Richie~Banks

Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached for a small black bottle from the table. “I thought you would prefer the gentle way. Guess I was wrong.”

His words cut through me like a knife. He crouched down in front of me, cupping my chin with his cold, cruel hands. His fingers dug into my skin, forcing my mouth open, and I gasped in horror as he tilted the bottle.

The liquid slid down my throat, burning, choking. My body convulsed in protest, but I couldn’t stop him. The poison — Deadly Nightshade. I had used it before. And now I was forced to take it. 

A year to live.

His smirk deepened as he let go of me, watching with sadistic pleasure as I gagged, my hands flying to my mouth.

Tears stung my eyes. The bitter, metallic taste of death filled my mouth, and I could do nothing but cry. My vision blurred as the poison coursed through me, but I couldn’t let go of my rage.

Francesco’s voice was low, almost gentle, as he spoke the words that felt like a death sentence. “Sometimes, the person you once loved may end up killing you,” he said, the twisted satisfaction in his voice unmistakable.

~~~~~

But surrender is never simple in a game of power, revenge, and dangerous desire. Because this man doesn’t just want to own her — he wants to unmake her, unravel her, and turn her fire to ash.

And the most terrifying part? Find out!

The Vicious Scent Of The Mafia's Black Rose

“Vince Khumalo is fifty-six years old. He is an assistant to Purab Chaturvedi whom we've killed. He lives in Seattle with his family. Two girls and his wife, of course. He hails from South Africa and he owns Khumalo Enterprises.” I read out the result from the laptop's screen as I and Francesco both had our gazes fixed on the man's profile. 


Hacking into different systems to get into his real profile was quite stressful but thanks to my knowledge and skills, I overcame that. 


For Francesco to have asked me to look into Vince's profile, it could only mean one thing — he wants him dead and nothing more. 


“Why are we looking into his profile?” I asked, breaking the silence. 


Francesco heaved a sigh and sank his back into the sofa. He stretched his legs on the table, almost knocking the laptop from my lap. Then he crossed his legs and used his gestures to tell me he needed some wine. 


17 ~ Wait And Watch