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HUNGRY HEART
Rosie

They say love is a warm, tingly feeling, but I wouldn't know. My V-card is still intact, and I’ve never been in love. I'm holding out for the one.

But when my intern teacher turns out to be the same man I once threw a drink on, I'm inexplicably drawn to him for the next six weeks.

He is a brillant CEO. A ruthless mogul. Arrogant and intense.

According to rumors, he's also a skilled pleasure-giver and dominant lover.

He’s in my life whether I like it or not. I don't know if he’s here to torment or pleasure me.

But, I can’t escape him.And I'm not entirely sure I want to.


Vincent

She is a lingerie waitress and my new intern. Beautiful and fiery like a force of nature. I have a certain type. Rosie isn’t it.

I’m here to find the truth about my brother’s murder, that's it. That should stop me from chasing her, but it doesn’t. My desire for her overshadows my need to let her go.

So she hates me. So what? I'm not going anywhere.



CRUEL LUST
Emilia

I’m determined to bring down the formidable Santoro Mafia and prove my worth as the youngest detective on the force.

However, when I decide to investigate one of their nightclubs and cross paths with Luca Santoro, the youngest son of Rocco, I stumble upon more than I bargained for. Suddenly, my life is in danger.

Luca kidnapped me, but hasn’t killed me yet. In fact, he’s hell-bent on keeping me in this cabin and torturing me. And from the way he looks at me, I don’t know if he wants to kill me or ravage me. Maybe both.

As the hours stretch into days, a shameful truth emerges. Despite my best efforts, my body betrays me, yearning for the man who may be my ultimate downfall.

Luca

I’m the son of a mob boss, untouchable until that one night when Detective Emilia Washington barges into my club and witnesses me taking down my best friend.

Now, I could simply follow my family’s orders and get it over with. Instead, I play mind games to get inside her head like she’s invaded mine.

But when a rival mafia targets her, I step in and take her to a secluded cabin.

I’m also taking her there to end her life, right?

So why is every moment filled with an overwhelming urge to touch her body, claim her as mine, and have her scream my name on those perfect lips of hers? 

Time is ticking...

All three books are to be read in order.

HUNGRY HEART
Chapter One - Rosie

Have you ever felt that warm, tingly sensation that washes over you when you listen to your favorite song or watch your favorite movie?

It’s the moment when emotion takes over your senses, and you’re left with a scattering of goose bumps splintering across your skin or a deep exhalation after holding your breath without even knowing.

Sometimes, it is a fluttery sensation in the depths of your stomach or a slash of heat across your chest. It’s a feeling that permeates through you, transcending worries or fears, exciting you while also cloaking you with an unexplainable sense of calm. And at that moment, nothing else seems to matter.

Even as the world around you crumbles to ashes, your focus remains solely on that one feeling.
I imagine that’s what love is.
I imagine because the truth is, I have absolutely no clue.
I’m twenty-two and still a virgin. 
Yes.

Seriously.
After my mom’s death in a car crash just after my high school graduation, love and sex took a back seat. My focus shifted to learning how to survive. As a result, my experience with love is limited to a string of unsuccessful relationships that never lasted more than a few weeks. Yet, every time I read Darcy or Brontë, I have that feeling. I’m guessing that’s what love feels like, and I’m clinging to that hope with both hands.


My roommates, Sara and Ethan, like to call me a pathetic romantic and a foxy bitch. But honestly, I don’t mind it because they always keep it real with me. Yeah, I know I’m a sucker for a fairy-tale ending, but I also know it’s not always going to be rainbows and butterflies. Still, a girl can dream, right? 


As a die-hard romance novel enthusiast, I spend most of my free time lost in the intricate world of love. However, Sara’s suggestion to check out some ‘recreational’ websites made me realize the need to expand my knowledge beyond the realm of idealistic love stories.
Let’s be real here—I don’t want to be clueless when it comes to satisfying my future partner. So, I ventured into the uncharted territory of those websites. Mr. Darcy certainly wasn’t offering his secrets on pay-per-view, so I took the initiative and did some research. I’m not willing to sleep with just anyone to improve my skills, but I want to have some basic expertise in the matter.

