my custody.

That's what happens when you mess with me.

"Are you ready to talk now?" I asked over his screams.

Marco sobbed, shaking his head. "Go f*ck yourself, Scar!"

I smirked despite the slow-burning anger curling in my gut. Marco was resilient. I had to give him that. Too bad he was only making his suffering more entertaining.

"Guess I'll have to leave you to Luca's mercy then," I said, stretching lazily. "Your screams used to excite me, but now? Now, they just irritate me."

"Then kill me already!" he shouted.

At that exact moment, Luca snipped off another fingertip. Marco's body convulsed as his tortured groans echoed through the room.

I hummed, tilting my head. "Now, where's the fun in that?"

Tears streaked his bloody face. "I can't take this anymore. Please, just kill me."

I walked toward him, crouching down so we were face to face. "You won't die until I get what I want," I murmured. "Until then, you'll continue to be tortured until your body physically cannot take it anymore. But you won't just die peacefully. I'll make sure your death is slow and painful."

I let the words sink in before continuing in a calm, measured voice.

"And it won't end there. Your remains will be cut up into tiny little pieces, packaged into perfect little boxes, and shipped to your family in Monza. Tell me, Marco, will it be your daughter who opens the package? You know how kids love opening packages."

A strangled sob tore from his throat. "Please. Not my wife. Not my kid..."

I sneered. "Oh, don't worry. I won't kill them." I let my smirk widen. "But by the time I'm done with them, they'll wish I had."

His breathing turned ragged.

"They have nothing to do with this," he choked out.

I let out a dark chuckle. "You're right. They don't. This is your fault. You had the f*cking nerve to trespass into my territory. To attack my shipment. And now you expect mercy?"

He was silent, chest heaving.

"You should do the right thing, Marco. Give me the information I need. Or your innocent family will pay the price."

A beat passed.

"There's a rat among your men," he whispered hoarsely, finally looking me in the eye.

The air in the room turned heavy.

My jaw tightened as I reached for the revolver tucked in my waistband, pressing the cold metal against his forehead.

"Who is it?" I snarled.

He whimpered. "I-I don't know. But if you give me time, I'll find out-"

I cocked the gun.

"You think I'm stupid?" My voice dropped to a growl. "You think I'd ever trust you?"

His entire body shook as he cried, and his pathetic tears only managed to make me even angrier. 

"Please, Scar. I swear, I'll find whoever the rat is. Just let me redeem myself-"

"You're irredeemable," I spat.

"I'll do anything to keep my family safe," he sobbed. "Please let me do this."

I leaned back and pretended to consider it. Then, I smirked.

"Fine. I'll give you twenty-four hours."

Marco's breath hitched in relief.

"Find this rat. Bring them to me. Fail, and you can start digging graves for your whole family, before I make you join them."

ARIA

I paced the entire length of the hotel room, phone pressed to my ear as I called the number from the Milan housing website. My heart pounded as I prayed that the person on the other end spoke English.

After seeing the money Maximo left me, and the text from my stepfather, I knew I had to find a place to stay. I couldn't keep living out of a hotel.

I glanced at the stack of cash on the nightstand, heat creeping up my neck as memories of last night flashed through my mind. I'd practically begged Maximo for money, then ended up in his bed the same night.

God. The thought mortified me.

But the soreness between my legs reminded me of how good he felt.

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus.

I needed to find a permanent place. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere safe. I was a fugitive in my own home, just like my mother's family.

A lump formed in my throat as I thought of them. Their rejection. Their cold, indifferent stares.

I was completely alone.

'Wait for me.' 

Maximo's words from the letter came back to my mind. I wasn't alone, which was crazy because I didn't even know who he really was. If he wanted me to wait for him, why did he leave me a ridiculous amount of money I was scared to count? What would happen next after he got back?

A hoarse voice crackled through the phone, pulling me from my thoughts. "Hello?"

The accent was thick, the tone gruff like it belonged to an old woman.

"Hi, I got your number from a website," I said, nervously rubbing my palms against my jeans.

"You want house?" she asked bluntly.

I exhaled in relief at the fact that she could at least communicate in English. "Yes."

"I send you address. You come see for yourself. Then you pay."

"Okay. Thank-"

Beep. 

She ended the call. 

I scoffed at her rudeness, but sure enough, a message with an address popped up on my screen. Without hesitation, I booked an Uber, then threw on a hoodie over my t-shirt and jeans. As I tied my shoelaces, another notification appeared. My driver was nearby.

