DameButterfly

You can get much further with a kind word and a gun than you can with just a kind word. – Al Capone

An iron fist and a merciless cold metal gun, the mafia code that was taught to Zane Scarlet by his father. A code he wants to reform.
 But... When the only one knows how to solve problems is with a gun in hand and the only answer for betrayal is death - where does one start? And how does one do it while avoiding any attempts at arranged marriage? 

Not to mention the fiery woman on the right side of the law who entered his life like a whirlwind. What good could she possibly be?

excerpt:

"We already agreed where your place ends, Rose. There's no need any further argument. This Is final." Zane pinched the bridge of nose, turning to leave. A small hand grabbed the much larger one. An unexpected move. 
"What if I don't want my place to end there?" the low, quivering voice asked.
"What if I want this to be real?"
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Little Dove I love you so
but I know you have to go.
So spread your wings
and fly my love,
soar above the world my dove.
Paint the sky in indigo,
let your graceful colors flow,
and I'll search the sky
for your rainbow.
~ Author: Christy Ann Martine


*Prequel to Arranged Marriage To The Princess of The Red Scorpions*

Dear Dove

"Do you make it a habit of trying to find people when you're in the worst possible moods?" The man who sat across from Zane turned out to be in a worse mood than the young mafioso who drank his milkshake without saying anything.

"I already told you that after I helped you out last time, that would be it. Yet, here we are again." He cussed the other at as the sound of chains jangling could be heard.

"I know what you said last time but you still work for my family. That means if I need you, you'll help me whether you want to or not." Zane's words made the temperature in the room drop ten degrees. Some people cast wary glances in his direction. The son of Red Scorpion didn't often explode unlike his father. When he did though, things never ended pretty.

Grumpy, Grumpy, Grumpy