Flawed Bride: Blood Empire, #4

By Blake York

I was ordered to take Zoey as my bride.
But fact is, I wanted to bind her to me in all ways.
Now she's slapped divorce papers in front of me and told me to get out.

Except she's in trouble, and it's a given that I'll protect what's mine.
Even if she doesn't want me to.
What I discover is a depth to my wife that I never imagined, and now I can't sign those papers or let her go.
Until I find out she's betrayed me.

The blackest hearts still beat…and mine drums with revenge against the people trying to end my family's reign.
And my disobedient wife will find out what my brand of punishment really is.
She's about to learn another truth about me—I always get what I want, and right now, that's her.

A bride in more trouble than she can handle...and the man who can show her just how far he is willing to go for her. Lord help her, she wants to give up all the control to him too.
If scorching dark romance is your thing, BUY FLAWED BRIDE NOW!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blake York
• Release date: Feb 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215837016

Book preview

I was ordered to take Zoey as my bride.

But fact is, I wanted to bind her to me in all ways.

Now she’s slapped divorce papers in front of me and told me to get out.

Except she’s in trouble, and it’s a given that I’ll protect what’s mine.

Even if she doesn’t want me to.

What I discover is a depth to my wife that I never imagined, and now I can’t sign those papers or let her go.

Until I find out she’s betrayed me.

The blackest hearts still beat...and mine drums with revenge against the people trying to end my family’s reign.

And my disobedient wife will find out what my brand of punishment really is.

She’s about to learn another truth about me—I always get what I want, and right now, that’s her.

A bride in more trouble than she can handle...and the man who can show her just how far he is willing to go for her. Lord help her, she wants to give up all the control to him too. If scorching dark romance is your thing, 1-CLICK FLAWED BRIDE NOW!

Flawed

Bride

The Blood Empire Series Book 4

A picture containing dark, plant, flower Description automatically generated

Prologue

Ryker

One year ago

My bride is shaking, and not from excitement.

Take off your clothes and get on the bed. My words might sound hot and dirty in any other situation, but neither of us want what’s about to happen.

Our wedding was a fucking sham. Our marriage a merger of mafia blood. I suppose my new wife is supposed to produce me an heir like some 16th century queen.

The resignation in her eyes dims the entire bedroom of the brand-fucking-new townhouse her father gave us as a wedding gift. It’s in a prime location in the wealthiest Chicago neighborhood so we look like we don’t spill blood earning our livings.

I tear at the heirloom cufflinks from my mother’s Irish side of the family. Like the good half-Irish boy I am, I know how to get dressed up to drink. I’ve got three shots’ worth of Mizunara Cask Irish single malt whiskey blurring the edges of the room.

Too bad it can’t block out the fear I see in my bride’s eyes. Zoey is a Romano through and through. Her petite frame and slender bones harken back to the Old World, and she has her father’s olive skin with the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen.

And that’s saying something when I hail from Italian roots as well.

She watches me tug off my black bowtie and work the line of buttons on my dress shirt until it hangs open. Her eyes dip to my bare chest and I see her fine throat work on a long swallow.

If she likes what she sees, she’ll at least be wet enough when I take her. I don’t relish fucking a pit of sand.

Why aren’t you undressing? I ask.

Her chest heaves on a silent sigh. I can’t unzip this gown.

I hadn’t thought of that. The Rossi women put her in the dress, and I’m meant to get her out of it.

I wave a hand for her to turn around. When she slowly pivots on her high heels, she looks as stately as a fucking queen. Her waist is snatched in and her ass has all the plump round curves of a celebrity with implants.

Maybe it won’t be too hard to get my dick hard for her.

My polished black dress shoes don’t make a sound as I cross the plush carpet to Zoey. She turns her head slightly and glides a hand under her thick black wavy hair to draw it over one shoulder.

Stepping up behind her, I think how different this should be. I never wanted to marry—not her or anyone—but my old man gave the order. No one defies Vincent Rossi, mafioso. He wouldn’t hesitate to punish me or any of my other four brothers. We’re blood and that means there’s no room for free will.

Zoey’s in the same damn boat with the Romano family. They’re at the top of the food chain in New York City. Her father’s nickname is L’il Al, after Al Capone. She didn’t have any choice in marrying me either.