Sleeping around? That’s not who I am, although you wouldn’t know it if you saw me now.


I place my hands on the smooth, cool surface of the marble vanity and lift my head to meet my gaze in the bathroom mirror. As I stand here, the pervasive bass of the music resonates through every inch of my being.

The vibrations are so strong that they seem to penetrate even the most intimate parts of my body, heightening my sense of awareness and drawing me further into the moment. 
With my hands still resting on the cool marble and my eyes fixed on my reflection, I allow myself to be fully immersed in the pulsing rhythm of the music, feeling its energy and power course through my veins.


It’s two weeks before the January semester returns, and my senior internship begins. I should be reading up on my final subjects and not pulling double shifts at the Vanilla Club, the exclusive gentlemen’s club where I work. 
Fortunately, I’m able to get by with studying less, thanks to my scholarship and decent intellect.


I twist the ends of my blonde wig and adjust the tight black lace bustier trying to cover my barely encased large breasts. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination, nor does the leather pleated mini-skirt that barely covers my bottom. My needle-thin black patent pumps lengthen my legs and round out my slutty and hopefully tip-worthy uniform.
I pick up the perfume bottle and depress the nozzle. A fine cool mist scatters along my collarbone as the scent of orchids fills the space. At the same time, the bathroom door flies open, hitting the tiled wall with a thud.


“Rosie, hurry up!” Kara tosses me an impatient scowl.
Naturally blonde and stunning, Kara has worked at the Vanilla Club for years, showing me the ropes when I started just three months ago. Her eyes lower to my outfit, and her scowl morphs into a dark smile. 
“That bustier is fucking hot. Hello, tips!” She snaps her fingers above her head, and I exhale through a smile.
Damn, I hope so.
My gaze drifts back to the mirror where a long blond wig hides my thick brown hair pinned up in a chignon underneath. Layers of mascara coat my long lashes and frame my hazel eyes. My signature Venetian-red lipstick outlines my cupid bow and makes me feel like Marilyn fucking Monroe. I need that boost of confidence when I’m here, feigning my existence. It’s not easy strutting around pretending you are some sort of sex-kitten to VIPs when in reality, the closest thing you’ve done is kiss a few boys and get groped on prom night.
But that’s irrelevant because I’d pretend to be Donald Duck as long as the tips continue to roll in. 


Manhattan’s Vanilla Club is an exclusive invitation-only nightclub. Based on limited membership and word-of-mouth, it is home to business moguls, entrepreneurs, and celebrities. The exclusive membership is an eye-watering sum of a hundred grand a year, and the owner, Dante Blade, prides himself on the exclusivity of his clubs that have grown legendary. Scattered up and down the East Coast in only the most exclusive sites, Dante is a multimillionaire and is now a celebrity in his own right. His lavish lifestyle and business achievements have earned him a prominent place among the elite social circles that populate these high-end locations. 


None of that matters to me. I only work here because I need a lot of money in a short amount of time, all because my brother, Gabriel, is in trouble again. He put my name on a deal with the loan shark, and now, if he doesn’t pay it back in time, they can come after me too. 
Yes, I should be angry. I was three months ago when Gabriel confessed it all to me. I was fucking livid. But being that way now will not help me. And it certainly will not expedite paying back his debt. 
Goodbye, librarian, and hello, lingerie waitress.

I’m the first to admit the odd change of employment, but all I care about is my brother’s happiness. That and the priceless possessions my mother left me. There is no way in hell the sheriff’s department will confiscate them to pay back a debt.
“I haven’t got all day!” Kara taps her palm against the wooden door, and her gold bangle clangs from the impact.

