Corrupting His Mafia Bride: His Mafia Bride, #2

By jailaa west

Unleash Your Darkest Desires with this short, hot mafia romance: Make time for a quickie.
The bride wore stilettos...

Don Vincenzo Falcone is a ruthless mafia boss, but when it comes to his daughters, he needs a mother. Alessandra fits the bill, but there's one problem: her innocence and beauty awaken feelings he thought long dead.

Alessandra's life is simple, with her nose buried in books and art, until she's thrust into a world of danger and desire. Don Vincenzo is used to getting what he wants, and he wants her. Will Alessandra surrender to his wicked ways, or will she resist the temptation of the powerful man who holds her heart and her life in his hands?

"Corrupting His Mafia Bride" is a standalone, short, steamy romance novel that will leave you breathless with its tale of an arranged marriage, a powerful mafia boss, and a quiet schoolteacher. No triggers, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: jailaa west
• Release date: Jul 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223210139

jailaa west

My name is Jailaa West, and I am an indie author of sweet and steamy romance novels. I grew up In Chicago, Il. And I have loved romance books since junior high school when I snuck my first one from my mom’s bookshelf. I used to dream about the fantasy worlds I read about. Now I enjoy writing them for others to dream about. As a mom of three, I frequently write after bedtime or behind a locked bedroom door. And I thank God that all of my hot steamy books, (that I still read and write) are safely stored on my e-reader, where no one can sneak them off of my bookshelf! I love hearing from my readers. The best way to reach me is through my Facebook group or through my newsletter. Join my newsletter for updates, freebies, excerpts and more! Join at http://eepurl.com/hmBvhn or join me on Facebook at: http://bit.ly/3Xsp5Wl visit: www.jailaawest.com

Book preview

Wedding

I’m getting married in a terrarium. In an exquisite glass cage with lush gardens of tropical plants and flowers that line the sides of a marble and stone walkway. A path that leads to an ornate marble altar. It has a high ceiling with a skylight that is like an eye to heaven. Floor-to-ceiling windows surround the solarium. Tinted so that we can look out, but no one can look in. Vincenzo Falcone said they call this floor in Sindicate Towers, The Cathedral.

Vincenzo Falcone... my fiance. Maybe if I say it, think it, enough I’ll believe it. It’s a marriage so surreal that even the exotic flowers thriving inside a Chicago skyscraper make perfect sense. Because what is this world other than a Salvatore Dali painting come to life? The colorful images and people that make up Vincenzo’s world are just as outrageous and striking as any of those priceless works of art—and just as mysterious.

My hand shakes, but I force them to freeze. I can do this. I will do this. I won’t let my nonna down. We will make the rest of mama’s life the best of her life. Tears form in my eyes. Mama was so pale at our last visit. Nonna and I held each other, steeling ourselves against the blank, black eyes that saw us and nothing at the same time. But at least her surroundings were comfortable. Vincenzo arranged round-the-clock, private care for her, just as we agreed. I’ll never get another phone call in the middle of the night saying mama was weaving across a highway over an hour away. Thank God she didn’t kill herself or anyone else. Thank God the car’s license and registration identified me so I could pick her up. Now she lives in a private, gated community with other similarly afflicted people. If she wants to go driving, someone will accompany her around the carefully culled lanes that the sanitarium has for this very purpose. The sanitarium—I put my mother in a sanitarium. It sounds cold and cruel. But the official name, The Wellness Center for the Aged, is not much better. As if we don’t know that aged is just a replacement for dying—very p.c. But Vincenzo did his research, and this community is the best in the area. Less than a half hour’s drive from where Vincenzo and I will live with the girls—our girls. I’ll have to start thinking of them that way.

Vincenzo’s requirements were clear. In exchange for his financial support of my mother, I will be a mother to his girls. Not a stepmother. He said they deserved better than someone who thought of them as steps. His girls will have a real mother. I’m to treat them as if I birthed them, and he will treat my mother as if she were his own. After spending a day with him, his mother, and his nonna, I’m convinced I got the better part of the deal. He treats both ladies as if they were gossamer strands of gold. Valuable, precious, and fragile.

Our nonnas arranged this marriage. Both of them insisting that we are what the other needs. When I first met him, he seemed like a grumpy Heathcliff. The only thing missing was the moors. Good grief, I never planned on living my life like a Wuthering Heights retelling. His grandmother swears he has a heart inside the cold, gargoyle exterior. She even provided pictures of a smiling Vincenzo, gazing lovingly at his wife—the girl’s mom. That was before childbirth tragically cut her life short.

Three years later, I don’t see grief in his eyes—only venom. He has shuttered it from me more than once, but I’ve seen it. Hatred would have had me running, but in the dark brown of his eyes, I see flecks of despair. Despair, I’m familiar with. It has lived with me since my mother’s diagnosis. Moving into my heart like a pushy relative unpacking and settling in for a long stay.

A soft tap on the door shakes me out of my reverie. It has to be one of the grandmothers. Nothing about Vincenzo or his army of men is tentative.