Monica Himmelrick

Born into violence. Ruthlessly brutal. Savagely alluring. Maddoc, Dante, and Logan. The Reapers. They’re the type of men mothers warn their daughters about, and the last thing I should be doing is marching into their territory and proposing a deal. But I don’t have any other options. My sister has been sold to the notorious West Point gang to cover a debt my father owes, and I’ll do anything to get her back... even if it means offering myself up to the Reapers, West Point’s enemies.

I crashed a wedding. Got caught by the best man. Now, I'm pregnant with his baby . . . It's Katya's fault. (As per usual.) My BFF despises her ex and wants to hate-watch him marry the woman he left her for. Problem is, she didn't fill me in on that plan . . . until we arrive at the ceremony.

You know when you see that big red flag, and you think to yourself, I should probably not go anywhere near there? Yeah, Quincy Carter ignored that big red flag. He walked right up to that red flag, waving blatantly in the wind, and kissed the holy hell out of her. Sure, he probably should've arrested her for breaking a restraining order. He probably also should've stopped her from continuing to break that restraining order. Yet he can't.

Mia Lorenzo wasn’t exactly my top choice for a wife. She is 14 years younger, a hopeless romantic, and in line to become the head of the family that just orchestrated my father’s murder. Too bad my father's dying wish was for me to marry Luca Lorenzo's daughter. I will unite the two families for my father’s sake, even if it’s just to find proof that they killed him. The only problem is my brand-new wife. That auburn hair, those bright blue eyes, and the way my gut twists whenever I see another man go near her.

I wanted to be a painter, but that's just a dream. A mafia princess doesn't get to choose her future. Still, I never let it get me down. I always try to make the best of everything. Until I'm forced to go for brutal training, and I meet Nikolai Vetrov. Forbidden and way too attractive, the man turns out to be my worst nightmare incarnated. He's cold and ruthless, and I'm pretty sure there's no heart to be found in his chest, unlike mine that won't stop beating overtime at the mere sight of him.

As Liam McGinty's belt lashes my bare backside, it isn't the burning sting or the humiliating awareness that my body's surrender is on full display for this ruthless mobster that shocks me. It's the fact that this isn't a scene from one of my books. I almost can't process the fact that I'm really riding in the back of a luxury SUV belonging to the most powerful Irish mafia boss in New York—the man I've written so much about—with my cheeks blushing, my bottom sore inside and out, and my arousal soaking the seat beneath me.