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OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance

By:Zoey Parker

OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance (Mancini Family Mafia)

By Zoey Parker

Owning her will be the purest pleasure.

I never gave a damn about the family business.

I’d rather spend my time hunting for sexy women to strip, whip, and chain.

But then Carla showed up.

And all my darkest desires reared their ugly heads.


She’s the new family lawyer, and I’ve been warned to stay away.

But how could I?

Her skin is buttery soft, her hair flows like silk, and those pink lips are just begging to be forced wide open.

She knows I’m no good for her.

I’m dark.



But her resistance is just foreplay to me.

And when I stumble across a secret that could cost Carla her life,

I know I’ve found my leverage.

Now, she’s all mine.


I’m in over my head.

This was the assignment of a lifetime – go undercover in the Mancini crime family and take them down from within.

This is what I was born to do.

In all my years at the FBI, I’ve seen too much of the twisted horrors they’ve brought to life.

Amongst a family of drug runners and flesh traders, Gio Mancini might be the worst of the lot.

He’s got a legendary appetite for women that haunts my nightmares.

He reels them in with his charm, gives them a glimmer of hope…

And then breaks them utterly.

I just need to get inside, get what I need, and get the hell out.

Most importantly, I need to stay away from Gio.

His cocky grin is tempting, his body is flawless.

But for a while, I manage to keep to myself.

And then I slipped up.

He finds out who I really am.

This is the end for me, I think, as he opens his mouth.

But what he said instead turned out to be so, so much worse.

Chapter 1


Six Months Ago

The rain drummed heavily on every surface, like thousands of nervous fingertips tapping. The jittery sound amplified Gio Mancini's own tension as he held an umbrella over his head, staring down at the short, rumpled mook begging and cringing on the ground. With his weak chin and the beady, blinking eyes behind his thick eyeglasses, he resembled an unearthed mole—dazed, terrified, defenseless—dragged from the safety of its tunnel.

There were bullet holes in the knees of the mook's trousers, and the blood that oozed from them was quickly carried away by the steady stream of rainwater on the pavement beneath him, creating a dozen cloudy pink rivers. The carefully-aimed hollow point rounds had blown one kneecap off completely and had reduced the other to a handful of gravel. Bits of bone peeked out from the ragged wounds, gleaming as the rain rinsed the blood from them.

Gio walked over to where the mook was lying on the ground and scowled down at him contemptuously. He delivered a savage kick to the splintered left knee and tried to enjoy the resulting shriek as chips of bone dislodged from the injured leg and skittered across the pavement like dice.

But all Gio could bring himself to feel was a wave of scorn and anger so powerful it was almost sickening.

Seven months ago, the mook shook Gio's hand, saying that his name was Francis Maserone and he was a CPA.

Two hours ago, Gio learned that neither of those things had been true.

Jimmy Pirelli, a longtime business associate who was visiting from Philadelphia for a wedding, saw through the disguise of the Mancini family's newest accountant at the reception. Even with four glasses of champagne in him, Jimmy recognized him as Special Agent Fred Masters who'd helped take down one of the largest organized crime families on the east coast three years before. Jimmy whispered this information to Gio's father Mario, who quietly took Gio aside and ordered him to erase the undercover scumbag from the face of the earth.

“First, though, make sure you find out what he's already seen and reported,” Mario insisted, “and do whatever it takes to learn whether we've got any other Feds crawling around us. If we can't at least take this opportunity to extract some useful information, then we'll have spent seven months with a rat chewing its way through our guts with nothing to show for it.”

So Gio returned to the reception, raised his glass, and loudly demanded that everyone in the room drink a toast “to Francis Maserone, the smartest motherfucker ever to balance a checkbook.” This sentiment was met with hearty agreement, and Gio saw him relax visibly, grinning from ear to ear as the Mancinis sitting around him clapped him on the back and kissed him on the cheek.

That's right, Gio thought smugly. Lap it up. You're the world's most secret fucking agent, and a bunch of dumb greasers like us could never suspect you in a million years. After seven long months, you can finally stop looking over your shoulder, right, you rat bastard?