Grabbing the wads of cash, I tucked them neatly into my purse and headed outside the hotel building. The day was bright and the sun was glaring harshly against the earth. It was almost too hot to be wearing a damn hoodie.

As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I spotted a black Honda Civic across the road that matched my driver's description.

I pulled my hoodie up, keeping my head down as I walked toward the car. But then-

A familiar feeling snaked its way up my spine, like a prickle of unease at the back of my neck.

Someone was following me.

Panic surged through my veins. I picked up my pace and rushed towards the car, my fingers itching to yank the car door open. But before I could, a strong hand clamped down on my arm.

I gasped, twisting and thrashing against the grip. The man let out a frustrated breath.

"Vai a dormire," he growled.

A white handkerchief pressed against my nose, and a sharp, pungent scent filled my lungs. My struggles weakened. My limbs turned to jelly.

No. No, no, no.

My knees buckled as my body collapsed into his arms. Through my blurring vision, I saw black dress shoes step into my line of sight. Then came the sickening crack of metal striking flesh, a pained grunt from the man who held me, and suddenly, we were both falling... and falling-

And then, everything went dark.

You may also like

Contract Marriage: My Husband doesn't know I am the daughter of his enemy Novel Cover
7.0
Elara Virelli was born into a family that hated her and treated her as nothing more than a servant. She finally escapes after sleeping with a masked man at her sister's engagement party. She now has a new identity and a son she loves more than anything. Lucien Kòrvac is a powerful mafia Don under the guise of a billionaire CEO. Fate reunites him with an interesting woman he knew years ago, and he discovers he has a son he never knew existed. Now he will stop at nothing to claim and protect him. Now they are enemies in a world where love is a luxury and loyalty is fake. Both bound by a child. Will hatred turn to desire, or will their past destroy them both?
From Mafia Wife to Rival's Queen Novel Cover
9.7
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."
His Dangerous Love: The Writer And The Don Novel Cover
8.4
I was exactly three thousand words away from eviction when the heir to the New York underworld smashed my laptop and offered me a job instead of an apology. Dante Vitiello wanted me to write a memoir that would paint him as a saint. I moved into his penthouse, thinking I could keep things professional. But when his arranged fiancée, the daughter of the Chicago Outfit, arrived, she didn't see an employee. She saw a threat. She didn't just humiliate me; she leaked fake evidence to the press, branding me as a federal informant. I woke up in a hospital bed with the word "RAT" plastered across every gossip site. Sofia’s guards were stationed outside my door, blocking even the nurses. I was a liability. A stain on the Vitiello name. I knew how these stories ended. The Prince always chooses the Family. The Alliance is more important than the girl. I was packing my bag, shaking with fear, ready to disappear into the night to save him from ruin. But Dante didn't come to fire me. He walked into the boardroom where his father and the Chicago Boss were waiting for him to beg for forgiveness. He looked at the crown that was his birthright, then he looked at the gun on the table. He didn't kneel. He didn't apologize. He slammed his weapon down, shattering a hundred-year alliance and forfeiting his empire with a single sentence. "Keep the crown. I take the girl."
Married At Gunpoint: The Mafia Boss Chose Me Novel Cover
7.3
Riley Collins had never planned on an arranged marriage, but family duty-and the desperate need to save her comatose younger sister-pushed her to the altar. Halfway through the vows, her fiancé's identical twin burst in, claiming he was the real groom now. A gunshot split the air, guests dove for cover, and Luca Black dragged Riley off, ordering his brother dumped in the back row to watch their wedding. When the night came to its end, she wore a ring from the twin who ran a criminal empire, a man with her groom's face but a darker soul, and nothing about her life felt safe again.
One Night, Now He Wants Me. Novel Cover
8.5
"You are getting married, huh?" A shrill voice asked me from behind. "You don't look happy.' "It's a complicated situati..." He cut me off. "I can make you happy." My eyes darted between his lips and eyes, he noticed my indecision and locked his lips with mine. While battling with betrayal, Iris melts into a mafia's touch without knowing who he is. Now she must bear all the consequences that follow.
Rising From The Grave As A Queen Novel Cover
9.6
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder. It was Clayton. The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister’s engagement party. "Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up. Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock. "Ivy? You're... we buried you." They hadn't buried me. They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability. Clayton’s shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger. He accused me of faking my death for attention. He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain. He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize. "You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation." But he made a fatal mistake. He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees. He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it. Before Clayton’s fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist. Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us. "Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand." I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face. I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself. I came back to bury them.