Caterina: My father thinks he
owns me. A spoiled mafia princess, good for one thing — marriage to strengthen
his empire. But I refuse to be sold to a cruel man. If he wants an alliance,
I’ll give him one — on my terms. So I go to Dante De Luca,
the De Luca family’s most dangerous enforcer. Cold. Controlled. Lethal. Our
contract marriage is supposed to be business, not desire. Then he touches me,
and everything I thought I knew about power and control shatters.

 

Dante: Caterina Lombardi
doesn’t know what she’s started. She wants protection. I want her. She thinks
she can use me to defy her father, but once she’s mine, she stays mine. She’s
fire wrapped in silk — reckless, beautiful, and born to test every rule I’ve
ever followed. But in our world, rebellion comes with blood, and enemies are
closing in. I’ll burn everything to protect her… even if it means becoming the
monster she fears.

 

A dark mafia romance filled
with obsession, betrayal, and dangerous passion. For readers who love
possessive alpha heroes, spoiled princess heroines, enemies-to-lovers heat, and
contracts written in blood.

 

WARNING: Intended for readers
18+ The Enforcer’s Possession includes dark and possessive elements, emotional
intensity, and morally gray behavior.

 

 

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Caterina

I sprawled across the velvet chaise near my
bedroom windows, one leg dangling over the armrest, my phone pressed to my ear
while Adriana went on about some party at the Castellano estate. I wasn’t
really listening. Instead, I picked at the silk blouse I’d tossed aside an hour
ago — Valentino, bought last week, already boring — and let my gaze drift
across the disaster zone my room had become.

Designer clothes lay scattered across the marble
floors like expensive casualties. A Gucci dress hung half-off my bed frame.
Three pairs of Louboutins created a hazardous path to my bathroom. My jewelry
cases sat open on every available surface, catching the afternoon light and
throwing rainbow refractions across the walls.

“Cat? Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm?” I shifted, letting the blouse fall to the
floor. “Sorry, what?”

“I said Marco asked about you. Again.” Adriana’s
voice held that knowing tone that made me want to reach through the phone and
smack her. “He wants to know if you’ll be at –”

“Tell Marco to go fuck himself.” I sat up,
reaching for my discarded iced coffee on the side table. Watered down.
Disgusting. I set it back without drinking. “I’m not interested in whatever
trust fund baby wants to play gangster this week.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“He wore a fedora to Lucia’s birthday party. A
fedora, Adi.”

She laughed, and I felt myself smile despite my
mood. That was the thing about Adriana — she got it. She understood what it
was like to live in this world, to be decorative and controlled and expected to
smile through it all.

“Fair point,” she said. “So what’s got you in such
a charming mood today? And don’t say nothing, because I can hear it in your
voice.”

I stood, pacing toward my walk-in closet. The
motion felt good, gave me something to do with the restless energy crawling
under my skin. “My father. What else?”

“What did Giuseppe do now?”

“He’s acting like I’m some prized mare to be
traded off to the highest bidder.” I stepped into the closet, running my hand
along the row of couture gowns that lined one wall. Versace, Dolce &
Gabbana, Armani — thousands of dollars of fabric I was expected to wear while
playing the dutiful daughter. “Apparently, he’s been having meetings. About my
future.”

“Meetings.” Adriana’s voice went flat. She knew
what that meant. We all did.

“With families. Old families. Traditional families
who think women should be seen and not heard.” I grabbed a dress at random —
something in emerald green I’d worn once to a charity gala — and pulled it off
its hanger. Held it up. Put it back. Wrong. All wrong. “He actually told me
yesterday that it was time I started thinking about settling down. Settling
down. I’m twenty-one, not forty.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him I’d rather die.”

Adriana sucked in a breath. “Cat. You didn’t.”

“I did.” I moved to my vanity table, surveying the
collection of high-end makeup and perfumes arranged across its surface. My
reflection stared back at me from the mirror — dark hair falling in waves past
my shoulders, green eyes sharp with anger I couldn’t quite bank. I looked like
my mother had at my age, according to the photos. Before Papa had worn her down
into the perfect Mafia wife. “He didn’t appreciate it.”

“I’m shocked.”

“The thing is, he doesn’t even see it. Doesn’t see
how fucking archaic it all is.” I picked up a lipstick, twisted it open, then
put on a little across my lips. “We all know he’s doing this for himself or the
family, but I’m sure part of him also thinks he’s protecting me. Providing for
me. Making sure I’m taken care of.”

“By selling you off to some capo’s son?”

“Basically.” I walked back to the windows, looking
out over the