Page 1 of Stolen Bride

Prologue

Fifteen Years Earlier

Damiano

The kill felt good, and now I’m hard as stone. My hand strokes my cock. Damn, I never knew how much pleasure I’d get out of taking down so many pieces of shit at once, but I was too damn good at it. The blood washes off my body as I work my shaft.

Maybe I’ll take my grandfather’s offer and finally take a whore, but my father wants me to wait until I have a little more control of my emotions before I start fucking my way through the city. Maybe he has a point, but my grandfather does too. At sixteen, I’ve already killed ten men. Why is sex a big deal? I need to nut, and my hand is getting stale.

Still, it’ll do the job right now. “Fuck, yes,” I groan, nutting quickly. Damn. Maybe my father is right. I need more time to get my hormones in order because that was almost faster than pulling the trigger. I wash off my mess and then scrub my body clean before turning off the scalding hot shower. Stepping out into the steamy bathroom, I wrap a towel around my waist and then wipe my hand across the mirror. From my face and physique, I’m one sexy bastard, looking like the damn devil in the making.

Lifting my watch off the counter, I have an hour until I meet with my grandfather to go over tonight’s business, so I better get dressed because he prefers that I’m dressed impeccably. We share an intense bond, he and I, and I’ve learned so much from him, including his sense of style, and his thirst for blood.

When I step out of my bathroom while drying my hair with a towel, I see a pair of bare legs dangling off my bed that are far from hairy, and all feminine. Lifting my gaze, I find my grandfather’s new wife, Sarah, a plain name that is the complete opposite of her personality. She’s the love of his life, thirty years his junior, and she is sitting naked on my bed with her legs open, looking like a forbidden meal waiting for me. Instead of being tempted, I feel a rage that I never felt before. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” I bark out. I turn around instantly.

“Don’t do that, Damiano, baby.” I thought having a beautiful, naked woman in my bed would be the biggest turn on in my life—and from the state of my towel, it would seem so—but it’s not what she thinks.

“Don’t fucking call me that. Get your clothes and get the hell out of my room now before I do something we both regret.”

She stands up, and I think she’s going to leave, but her hand touches my cock. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll regret it.” She has no idea how wrong she is. Bloodlust gets me hard, and I want her head for her treachery. I didn’t like the woman from the moment I met her. I pull away, sending my towel to the floor. I’m about to reach for the blade in my drawer when the door opens and in walks my grandfather.

“How the fuck could you?” he roars, his voice so fueled with deadly anger and pain. I think he’s talking to her, but when I look at him, the bastard is actually staring at me. My hero, my nanno, is staring at me like I’m the sick, disgusting predator—the cheater.

“It’s not…” I don’t get to react before he pulls his gun on me. The shot is taken, hitting me in the chest, but I’m quick and I reach for my blade, sending it flying into his gut. “You fool,” I groan, shaking my head as I fall to the ground.

“That was easier than I expected,” she says as she leans over me, laughing evilly, turning my now cold heart to stone.

The sound of feet come running. “Papa! Damiano!” my father roars.

“Get that bitch,” I groan. I hear a loud crack before the lights go out and she screams.

“Tie that bitch up. My son needs a medic.” My father takes control, but through his strength is his fear for me. He holds a towel to my chest, pressing his forehead to mine. “Rimanere forte, mi figlio.”

Those are the last words I hear for a month. From then on, I am a changed man. No longer the dark, young mafia boy in training, but a young man with an icy heart and an itch to kill anyone who puts their hands on me. With my father’s strength, I remained strong and held on, but now the love I had was just for three people, my mother, father, and baby sister. Everyone else could rot in hell, and every bitch could fuck off. I’d never let a whore come near me, touch me, breathe near my dick again.

Chapter One

Present Day

Damiano

Grace dances in the middle of the floor with fuckers eyeing her young, feminine figure as she shakes it, and I want to line them up and run my blade across their necks as I rush by in a furious rage, but I hold it together because she’s trying to have a good time.

Grace is nineteen and celebrating her birthday with a night out with her only friend. After having a late start, she was forced to finish high school a year later than most, so she’s letting loose tonight.

The Miami heat can be unforgiving, but tonight is a cool night. The club is packed with bodies heating the room, even with the air turned to a cool sixty-five. I run one of the most expensive and classiest dance clubs in the city that caters to the young and wealthy. Still, I don’t trust the rich fucks wanting my little sister in her skimpy outfit.

My eyes scan the room, and I don’t spot the little harlot. I had instantly taken a disliking to her friend, Camille Jones, from the second she stepped in my way. She screamed opportunist a million miles away with her snake eyes leering at me, but I wasn’t an easy mark for a little girl like that. So, with a warning glare, I sent the little girl running. Still, I didn’t want the girl loose in my club doing the hell knows what.

I walk up to my muscle, Adriano, and ask, “Have you seen the little tramp that came in with my sister?”

“Last I saw her, Rocco was escorting Ms. Jones to the restroom.” Oh, that’s good, because my men know the rules and would keep her well behaved. I gaze toward the restrooms on the other end and see the line is long. My brows knit together, and I turn to Adriano for answers. “That was about ten minutes ago, and the line is getting long.”

“What the fuck?” We have more than enough stalls for the ladies. It was a big thing to ensure we didn’t have long damn lines, so what is going on? Normally I’d leave that shit to someone else, but my gut tells me this has something to do with Grace’s friend.

I’m walking toward the door when I hear a woman say with a mouth full of disgust, “Damn. I didn’t realize they allowed that in the club.”

I confront the woman, who flinches and then stares at me with intrigue, as most women do. “Excuse me. What is allowed in the club?”

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