Sold: a Billionaire Bad Boy Mafia Romance

By Molly Thorne and Natasha Tanner

VAN

Being a mail-order bride should be simple. You get in, you get sold, you get out.
A ticket out of misery and despair. And what's better, a ticket that someone else pays.
But I just couldn't make it work. I was stupid enough to leave the comfort and safety I had found
only to wind up falling for the most dangerous man the country.

Ace Hart is as handsome as he's powerful, and as dangerous as he's handsome.
And I'm attracted to him like a moth to a flame.

I know I should keep well away from him, but the situation I'm in keeps pushing us together.
And soon there will be no escape.

ACE

When stakes are high, you need rules to survive.
And the stakes are very high. Millions at a time. Billions, even.
Fortunes made and unmade at a poker table.

I have two rules that I live by:
No mercy for cheaters. You cheat, you meet my iron hand.
And the most important one?
Keep my own heart safe no matter the cost.

I've managed to enforce both ... until now. But then this pretty
foreigner appeares. Just when shit is about to go down everywhere.

Love is never convenient, but now? It's suicide. I have to stay away from her,
for her own protection.

And yet, to protect her, I must be with her.

Man, I fucked up real good.

This is a romantic novel with no cliffhangers and a happy ending. And action. And sex. And plot twists.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eros Shrugged Publishing
• Release date: Nov 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370811441

Molly Thorne

Molly Thorne is a new voice in the romantic literary landscape. She appeared in the scene by teaming up with rising star Danielle Slater for a series of stories about billionaire bad boys, those irresistible men whose wealth and power only make the prospect of "taming" them even more enticing. But she has many more stories ready to publish, on a variety of subjects in the realm of romance, and her pen is aching to write more! If you'd like to be notified every time Molly releases a new book, you can subscribe to her new releases mailing list: http://eepurl.com/bPCB5X And there is another list you can sign up for, to receive all her romance books for free, before they come out! The only thing Molly expects from you is that you leave an honest review once the book is published. You can subscribe here: http://eepurl.com/bTYUGv

Book preview

1. WRITTEN IN THE CARDS

VAN

Present day

It’s all in the cards. It’s always been.

For most young Russian girls, becoming a mail-order bride is a way to break free, to improve your chances of being happy and succeeding in the world. A ticket out of misery and despair, and what’s better: a ticket that someone else pays.

Then why should it be different for me? I played the same game that all the other girls play. I got in, I got sold, I got out. But I’m not happy. I’ve never been happy. And I think I will never be. It’s like I live in a glitch in the world where happiness is unattainable by design.

I was sold to a really, really nice guy. I wish I could have been happy with him. But it’s just not how fate works. I ended up entangled in the mystery of another man, a bad boy who was made to seize the world and leave a trail of broken hearts behind him.

I’ve had my share of bad boys, but this one, this man I can’t get out of my head, is the worst of them all. A complete jerk from head to toe.

The first time I saw him, there was blood on his hand. The other guy was lying unconscious on the floor, a grayish lump of defeat.

Is this why I came to America? To get involved with the biggest jerk in the country?

This is not what I had in mind when I left Russia. I thought I was leaving it all behind. No more fear, no more despair, no more loneliness. But if I had truly understood all the great Russian writers I love, I’d have known from the start that the cards were already laid down for me. I was made for suffering. Something inside me pushes me into the arms of the most dangerous man I can find.

It’s like an addiction.

This is what I learned from being sold: The problem is not who buys you. The problem is whom you give yourself away to for free.

Well, I gave myself away to a man so tough that he forgot how to love.

My name is Vanina Vokhtazin. And I’m trapped again.

2. THE BLOODY HAND

VAN

Six months ago

At first glance, the pub looked completely empty. A dim blue light bathed the long bar, revealing a myriad of bottles and glasses lined up in a triple row against the wall; otherwise, it was dark. All the tables were empty.

The breeze outside had dried my tears already, but I still had some difficulty focusing, and it took me a while to get used to the darkness. I took a few steps and looked for the barman, but nobody was behind the bar. I kept walking erratically among the tables, the wooden chairs gently grazing the fabric of my dress, and soon realized that the place was bigger than I had thought. Walking past the restrooms and down a few steps, in the back area of the pub, there was a dark corridor, and at the end, a partially open door through which I could glimpse the beginning of a staircase going down, its green texture bathed in the faint glow of a lamp.

As I approached the hidden area, a young guy, a mere boy who might not be twenty yet, came through the door into the corridor. He was frowning at his cell phone so he didn’t see me in the darkness and he bumped into me. Lady, he said, startled, but I paid him no mind. The green staircase seemed to call me with its surrealistic glow, and I kept walking. Lady, the guy repeated, to no avail.

The staircase turned out to be short, no more than five steps down. As I opened the door, I could see a young, pretty waitress frozen in place, looking at the scene that was unfolding inside the room. She didn’t even look at me as I walked past her, still a bit erratically. I followed her gaze and saw the scene.