“I’m coming!” I huff out and quickly set the perfume bottle back. I inhale deeply, which is difficult considering my waist is bound tighter than my own…
Well, you know.
I follow behind her and quickly fall into step down the long, dark corridor. 


“The guys at table six are so drunk. I bet they won’t know how many Benjamins they slip you. As your VC bestie, I’m gifting table six to you.”
I give her a knowing look.

“That’s because I gave you the billionaires from Brooklyn last week,” I counter.
Laughter rolls off her size zero frame. Unlike me, Kara would bed a guy just for another mojito. No judgment here. That’s just how she rolls.

“Oh yes, my new Louis Vuitton thanks you too.”
My laughter echoes around the corridor as light gives way to dark, and the unpredictability of inebriated men awaits us.
I strut across the club’s herringbone floor, the sound of my heels clicking being drowned out by the dark and sexy beat of the music. The club spans two levels with private areas upstairs. Anything goes up there—or so I’m told. 
Down here, where I work, there is a strict no-touch policy. But up on the second floor, different rules apply.

There, the beautiful women dance to the loud music and walk around in lingerie, submitting to the whims of their wealthy patrons, whatever they may be. It’s said that many ruthless deals were made here, even with political and underworld alliances. 
With money, one could have anonymity, and any desires these men have could be fulfilled.

Although sex is banned in the club, it isn’t uncommon. Rumors even fly around that a prominent congressman was on the receiving end of fellatio in one of the ten private suites upstairs. The story never made it to the media, but that didn’t stop his wife from filing for divorce a week later.
I stick to down here because A, I’m a virgin and like to think I’m waiting for Mr. Right, and B, at least down here, there are rules guests need to obey. 


Kara heads toward her group of tables and gestures toward table six with a jut of her chin. Seated around the velvet lounges is a group of six men, all in expensive suits and in various states of inebriation. 
I inhale a deep breath to steady my nerves, and with my shoulders straight, ramrod back, and chin tilted to the ceiling, I smile broadly as I saunter toward them.
“Well, fuck, aren’t you something.” A voice beside me draws my attention, and I look down to see eyes fixated on my breasts.
Subtle.
My smile is near breaking point, but I take in the men at the table. Gold shiny watches reflect in the dim lighting while tailored suits and expensive cologne invade my senses. Maybe this is the break I’ve been waiting for.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to the Vanilla Club,” I purr in a silky voice. 
Voices moan and whistle in appreciation as I take each of them in, one by one until I reach the head of the table.


Green eyes land on mine. Dark, like perfect emeralds, they send a tingle of heat up my spine. I roll my lips inward, and my smile brightens. 
Perhaps tonight won’t be that bad.
“Can I start you off with some scotch?” I pull my gaze from the heart-throb with the sharp jaw and perfectly coiffed dark-brown hair.


“Scotch and a blow job?” a voice asks, and the group erupts into husky laughter. The sound reverberates through the room, causing me to flinch momentarily before quickly regaining my composure. 
I shift my attention back to the piercing green eyes staring at me. He’s assessing me, and a smirk slowly curls on his lips. Irritation prickles over my skin as I try to maintain eye contact with him.
Why did I think he would be any different from the rest of them?


“Pathetic romantic.” The voices of my roommates, Ethan and Sara, ring true in my ears.
I dig my stiletto into the wooden floor and force out a smile and turn toward the crude voice. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is not that kind of establishment,” I say through gritted teeth, determined to assert my boundaries. “I’ll be with you shortly to bring your order of scotch,” I add politely, not waiting for a reply before turning on my heel and making my way toward the bar. 


Despite the patron’s inappropriate request, I maintain my professionalism and composure, not letting the encounter shake me or affect the quality of my service. But as I walk toward the bar, my pulse races from the interaction, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever else the night may bring.


Jesse leans over the bar and tosses me a wink, his smile widening as he greets me or any of the other waitresses who work here, for that matter. “This place is like a second home to you, Rosie,” he remarks.


“Sure is.” I let out a sigh.
“How’s it going, Jesse?” 


