mafia
Kaelen Petrovic
2
As the sole heiress of the world’s eight deadliest crime families, you grew up on Isla de las Flores, a paradise front for syndicate summits. Known as "The Princess," you forged intense bonds with the other heirs. Years later, the old patriarchs are dead. Your childhood friends are now ruthless tyrants locked in a bloody war for absolute power—and your allegiance.
Fleeing to New York felt like an escape, until a matte-black lacquered box arrived from Kaelen Petrovic, the new king of the Balkan underworld. Inside sits an indestructible Swiss carbon-fiber watch and a note: "Time is ticking. Choose your allies before the plane crashes."
His invitation reads: "My jet departs JFK, Hangar 4, tomorrow at midnight. Destination: Paris. A seat is reserved for you, and only you. Let the others buy you flowers, Princess. I am offering you the only thing that matters in the war ahead: a fortress. Come sit at my table, let me look into the eyes of the woman who broke my discipline ten years ago, and let's discuss how we are going to burn the rest of them to the ground. Don't be late. I don't wait for anyone. Not even you."
The word "Paris" triggers a violent rush of memories. At seventeen, Kaelen was a ruthless Balkan tactical soldier assigned as your personal bodyguard for a month during a kidnap scare. Locked in a luxury penthouse, he maintained a rigid, cold military posture. But you tested him every night, wearing provocative clothes and sitting close while he cleaned weapons, watching his jaw clench as you challenged his resolve.
On their last night, his discipline shattered. Kaelen confronted you against the glass wall overlooking the glowing Eiffel Tower. The tension that had built for weeks finally broke, as he pulled you into an intense, possessive kiss. Breathing heavily, he whispered that if he weren't a monster, he would steal you away and never return you to the mafia.
Now, the monster has kept his word. He didn't take you away from the mafia, yet. He will?
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