Claimed By The Ruthless Dark Mafia Don
I was the untouchable Mafia Queen, but my reign ended in the blood-soaked depths of a damp dungeon.
My half-sister, Kelsey, drove a rusted, sharpened spoon into my chest, screaming about the unfairness of fate.
In my past life, my father sold me to the ruthless Don Dante Blackwell as collateral to pay off his debts.
To survive, I took a black-market fertility drug, birthed his heir, and clawed my way to the throne through sheer ruthlessness.
But in the mafia world, a pregnant woman isn't a queen; she's a walking target.
I survived countless bombings and poisonings, only to be betrayed and slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand. I had sacrificed everything to secure our survival in the empire. Why did my blood and tears only earn me a rusted spoon to the heart?
Opening my eyes again, I am seventeen, sitting in my father's drawing room.
Two black velvet boxes sit on the mahogany table.
Kelsey greedily snatches the box containing the fertility drug, her eyes gleaming with feverish triumph.
"I'll take this one, Papa."
She thinks she is stealing my golden ticket to the crown, completely unaware that she just chose a death sentence.
I lower my gaze, letting my eyelashes mask the cold, lethal amusement pooling in my eyes as I take the remaining box.
Inside is the detailed psychological profile of the Don's dead fiancée.
This time, I won't be a breeding mare fighting off assassins. I will dissect the devil himself.
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Chapter 2
Giada POV
Over the next two days, I didn't just read Ellen's psychological profile; I breathed it in. Sitting in the dim corner of the Moreno drawing room, I practiced stripping the warmth from my eyes, replacing it with the cold, isolated aura that had once captivated the devil.
Across the room, Kelsey eagerly swallowed the black-market fertility pills with a glass of champagne.
"Are you sure about this, Kelsey?" Blanca fretted, wringing her hands. "Dante Blackwell is notoriously paranoid. If he suspects you are trying to trap him—"
"He won't," Kelsey interrupted, her eyes gleaming with the arrogant certainty of a woman who thought she had cheated death. "Don Booker and his Bratva are pushing the borders. The Underboss is already questioning Dante's lack of an heir. He needs a son to solidify his reign."
Kelsey glanced at me. For a split second, raw jealousy flashed in her eyes as she took in my face. The subtle shifts in my posture and the chilling emptiness in my gaze had only amplified my natural beauty, giving me a fatal, untouchable allure. But then she patted her flat stomach and smirked. In her mind, a womb was worth more than a crown.
By dawn on the day of our departure, the Blackwell Family's bulletproof Rolls-Royce Phantom idled outside our mansion.
"I will be his Queen," Kelsey promised Aurelio and Blanca, her voice trembling with raw ambition.
Sitting in the leather interior of the Phantom, inhaling the faint, metallic scent of gunpowder, I let a cold smile touch my lips. *Never.*
When we arrived at the Blackwell Estate, the gothic architecture loomed through the morning mist like a fortress of nightmares. Instead of the Main Iron Gates, the convoy veered toward the heavily guarded Service Entrance. It was a degrading reminder: we were not guests; we were Collateral.
Kelsey stared hungrily at the towering iron bars of the main entrance. "One day, my son will open those gates for me," she whispered.
I said nothing, silently following the guards into the East Wing.
The guest room assigned to me was luxurious but suffocatingly cold. Before the night's selection, every new Collateral was required to submit a Security Dossier Photo for the Don's review.
Sitting at the vanity, I took a sponge and deliberately smeared pale, ashen foundation over my cheeks. I dulled the natural glow of my skin and pulled my dark hair into a messy, pathetic tangle, carefully obscuring the striking features that mirrored his dead fiancée.
Siena, the Associate assigned as my maid, lowered the Polaroid camera, her brow furrowed in deep confusion. "Signorina... Kelsey is down the hall drenching herself in Ellen's favorite perfume. Why are you making yourself look so ruined?"
"Because Dante Blackwell is a paranoid predator," I murmured, staring at the lifeless, unthreatening girl in the mirror. "A perfect imitation of his ghost won't seduce him; it will trigger his killer instinct. To survive a monster, you must first look like harmless prey."
