A Dark Mafia Romance
Series: Colors of Crime #5
and now she belongs to me…
dark and dominating mafia romance, Book 5 in the Colors of Crime series. It’s a
stand-alone novel, full of intrigue, danger, and sexy bedroom scenes. Contains
spanking, so if such material offends you, do not read.
My thoughts 💭
I enjoyed Sloane and Ivan’s story. They both are great at what they do but they’re even better together. Their chemistry was amazing. This was an enjoyable story with suspense, action and insta-love. I definitely recommend reading.
when my father forced me to hold my breath again and again in a bathtub full of
ice water. Twelve when he made me survive three nights alone in northern Maine
in the winter.
that when you work for the CIA most of your adult life, it’s hard to
distinguish between paranoia and actual threats.
something was wrong. That some of the things my father was seeing weren’t
actually there. The cars “following” us. The “messages” he was being sent.
school. I had no friends. My father was my whole world. He was the smartest,
most capable person I knew. The idea that he might be crazy was just . . . too
horrible to accept.
Petrov’s rooms are on this side of the house, they must be upstairs.
several bedrooms. All the closed doors are identical. Which one is Ivan’s?
library on the left, and what looks like an office on the right. And then
beyond that, at the end of the hallway, a set of double doors.
belongs to Ivan Petrov.
beneath my hand.
the door, closing it silently behind me. I stand still, letting my eyes adjust
to the gloom.
and exhale of someone sleeping close by. It’s the breathing of a large man,
broad in the chest. Large lungs, a vast, slumbering body.
his ferocity. The way his men snap to attention when he comes close, the way
they obey his orders without question. I’ve seen his vigi- lance, the look of
intelligence on his face. And, of course, I’ve seen his massive, powerful body.
He wears a suit every day, but I’ve seen the round muscles of his shoulders and
biceps even beneath the thick material of the suit jacket.
want to risk firing a gun in a house stuffed full of his soldiers, not even
with a silencer and a pillow wrapped round it.
it out of my pocket now.
his neck, he’ll be immobilized in moments. It will flood through his
bloodstream, turning his limbs to stone. His chest will seize up until he won’t
be able to draw a single breath. Remembering his mass, I’ve used enough
paralytic to freeze a racehorse in its tracks.
requirement of the job. I just have to kill him and get out without getting
With the minute amount of light coming through the cracks in the blinds, I can
just barely see Ivan’s vast form, laying on the bed. He’s sprawled out on his
back, one thick arm flung up over his head. His heavily muscled and tattooed
chest is bare. There’s a patch of dark hair in the center of his chest, and a
thin line trailing down the center of his stomach, disappearing under the
pair of boxer shorts. I can’t help glancing toward the bulge under the thin
sheet. It’s a shame to kill a specimen like this, right in his prime.
don’t kill Ivan Petrov, someone else will.
feet, taking step after step across the thick oriental rug. I wear the same
kind of shoes that rock-climbers wear—thin, flexible, grippy. Little more than
leather slippers, and quiet as bare feet.
exposed. His dark hair tumbles across his eyes. His lips are slightly parted.
His breathing hasn’t changed—it’s still a steady metronome. But I’m about to
put a stop to it.
fist, my thumb above the depressor.
help glancing one more time at Ivan’s face.
her husband, two boys, and baby girl in the Rocky Mountain west. She writes
intense, intelligent romance, with heroines who are strong and capable, and men
who will do anything to capture their hearts.
obsession with hiking, bodybuilding, and live comedy shows. Her perfect
day would be taking the kids to Harry Potter World, going dancing with Mr.
Lark, then relaxing with a good book and a monster bag of salt and vinegar