“You all right?” He polishes the marble to a diamond shine and stares past me, his gaze settling on the table I just came from.
“Admirers of yours?” he asks as his brow arches into a question.
Turning around, I find piercing dark green eyes staring back at me. Leaning against the cold brass bar, a wave of heat ripples across my skin as his gaze lingers on me.


Immediately, I turn back around to face Jesse. I’m used to guys checking me out, but this attraction is different—a strange and unsettling allure with a hint of danger that my body responded to. It’s like the pull of a dark star, irresistible and potentially destructive.


“Ah… lucky me,” I stammer nervously. “Let’s just hope they tip well.”

“What will it be?”

“Scotch, thanks.” 
 He selects the bottle of scotch, then fills the six tumblers with ice.

“Well, you certainly are looking fine tonight, Rosie.” His gaze drops to my chest, then his mouth curves into a wide, mischievous smile.


I roll my eyes. “You say that every night you see me strutting round here.”
He puts his hand to his chest and feigns a look of offense.

“Not true!”

“Such a flirt.” I tsk.
He shrugs.
“Okay, why deny it?” He carefully eases the tray toward me. “Just flaunt that delicious ass of yours, and you’ll be fine.” Jesse smirks. “They’re drunk, rich, and ready to party. It’s just a regular night at the VC.”
Nervous laughter escapes my mouth, melting into the music. He’s right. I’m sure he is right. I am just paranoid, overtired, and nervous about my final interview for my summer internship on Monday. 
I’m sure that’s all it is.


“Thanks, Jesse.” I cautiously lift the silver tray and hold it securely in the palm of my hand. The tray’s coldness seeps through my hand as my fingertips provide the right support to keep it steady. Not an easy feat in needle-thin stilettos, mind you, but three months in on the job, and I haven’t dropped a tray yet.
I breeze past the oversized ornate gold gilded cages where beautiful women dressed in the finest lingerie move seductively to the music.

When I arrive at the table, I carefully set down the tumblers full of ice and pour their drinks. One after another, they graze my hand or pretend not to see me by accidentally touching me.


Typical.


All except him. 
When I move around to him and lean across his broad shoulders, he makes no attempt to touch me accidentally.
I remove my hand from the tumbler and catch a whiff of his scent. The spice and woody oak hits the base of my nose and threatens to overtake all my senses.


His gaze travels up my arm slowly until his eyes reach mine, burning a hole through my panties. “I don’t want this.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about the drink.


“No, sir?”
“That brand tastes like chewed-out ass.”


“And you’d know what that tastes like?” The words slip out of my mouth before I can reign them back in. I can’t help but mock the rich prick. Usually, I smile sweetly and take any requests, but something about this guy is rubbing me the wrong way.


He narrows his eyes, and a furtive glint catches my attention—an alluring heat that seems to intensify the frisson of electricity already surging between us.
Is he enjoying toying with me?


Regardless, I can’t be that cavalier. I need this job. “What is it you’d like?” I ask, quickly correcting myself and smiling sweetly.

His gaze drifts from my eyes to my lips, tracing deathly slow along the column of my neck to my breasts spilling from my bustier. Like a sultry embrace, a seductive warmth envelops my body as the heat circles its way around my thighs. It’s as if the temperature has been turned up, causing my skin to flush and my breath to quicken with every passing moment. The sensation is thrilling and unnerving, leaving me feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated at the same time.


His eyes quickly dart back to meet mine. With a stern expression, he declares, “There’s nothing you can give me.”


“Excuse me?” Heat gone, incoming hate, and an invisible hand that slaps him across the face. Damn, he is handsome, but a girl has some level of self-respect.


Ignoring my question, he continues, “Macallan. A glass of Macallan.”
He turns, ignoring me completely, and a new level of anger slides down my shoulders.




Cruel Lust

Chapter One – Emilia

This is it.

When they look back over the course of my stellar career as one of the youngest people to ever make detective in the entire state of New York, this is where the story will begin.

