Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Right after he stole me from his brother.
Cormac Whelan’s a beautiful and godlike mafia devil who rules the streets of New York City.
And he can’t stand the idea of my arrangement with his brother.
I was warned a thousand times to stay away from that psychopath Cormac.
Except instead of the man I was expecting, my worst nightmare is waiting up at the altar on my wedding day.
Cormac looks like sweet sin in his wedding suit, and I hate how fast my heart beats during our first perfect kiss.
Now I’m trapped by a vicious monster, and it gets worse.
Cormac is deeply obsessed with me and it’s terrifying.
But the attraction I feel toward him is equally dark and twisted.
All I want is to open and run a women’s shelter… and maybe I can use Cormac’s infatuation against him.
He’ll give me whatever I ask for, so long as I submit to his possessive and sinful rules.
I’m playing with a savage, and unless I’m careful, he’s going to break me in ways I may never come back from.
Arranged Obsession is a full-length standalone romance with no cliffhanger, lots of steam, and a crazy stalker mafia king. It includes explicit scenes, violence, gore, and other sensitive subjects
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Bianca
The ghost broke into my apartment again last night.
I almost didn’t notice it this time.
But I smell him. That’s my first clue. It’s always the same. Woodsy, smoky, strong, and masculine. I used to hate the way his scent would linger, but it’s grown on me over the years.
I have to look closely to figure out what he took. I walk around my apartment, letting my fingers drift over old records, half-burned candles, a small cat statue on a bookshelf, dying dried-out flowers left in a vase, until I figure it out.
My Chapstick is gone.
“Creepy choice, Mr. Ghost,” I say softly to myself, or maybe to him, I’m not even sure. It’s totally possible he can hear what I’m saying.
I mean, if he can break into the Marino Famiglia’s most guarded and important mansion basically whenever he wants to, what else can he do?
It’s not impossible that he’s watching and listening right now.
The thought would’ve sent me into a panic spiral when this all started. I remember waking up to mornings like this one, the ghost’s smell lingering in the air, and freaking out for hours. I told Papa, Adriano, the guards, anyone who would listen, but no matter how many security cameras they installed or men they had watching my room, there was never any sign of an intruder.
I saw therapists, psychologists, doctors, but none of that helped. There were weeks when I thought I was going insane.
My ghost kept coming, and he kept stealing.
Now, after all this time, I’ve come to accept it. It’s almost weirdly comforting in a way. Like a heavy thunderstorm or snow piling on a roof. Disconcerting and beautiful. Just part of nature.
Every time he takes something, it’s proof that I haven’t lost my fucking mind.
And he’s never hurt me. He’s never even shown himself. There’s only the smell and a missing object and never anything more.
I’ve had cameras filming me while I sleep, hidden microphones recording every sound in my room, dozens of high-end motion sensors protecting my floor, and he never once showed up.
At this point, he’s just a part of my life.
“Well, at least you’ll have moisturized lips,” I murmur as I go about my morning routine. I like to talk to my ghost sometimes. “It’s fine, you know. I have like ten dozen of those and I never finish them. Do you ever miss me when you don’t come for a few days? I miss you in a weird way. Maybe I have you all wrong. You’re not some evil ghost haunting me. Maybe you’re my guardian angel.”
But angels don’t steal pens, scrap paper, pieces of old mail, little marbles, playing cards, rubber bands, even a bottle of shampoo one time. Nothing expensive. Nothing important. Almost always something small.
No, my ghost probably isn’t an angel. He’s probably some creepy demon monster.
“You’re my creepy demon monster,” I say as I lift my coffee cup to my lips with a smile. “Isn’t that right, Ghost?”
My little suite is completely silent. There’s no answer, only his lingering smell. I breathe it in, smiling as it tingles in my nose, and give myself a sharp nod. “Time to start the day, Ghost. What should I wear? I’m thinking something black and comfortable…”
Grace House is a fifteen-minute walk from the mansion where I live with my brother Adriano and a whole fleet of guards and staff. I start feeling lighter and better the instant I’m out of that place, like the weight of what our family does for a living is totally oppressive when I’m under its roof. I stop for another coffee at a little shop around the corner, leave a nice tip for the barista, and smile to myself as I stroll along the hot sidewalk.
Philly in deep summer can be brutal. It’s not just the heat, but the absolutely stifling humidity. Sweat beads my back after two minutes, and I’m already regretting the walk.
But this is my habit. Even though Adriano said the Famiglia would happily give me a ride to Grace House every day, I refuse to take him up on that.
I don’t want to owe the family anything.
From the outside, people think I’m some spoiled rotten mafia princess. I can’t really blame them for making that assumption. I like designer clothes and nice things. I’m not proud of it, but I have a very mild addiction to retail therapy, and my closet reflects that terrible character defect.
But all my money comes from my personal trust. Mama established it for me back when I was a baby, and the cash has been growing every year in very good investments. I’m not rich, but I’m comfortable enough since I don’t have to pay for food or rent or anything like that.
I know how fortunate I am. I see it every single day in the eyes of the women who come through Grace House.