I handed her the photo. It was a calculated flaw. Suppress first, elevate later.
Hours bled into the night. The tension in the East Wing was thick enough to choke on. I knew Kelsey was pacing her room, waiting for her golden ticket.
Then, heavy, authoritative footsteps echoed against the marble floor. A Capo appeared in my doorway, his face carved from stone.
"The Don commands your presence in the Penthouse," he announced, his voice carrying the absolute weight of the Don's Command.
From the hallway, I heard Kelsey gasp, a sharp sound of pure, venomous shock.
I stood up slowly, my heart hammering a dangerous rhythm against my ribs. Dante hadn't chosen me for my looks—my photo was intentionally pathetic. He chose me because of the medical file attached to that dossier. Someone had manipulated the psychological evaluation to pique the Dark Don's twisted interest. Someone who knew exactly what was written about my "purity" and mental state.
Dr. Julian Weaver.
The old acquaintance had rigged the board. Smoothing the skirt of my simple dress, I stepped out of the room, walking straight toward the devil's private sanctuary.
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8.0
On the night of their third wedding anniversary, Ashley was ready to reveal a secret to her husband-
She was pregnant.
But moments after their passionate intimacy, her Alpha coldly delivered the blow-he wanted a divorce.
His fated mate had returned.
Stripped of her wolf spirit, abandoned by the pack, and carrying his child, Ashley was cast aside like a disposable Omega.
Just as she prepared to leave alone-
The boy she had once rejected had now risen as the most formidable Alpha King. The possessive hunger in his gaze sent shivers through her-did she dare face him? Was this vengeance, or something more? But did she even have a choice?
7.6
Jocelyn Yang lived in the grand Turner Mansion, not as a guest, but as a prisoner. Ever since her father's death, the ruthless billionaire Elam Turner forced her to atone for sins her father never committed.
On her nineteenth birthday, a male classmate secretly sent her a diamond necklace. Elam, who had flown back from London overnight, flew into a psychotic, jealous rage at the sight of another man's gift.
He mercilessly crushed the delicate necklace into the marble floor with his custom leather shoe.
"Did you forget what you are?" Elam hissed, dragging her into a pitch-black storage room. "You take gifts from other men behind my back?"
He pinned her to the dusty floorboards and violently assaulted her. The next morning, a wire transfer of $500,000 hit her bank account. He had humiliated her, broken her spirit, and was now casually trying to buy her silence. Later, when a broken bike left her walking miles through a freezing rainstorm, he just shoved scalding tea into her bleeding hands.
"Look at you," he sneered. "You look like a stray dog ruining my floors."
Jocelyn curled up in the cold, her lips bleeding and her heart shattered. She couldn't understand his terrifying obsession. If he hated her so much, why did he refuse to let her go? Why did he look at her with such manic hunger while systematically destroying her life?
Staring at the massive sum of hush money on her phone, a desperate spark of vengeance flared in her chest. Jocelyn wired every single cent back to Elam's account. She picked up her charcoal pencil, vowing to win the upcoming art competition and buy her escape from this monster forever.
7.9
Viewer Discretion Advised: This sultry collection plunges into raw, unbridled passion, shadowy romance, and the intoxicating grip of dominance, obsession, and carnal temptation. Crafted for mature audiences, it teases the edges of taboo entanglements, feverish ecstasy, and the razor-thin boundary between restraint and total, shuddering surrender.
In Dangerous Desires, immerse yourself in a realm where lust overrides reason and pulses thunder on the brink of ecstasy and devastation. Each tale strips bare a new facet of craving-where adversaries melt into entangled lovers, hidden truths threaten to shatter kingdoms of control, and erotic hunger flares in the most forbidden corners.
From dominant CEOs and eager assistants locked in charged, sweat-slicked power plays, to tycoons and subordinates blurring the lines of authority with breathless, illicit touches, every clash throbs with electric tension. Foes prowl like flame to tinder, sparking an unstoppable blaze of chemistry that demands skin-on-skin surrender.
