Author Natalya

Liam O'Grady is a powerful loan shark and realtor, a man mixed in crime and an underground fighter, a King. Between them, his half-brother Finn St Just and he run the city of Hunter's Wood, with the strength of their muscle and money power. The brothers are Dominants and they enjoy subjugating the women they take. And they have the habit of sharing a woman. But the jaded Liam knows that something is missing. Like a breath of fresh air, innocent young Bianca Cruz turns up at their doorstep, asking for help. The nineteen-year-old is trying to get her family free of the clutches of the evil Dean Nelson, who was also responsible for the death of her father. Liam agrees to help her, for he is intrigued by the young woman who is untouched and other-worldly, an innocent who appeals to his jaded self. He along with his brother propose a deal with the desperate young woman. They will help her; they will even restore her father's beloved bakery and hand it over to her. But the price is this: She will be their willing submissive for a year. & Does she cave in and accept their terms? And what will happen during this year to the girl who has no experience of men? Worse, what will happen to her at the end of the year?

"You f*cking WH*RE!" roared Gaston St. Claire, my husband. Bringing his face closer to my terrified one, he snarled, in a lower voice filled with anguish and fury, "So it was true, eh? You were sneaking behind my back, spreading your legs and spreading your legs for other men, huh?' I shook my head, trying to focus, trying to plead, the shock spreading through me slowly. What was he talking about? I had no idea how I had gotten there-to that seedy-looking room-or how I had ended up beneath Stan Cummingham, naked and semi-conscious. Other men? What did he mean? Why didn't he believe me? April and Gaston St. Claire, the Mafia Don, have been wed and blessed with eight children. Their lives have had their fair share of ups and downs. But there's worse awaiting poor April! Bree Hampston, Gaston St. Claire's long-lost sister, turns up! She turns the Mafia Don against his faithful wife... Does she succeed? Or does April finally make a stand?

Damien Lindberg, the heir to the Lindberg Coven of Warlocks, is stunned to discover that he has fathered a son from a one-night stand, of which he has no recollection. His woman turns out to be young Miranda O'Neill, who is fierce and furious when he turns up in her life, daring to claim her and his son. She is hurt and bitter, for she had searched for him after the exquisite night of love they had shared. And while the two lovers try to fight not only their passions, for there is a deep, unpredictable sexual chemistry between them, they also have to face other threats, sinister and menacing in nature, from within the Coven, from the world of Dragons, and from the murky world of jealous rivals, all of which lurk outside the periphery of their volatile passion, which holds them anchored to each other. Will they finally be with each other and find true love? Or will the forces that want to keep the star-crossed lovers apart, finally win?

I moved to kiss him and he captured my mouth, his tongue probing me as I moved blindly, his fingers teasing me. "Please,' I whispered quivering with need and then I moved as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, his mouth on mine. Helpless, I came, a mass of nerves and wetness as he carried me to the heights, his fingers playing with me, teasing me. I threw my head back, sobbed and screamed his name as I felt myself shatter into a thousand pieces of myself. With a coarse expletive, sounding like a man who had reached his limit, he raised me slightly and shifted, positioning himself and rammed into me fiercely. I moaned at the suddenness, the force of his thrusts as he rode me mercilessly. Thank goodness I was on the pill now, I thought wildly as he pounded me relentlessly and I cried as I came again. And again. Loving him. Branded by him... * This book is the last of the Mafia Don trilogy but it can be read as a standalone as well. April and Gaston love each other although he is almost twenty years older. Besides steamy, erotic encounters, their marriage is also filled with ups and downs, including two out-of-wedlock children, a kidnapping, killings, and suspected affairs. In this book, Gaston's illegitimate son enters the picture and disrupts their lives yet again. Will these star-crossed lovers survive? or will they separate or worse, will April die?

Gaston St.Claire, the Mafia Don from the previous book is out to get his old enemy, Dmitri. Dmitri has vowed to destroy his family, particularly the woman he loves, his wife April He embarks on a way to kill th mn but in the process, his wife misunderstands him. He turns to his old flame, a woman who is now a noted porn star . April is torn between her love for her husband and he bewilderment at his actions. Meanwhile, Schwartz meets Sophia, whose sister was lured into the porn movie business and has disappeared. The two of them are attracted to each other but Sophia fights the attraction. How things spin out of control involving Gaston and April, Schwartz and Sophia forms the story line.

Melissa is a widow; she is just 22 years old with a two year old son. Her lover , who she had not married, dies of a heart attack. His ex-wife turns up with her fiancé, and throws Melissa out, penniless. The fiancé, Trsitan Lord, is a ruthless advocate, a millionaire as he fights the cases for the Mafia mob. He does not care for anyone's feelings. When he meets Melissa, he feels a desire to dominate her, a strange attraction towards her. Although she cannot understand the way she feels towards him, Melissa does not respond to his overtures. This makes him angry. Melissa's mother dies, her father is paralyzed. He has no one except Melissa. Desperate, with a child and her helpless father to look after,, she takes up a job as a dancer at a topless bar run by the Mob. Tristan sees her there and tries to seduce her in his brutal manner. He grabbed her am, pinning her to the wall, his eyes gleaming like hot coals as he growled, 'You slut...so you can parade your naked body before the men in that room,' He jerked her to him, forcing her to feel his hard erectness that was pressing against her soft belly. "But you play the innocent with me, eh?' She pushed against him, futilely, aware that she was getting turned on strangely enough by this large man's cruel words and his punishing hold on her. His presence, his male musky aroma filled her head. "Take your hands off me,' she hissed, but for answer, he lowered his head and brought his hard mouth on her soft moist lips, displaying a hunger that seemed to burn both of them as he ravaged her mouth, his body holding her trapped...