It’s a contract. A melding of dark underworlds. Having a tie in the Big Apple will help us gain an even stronger foothold here in Chicago.

I locate a tiny sliver of metal tucked between the seam of her gown and slide it down.

As the zipper spreads to reveal unblemished skin, my gut clenches. The sensation catches me off-guard. I didn’t expect to actually want her.

Eyes glued to that V of flesh, I ease the zipper another few notches. Damn if the tiny strings of a thong don’t pop into view. A gold thong with pearls trimming it. Fucking underwear fit for a mafia princess.

A tremor rips through her body, causing me to step back.

Thank you, she whispers, slipping one strap of the gown over her tawny shoulder.

I twist away and tear off my shirt. I kick off my shoes and drop my tux pants. All stupid fucking formalities to keep up appearances. I guess my mother would have been proud of how good I clean up if she was alive.

Pausing at my boxers, I turn around to look at Zoey.

She’s facing me too, thumbs hooked in the sides of that tiny gold thong. Her lip is trapped in her teeth.

Her eyes burning with anger.

As I look on, she tilts her little chin upward in the most Romano gesture ever.

Get on the bed, you fucking princess. And if you don’t take that thong off first, I’ll rip it off you.

The only indication she gives that she heard is a flash of her eyes. I have no doubt this woman has seen some ugly shit with a father like hers. She might have even helped him. While we Rossis keep our woman out of the business, all my brothers’ wives have come into the game with pasts too.

I don’t stop to ask Zoey questions. I stalk over, grip her upper arm and drag her a few steps to the bed.

She’s reluctant, but she knows her duty, same as I do.

I rake my gaze over her black glossy waves of hair, over delicate features to plump breasts sporting dark brown nipples that look too heavy for her breasts to hold up. Her waist is actually as small as it looked in the wedding dress. The first time I set eyes on her...what, an hour ago?...the first thing I noticed was her waist.

That tiny thong has elaborate embroidery and pearls stitched over her pussy.

With a wicked grin, I loop my finger under one string and stretch it until it snaps.

The cloth swings downward to reveal a smooth V of her mound.

Did I tell you to shave your pussy for our wedding night? I glower.

She glares in return. "It’s my pussy. I do what I want with it."

I grab her by the cunt so fast that she gasps. My strong fingers bite into her soft flesh, but she doesn’t even flinch at my harsh treatment.

I hover over her, my mouth an inch from hers. That’s where you’re wrong. This is Rossi pussy now. That makes it mine.

A twist of her lips shows me that she’s biting back a retort. I’d love to fucking hear it, but I don’t have time.

I shove her onto the bed. Let’s get this over with.

She bounces once and then lies back and stares at the ceiling, arms crossed over her luscious breasts while I cast off my boxers, take my hard cock in hand and lower myself between her unwilling thighs.

Just think of Italy, I say as I slide my swollen head inside her dry sheath. My twisted joke about bearing Italian sons for the good of the people falls on deaf ears as my bride pins her stare on the soaring vaulted ceiling of our wedding suite and takes my cock to the hilt.

Can’t you get fucking wet? I rough out, pulling my cock through her sandpapered walls.

Fuck you.

After only a few rutting jerks of my hips, I don’t think I can get off. She’s like fucking a wooden board.

Then she drags in a deep, resigned breath. Her breasts give a little bounce.

The soft jiggle does it for me. Suddenly, I’m there, spurting deep into her pussy and wetting her desiccated walls.

It’s over quick, thank fuck. I roll off and get to my feet, reaching for my discarded clothes. I can’t even look at her while I dress. I can’t believe I blew my load with no encouragement and so little enticement. My brothers would laugh their damn asses off if they ever found out, which they won’t.

I stare down at her. What happened in this room stays in this room. Got it? I don’t need her running around yammering to my brothers’ tight-knit wives about how I can’t last long enough.

Zoey says nothing, but two hectic red splotches of color rise in her cheeks. That angry glare never leaves me. I hate you, she spits.

I hate you too. And I hate this bullshit marriage. I jam my fingers through my longer strands of hair that’s the lighter color my mother had even if my beard is as black as sin. How about we pretend it didn’t happen?

She sits up, and I feel a tug low in my groin at the sight of her nude body she doesn’t even bother to cover. Let’s do that. I continue living my life. You live yours. There she goes