Cuteping27

Elijah Sinclair is the youngest and most ruthless CEO in the city, known for his arrogance, cunning business tactics, and an ego the size of his billion-dollar empire. He doesn't take no for an answer—until he crosses paths with a dangerous man who couldn't care less about his money or influence.

Dante Moretti, the feared heir to the Moretti Mafia, is cold, merciless, and used to people cowering before him. That is until he meets Elijah, a man who refuses to back down, even when a gun is pointed at his head. What starts as a dangerous game of threats and defiance soon turns into something neither of them expected—attraction.

Now, with both their worlds colliding, Elijah finds himself in the middle of a deadly mafia war, and Dante finds himself doing something he swore he never would—falling for a cocky CEO who makes his blood boil in more ways than one.

Will their love survive betrayal, gunfire, and a whole lot of stubborn pride? Or will their worlds tear them apart before they can even admit their feelings?

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Excerpt:

Elijah took a leisurely sip of his whiskey, completely unfazed by the armed men surrounding him. "You know," he mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "when someone invites me to a meeting, I usually expect dinner. Not death threats."

Dante leaned forward, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Most men would be begging for their lives right now."

"Most men aren’t me." Elijah smirked.

A slow grin spread across Dante's face. "You're either fearless or an idiot, Sinclair."

"Or maybe I just enjoy pissing off men with superiority complexes."

A chuckle rumbled from Dante’s chest. Dangerous. Deep. Amused. "I should kill you for that."

Elijah raised an eyebrow. "You won’t."

Dante tilted his head. "Oh? And why not?"

Elijah leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Because I think you like me, Moretti."

For the first time in years, Dante was speechless.

And that was how Elijah Sinclair, the most arrogant CEO in the city, became the unexpected obsession of the Mafia’s most feared heir.

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The Mafia's Boyfriend or The Dangerous Lover

The city lights flickered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Elijah's penthouse, casting a soft glow across the sleek, modern space. The tension from the shipping yard still lingered in the air, clinging to his skin like the scent of smoke and gunpowder.

Elijah stood by the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey with steady hands, though his mind was anything but calm. The mission had been a disaster. Lorenzo had been waiting for them, outplaying them like a damn game of chess. It pissed him off.

But what pissed him off even more was the fact that Dante hadn't left his side since they escaped.

The man was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes dark and unreadable as he watched Elijah. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a hint of his toned chest, and his blonde hair was still slightly damp from the quick shower he'd taken.

Elijah took a slow sip of his drink, breaking the silence. "You're staring."

Elijah scoffed, setting his glass down with a little too much force. "We walked right into that ambush. Lorenzo played us."

Dante pushed off the counter and walked toward him, his movements slow, deliberate. "And what? You want to spend the rest of the night obsessing over it?"

Elijah didn't answer. He didn't have to.

Dante reached out, fingers brushing against the fabric of Elijah's dress shirt, undoing the first button. His voice was lower now, rough around the edges. "Or you could do something about it."

Elijah's breath hitched. It was always like this with Dante—this dangerous push and pull, this constant battle for control. He wasn't sure who moved first, but suddenly Dante was right there, his body pressing Elijah against the bar, mouths barely an inch apart.

Their eyes locked, something unspoken crackling between them.

It wasn't slow. It wasn't soft. It was raw, hungry, all teeth and heat and frustration. Elijah groaned into the kiss, fingers tangling in Dante's hair as he yanked him closer. Their bodies collided, the tension snapping like a live wire.

Dante growled against his lips, hands sliding under Elijah's shirt, fingertips grazing over hard muscle. "You're still tense," he murmured, lips trailing down Elijah's jaw.

Elijah exhaled sharply, tilting his head back as Dante's mouth moved to his neck, nipping, sucking, leaving bruises he didn't even try to hide. "And you're still a cocky bastard."

Dante chuckled against his skin. "You love it."

Clothes disappeared in a frenzy, buttons popping, belts undone, bodies pressed against cool marble and warm sheets. The world outside didn't exist—only the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly, the way Dante made him forget everything except this moment.

Elijah lost himself in Dante, in the fire between them, in the way their bodies moved in sync—desperate, rough, needy.

Forgetting the ambush. Forgetting Lorenzo's threats. Forgetting everything except the way Dante made him feel alive.

And by the time dawn broke, tangled in sheets and the scent of sweat and sex, Elijah knew one thing for certain—

Dante Moretti was his greatest weakness.

And maybe… just maybe… he didn't care.

The Fire Between Us