'I had not expected to breed you, little girl.' He said, his voice emotionless but his eyes were hot with lust,' You were just a plaything to be used till I tired of you, But there was no way I would let any child of mine grow up as a bastard.' My breath caught in my throat at the sheer cruelty, the heartlessness of his words. Was that all I had been to him? The young innocent woman and the older, heartless Mafia Boss who cannot have enough of her. A story of desire, a story of lust Above all a story of LOVE.

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."

On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up. As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress. The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me. The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one. With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered. I chose the one man they never expected. I chose his father, the Don himself.

I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria. But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity. A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love. My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me. Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego. He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press. He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan. He had no idea she was a fraud. He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her. He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate. At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her. I didn't beg. I didn't cry. I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play.

For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne. But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.” My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love. He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."

I was trapped in a locked-in state for six months, fully conscious but unable to move a single muscle. My step-family, Delma and Jazmyne, marched into my hospital room, forged a Do Not Resuscitate order, and yanked out my oxygen tube just to stop paying my medical bills. When my three-year-old daughter, Amari, leaped out from under the bed to protect me, they beat her mercilessly. They kicked my tiny girl in the stomach, smashed a heavy metal IV pole into her fragile shoulder, and dragged her out by her ankles. They even tied her to a tree in their backyard and let a massive Rottweiler tear into her flesh, laughing as they recorded her agonizing screams. I lay in that hospital bed, hearing every blow and every desperate cry. I didn't understand why they had to torture an innocent toddler just because they thought I was a worthless piece of trash with amnesia. A tidal wave of absolute fury crashed against the invisible walls of my paralyzed body, burning away the despair. Gritting my teeth until my jaw popped, I forced my dead weight off the mattress and dragged my atrophied legs across the freezing floor to a landline. With trembling, bloody fingers, I punched in a twelve-digit military-grade encrypted code. It was time for my real family—the most powerful men in the country—to make these monsters pay.

On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news. He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city. The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.” For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets. My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me. So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts. He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked. He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree. He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.

BLURB: River never intended to be pulled into the dangerous world of the Mafia, but a single moment of bravery changes everything. In an attempt to save the man who fuels her wildest fantasies, she unwittingly steps into the path of Rico Swavey, the ruthless Mafia Lord with a dark, hidden past. Rico has built his empire on control and secrecy, keeping his heart locked away. But when River, the doe-eyed woman who sparks something dangerous within him, stumbles into his life, his defenses begin to crumble. Haunted by a crime from his childhood, Rico struggles to accept love, especially from someone like River. What happens when she becomes a stripper in his club? Can River break through the walls around Rico's heart? And can Rico forgive himself for the sins of his past to embrace a future with her? Dive into their world of passion, danger, and redemption in HIS HEALING GRACE.

#Chapter1 Chapter I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

The moment I saw my husband massaging his dead brother's pregnant mistress's feet, I knew my marriage was over. He moved her into our home under the guise of "family duty," forcing me to watch as he prioritized her comfort over our vows. The final betrayal came when she stole and deliberately broke my mother's priceless necklace. When I slapped her for the desecration, my husband struck me across the face to defend her. He had violated a sacred honor code by putting his hands on the daughter of another Don-an act of war. I looked him in the eye and swore on my mother's grave that I would bring a bloody revenge upon his entire family. Then I made one phone call to my father, and the demolition of his empire began.

I am the wife of Julian Falcone, a powerful mafia boss, but my title in this house is nothing but a joke. When our car broke down in a deadly blizzard, Julian rushed to the scene, only to bypass me entirely. He wrapped his heavy coat around his fragile cousin, Livia, and put her in his only available passenger seat. "Livia's constitution is too weak to survive this cold. I have to take her back first." He left me to freeze in the pitch-black car for the entire night. When his men finally dragged my half-dead body out the next morning, they openly mocked me, calling me a piece of "collateral" that the boss wouldn't care about as long as I was breathing. Back at the estate, Julian didn't even ask if I had survived the frostbite. Instead, he stormed into my sickroom, demanding I treat his mistress with respect just because my absolute silence had hurt her feelings. His grandmother then publicly humiliated me for failing to provide an heir, while Livia flaunted the custom diamond bracelet Julian bought to soothe her "fright" from the storm. I finally understood. He didn't marry me out of honor to save my fallen family. He just needed my aristocratic Rossi blood to legitimize his new-money mafia empire. I was never a wife. I was a transaction he was willing to let freeze to death. When his men delivered a heavy diamond necklace to buy my submission, I didn't cry or beg. I dropped the blood diamond into the deepest drawer, and began to plan my escape.