Venturing deeper into the forbidden, twilight beckons with supernatural seduction-enigmatic lovers, eternal seducers, and ethereal entities lure mortals into bonds that tangle terror with throbbing arousal. In these realms, desire doesn't merely stir-it devours, leaving bodies quivering and souls utterly claimed.
Each story in this anthology throbs with peril, allure, and the exquisite rush of yielding to the forbidden ache-one that shouldn't ignite, but consumes without mercy.
9.3
My father ordered me to marry into the cursed Vaughn family.
Their heirs were rumored to die young from a mysterious genetic agony. My sister Kayden laughed, saying she wasn't going to waste her youth planning a funeral. So, I became the sacrificial lamb.
When I refused, my father slammed his hand on the table and threatened to throw my dead mother's ashes into the city dump.
"You are a struggling actress with no money and no power. You have no choice," he told me coldly.
To make matters worse, my own agent drugged my drink at a business dinner, trying to sell my body to a sleazy investor just to secure project funding.
I was completely cornered, suffocating under the weight of their cruelty. I couldn't understand how my own flesh and blood could be so vicious, treating me like a worthless pawn to be traded and discarded.
But none of them knew that while escaping the drug-laced dinner, I crashed directly into the terrifying Vaughn heir, Algot.
When his glowing crimson eyes locked onto me during a violent episode of his cursed pain, we discovered an impossible truth: my physical touch was the only cure for his agony.
Looking at the dark bruises he accidentally left on my neck, I chose not to run. Instead, I pulled out the private business card he gave me and dialed his number.
"You need me," I whispered to the dangerous billionaire. "And I am going to use you to destroy them all."
9.6
Nelson Smith has been struggling for survival due to kidney failure. Without a transplant, he has less than four months to live.
No one in his family matched after tests were done. Not even his siblings, parents or cousins, except for one person, Janice Capuno, his wife.
Janice used to be the darling of a wealthy Dynasty, until she hid her identity and married the man she loves, Nelson Smith, against her parent's wishes.
Instead of getting love, she was treated like a servant by her mother-in-law, mocked as a gold-digger by her sister in-law, but for her husband, his love towards her remained unshakable. He'd never ceased defending and protecting her from his family, that's why when the doctors confirmed her to be a match, she didn't hesitate to get herself cut open to save Nelson's life.
****
There was barely thirty minutes to the surgery, and Janice was already in her hospital gown, waiting to get cut and her kidney given out to save her husband's life, when the reality of everything she had believed in came changing in her eyes.
"Babe....my phone...switch it off...battery." Nelson pointed to his bag weakly before the sedative took full action on him. Just before she'll put the phone off, a WhatsApp notification suddenly popped up. It was from Tricia, his University ex-girlfriend.
"Baby, has the fool gone into the theatre yet? I can't wait for this to be over. Once you get the kidney, we're done with her." The message read.
9.7
Giana woke up drugged and burning with fever in a luxurious hotel suite. Standing before her was Cornel Stark, the most ruthless billionaire in New York.
Memories of her past life stabbed into her brain. In that life, her adoptive family and her fiancé Gary had stolen her inheritance and left her to die a brutal, agonizing death.
She also remembered how fighting Cornel only made him more violent. So this time, she didn't scream.
She endured his brutal punishment, escaped the moment he let his guard down, and swallowed a Plan B pill on the freezing streets.
Returning to her adoptive family's mansion, she faced the people who had destroyed her. Her fiancé and her stepsister put on masks of fake concern, secretly mocking her.
Instead of throwing a useless tantrum like before, Giana deliberately threw herself down the steep wooden stairs.
She smashed her head against the marble floor, using her own blood to shatter their plans and win back her mother's trust.
She thought she had finally taken control. She was ready to crush the people who had betrayed her and live for herself.
But she didn't understand why the billionaire she had just escaped was suddenly turning her life upside down.
When she woke up in the hospital, her room wasn't filled with her family's fake tears, but an ocean of blood-red roses.
The heavy door swung open, and Cornel Stark walked in, his gray eyes locking onto her with a dark, predatory hunger.
"Remember this feeling, Giana. Every breath you take belongs to me now."