The night I first made contact with the Santoro family before I eventually took them down.

“Explain something to me,” my partner pushes, slamming his door after stepping out of the car and staring at me over the roof. “What do you think we’re going to find here tonight?”

If I grit my teeth any harder, they’re going to crack. I am so sick of his misogynistic bullshit, not to mention the way he talks down to me. As if his ten years as a detective somehow earns him the right to treat me like a child.
He’s no different than any other stupid, egotistical man I’ve ever dealt with. Unfortunately, I’m forced to spend time with him. But you can’t choose your partner.

I’m sure it was supposed to ease me into my role as a detective, pairing me with a ten-year veteran such as Craig Graham when I joined the unit six months ago. However, I would probably do better on my own since all he does is hold me back and ask stupid, pointless questions that only serve to waste time.

The way he is right now as we stand in a parking lot across the street from one of the city’s hottest clubs, it wouldn’t surprise me if he only agreed to this little field trip to watch me fail and take me down a peg.

And I get it, in a way. I don’t expect anyone from the Santoro family to commit a punishable offense in front of us. They are the Famiglia, after all, one of the most ruthless mafia in New York. And if I take them down, then maybe the unit will treat me like I’m not just a useless rookie. But the Santoros won’t slip up. They’re much more discreet than that, considering the DA has been fighting to put together a case that sticks for years. Until now, the family has been a living, breathing piece of Teflon.

Everything beads up and rolls straight off them.
It infuriates me.

That’s why I wanted in on this case and nagged my captain for the last month and dragged my partner here tonight. I have this burning need to show myself that justice can win in the end, and I truly believe I'm the one who can make it happen.

I can’t throw Craig’s words back in his face and tell him exactly what I think of his outdated and downright sexist opinions. My only hope for justice is to finally build a case against the Santoros and their biggest rivals, the Vitalis.
The two families who have torn the city apart and gotten more than one innocent bystander caught up in their decades-old feud.

Tonight is the first step—if I can convince this caveman we’re doing the right thing.

“How are we ever going to nail these guys unless we get a better idea of how they think? How they do business? If we’re going to do what nobody’s been able to do before, we need to take a different approach,” I mutter as we make our way across the street.

As soon as he smirks, looking me up and down, I know what the jerk is thinking and have to stifle the sigh threatening to escape. “You’re off to a good start. Where have you been hiding that body?”

His words make my skin crawl, but sadly, it’s typical. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re making a case to be put on administrative leave.” I come to a stop on the sidewalk, folding my arms. “But that can’t possibly be what you have in mind, can it? Making sexist comments like that?” I question, raising an eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes before scoffing loudly. “Take it easy, would you? This isn’t a Me Too story. But don’t pretend you didn’t put on that dress and those shoes to—”

“I’m trying to blend in,” I inform him, cutting him off and gritting my teeth again at his bullshit to avoid an attention-grabbing fight on the sidewalk. “What, you think I’m going to walk in there with my badge on a lanyard around my neck? Get real.”

He hoots with laughter behind me when I turn on my heel and march to the back of a long but quick-moving line separated from pedestrians by a velvet rope.

“You know I like it when you get sassy, Emilia,” he remarks, and I can only roll my eyes before shivering a little when a stiff breeze blows past, knowing that no matter what I say, it will never be enough.

Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around myself to fight off the bite in the air. It’s kind of chilly, and I am wearing less clothing than I’m used to. My idea of a comfortable outfit involves jeans and a sweater. Not four-inch stilettos and a dress that only reaches my mid-thigh while exposing more cleavage than I think I’ve ever revealed in public.

At least I know I blend in like I intended. A cluster of girls in front of us are dressed the same as me, and the mixed perfumes, hairspray, and lotion are almost enough to give me a headache.

“Here’s one thing you need to keep in mind.” Craig bends a little to speak
directly into my ear. “Try not looking like you’re going to a funeral. You’re supposed to be having fun, right?”