There was a poker table, its green felt violently enhanced by the unrelenting light of a lamp. There were cards in red and black, white on the front and blue on the back, scattered over the green. There were dollar bills and coins and keys and cigarettes. But the first thing I saw were his eyes. Quiet, peaceful, blue as the ocean —I got immersed in them immediately, as if the world outside had stopped having any importance. He was looking at me, and the azure allure of his gaze caught me off guard. It took me a couple of seconds (or were they hours, days, weeks?) to perceive what was around those eyes: the greying black eyebrows, the aquiline nose, the neat stubble on a compact jaw, the firm lips drawing a straight line across his handsome face. A strong man, with an inner iron core, I thought; a man approaching his forties, with no one to answer to. I was still swimming in a faint cloud of alcohol and tears, my mind wandering and trying to shake off the surreal quality of the situation, but I immediately felt something important was happening, like a lightning bolt striking the earth, as my field of vision widened and I took notice of the rest of the scene.

The man was wearing an expensive suit, and he was sitting on his chair like he owned not only the place, but also the whole world. A couple of girls with revealing dresses were standing around him. One of them, a beautiful blonde with big breasts, had put her arm around his neck. The other, a slender brunette, was standing with her back against the wall, looking at me with an expression of contempt. He didn’t move a muscle, his gaze comfortably perched on me, with bulletproof serenity. There was blood on his hand.

Blood.

On his hand.

Someone else’s blood, covering his knuckles, putting a red note on the floor where a couple of drops had already met their demise.

There were two other men sitting at the table, and a fourth chair toppled beside it. No more than two feet away from it was the other man. He was lying on the floor, unconscious, his face covered in red in a perfect color match. On a little table in a corner, a laptop computer spat its electronic light out into the smoky air.

A cheater, said the man who looked like he owned the world.

His voice was as serene as his gaze, despite the violence of the situation.

You... you don’t have to explain, I said, waving my hand feebly, and I instantly felt stupid. Of course he didn’t have to explain. He answered to no one. I knew it instinctively, just by looking at him. His eyes, his mouth, his posture, everything spoke of a man who has met his place in the world, and won’t let anyone make a claim on it. If anything, I thought I was somehow supposed to explain what I was doing there. Hell, the pub was open and there was no barman at the bar —it was not my fault that I’d ended up running into some secret conclave. But still.

Who are you? asked the brunette, with a feline intonation.

"I would like to explain, the man said, ignoring her completely and making me blush, but maybe we could introduce ourselves? He stood up, put his bloody hand between his chest and his belly, staining his exquisitely white shirt, and leaned forward in a minimal reverence. They call me Ace."

I felt everyone’s eyes staring at me, and I blushed some more.

H-hi, Ace, I said clumsily. I’m Van.

He raised his eyebrow, a gesture that didn’t reveal whether he was surprised or impressed. I guessed he wasn’t used to revealing too much, that he was always this cool and mysterious. His attitude made him irresistible, and I had to remind myself that there was an unconscious man with a broken nose lying on the floor just a few steps to the side.

Well, Van, he continued, savoring every syllable as if his mouth were actually working on my body instead of my name, welcome to Little Vegas.

One of the other men, a young guy in a shiny suit, sat up suddenly, hitting the table with his hand.

"ACE! What the fuck? We’re not supp—"

Ace turned around and sent him a look that froze the words in his throat. I couldn’t see his eyes but it must have been a terrifying vision. The third guy kept his cool, though. He was a stocky man in his fifties, a bit on the heavy side, and he was kind of smiling with his eyes as the scene unfolded before him. He still had his cards pressed against his chest. Who knows for how long he had been clutching those cards; he must have a good hand.

When Ace looked at me again, his gaze was as serene as before.

So what are you doing here, Van? Came for a drink? Or maybe you were looking for me?

Oh, no, no, I replied, and hesitated a bit, unsure of what to say next. I... I was just... there is no one on the front. I thought—

Ace waved his hand gracefully and his lips curved in the faintest smile the world has seen to date.

Nevermind. You’re not here for me, then. I guess we need to punish the boy somehow, don’t you think?

I— I don’t... I didn’t want the young barman to get in trouble.

I was joking, Ace said. He came here because he heard the noise. You see, this man —here he pointed at the guy lying on the floor— "lied about what he put on the table. He didn’t cheat with the cards, but he did cheat with his assets. Which, if you think about it, is much worse. I can’t allow that, can I?"

Well... I guess he had it coming, then, I replied, and took a step back. Look, I will go now. It’s been a pleasure, Ace. May your cards... uh...

... always be winners? That can’t be. I appreciate it, though. But you haven’t had any drinks, Ace said, his voice soft and hard at the same time. Are you sure you want to leave?

Oh gods, I don’t know. I felt danger in the air, and the way his companions (save for the cool stocky man) looked at me seemed to stress that I was not welcome there. I had already seen and heard too much... but at the same time, I was fascinated by the man, and I still felt as if some invisible force wanted me to stay in that room. I couldn’t shake off the surreal atmosphere of the whole situation.

I was still a bit drunk, and maybe that’s why I decided to play for a while. Also, I didn’t like the way he had made me hesitate and mumble like a