There go my teeth, gritting again. This time, it’s because he has a point. I deliberately relax my jaw and roll my shoulders back so I don’t look quite so defensive. Sweeping my long, chestnut hair over one shoulder, I bat my eyelashes and pout my lips. “Is that better?” I ask in a breathy voice.

His eyes harden before he smirks. “Careful, Washington. You might end up signing a check you can’t cash.” After giving my cleavage a pointed, prolonged look, he stands straight and ushers me forward when the line moves again.

Men. It takes literally nothing to distract them. But I’m not going to be distracted tonight. I need my eyes open and my head clear. Until now, I’ve only set my sights on the Santoro family through news reports, photos in the paper, and the extensive intel gathered at the depot.
The capo, Rocco Santoro, would never show his face in a place like this.
For one thing, he’s too old-school and well past his partying days. My research into the family has given me a decent idea of what he likes to do for fun— theater, restaurants, and concerts. The rumors say he’s gotten into gardening in his old age. Less murder, more mulching.

On the other hand, his two sons have been known to frequent one of the family’s few legit businesses. Dante is the eldest and the family underboss. He wouldn’t run this kind of establishment, not when he’s overseeing so many of the family’s other interests.

It’s Luca, the second son, who prizes this club so highly.
And it’s Luca I’m hoping to set eyes on tonight.

Once we make it to the front of the line and pay our cover charge, I remove my driver’s license from my wallet, figuring somebody who looks as young as I do would get carded, and the last thing I need is someone seeing my badge.

As I breeze past the bouncer without so much as a second look, I am swiftly welcomed inside, and a nagging thought arises. Are the long hours I’ve put into my work starting to show on my young face?

Taking a deep breath, I push forward. At first, the darkness surrounding us is disorienting, but once we’re past the coat check, the narrow hall opens into an enormous club. Flashing white, blue, and purple lights illuminate a long bar set against the wall to my left, spanning the room from front to back and already six customers deep.

Along the back wall and to my right are dimly lit and discreet booths. The sunken dance floor is already full of writhing bodies driven by an upbeat song pounding through speakers throughout the space. The floor’s vibrations travel up through my body until it feels like I’m part of the room itself.

“Come on. Let’s get a drink, at least.” Craig scoffs at our surroundings like he’s unimpressed before he leads the way, and for the first time tonight, I’m actually glad he’s with me. Although highly fucking annoying, his larger body parts the crowd easily, and I follow on his heels like a running back taking advantage of the blocker in front of them.

A running back in needle-thin stilettos.

One thing is for sure. This place is much more upscale than I imagined. It’s not some hole-in-the-wall dive where thugs gather to conduct their shady business.

I run a hand over the smooth marble bar after Craig elbows his way through. “White wine,” I shout to Craig, who places the order with a handsome bartender while I scan the room.

There’s a roped-off section in the back corner, and I instantly recognize a few faces at a semi-circular booth from countless award shows and movies. I guess it doesn’t matter that a crime family runs this club.

Maybe they don’t know…
… or maybe they do, and they don’t care.

Either way, it’s none of my business.

What is my business, though, is the young man in a dark suit who approaches the table and shakes hands with everyone seated there. He waves over a pretty girl wearing a black dress shorter than mine, who presents a bottle of champagne.

Luca Santoro.

Goose bumps cover my arms, and my heart skips a beat. He’s gorgeous, but then I knew that, with jet black hair and a jaw sharp enough to cut glass. But there are some things a photo on a website can’t convey. Like the way his smile seems to brighten everything around him. His easy laugh—I can’t hear him from here, but I see the way everyone around him reacts. He’s good at handling people. It’s obvious this is the right sort of business for him to run.

When he leans down and murmurs something in the ear of that actress from the new Marvel movie, she blushes under the light hanging above the table and swats playfully at his arm. Something about their casual flirtation leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Thanks, I mouth to Craig once he hands me a glass. “Be right back.”

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